Lambeau Field sits a grueling 184 miles from Chicago—a long, reflective drive home after yet another painful loss to the Packers. On the way up, it’s all sunshine and optimism. “It’s a quick trip from Chicago! Have a couple, two-tree braaats and some beeeers, dontcha know?” The excitement makes the miles fly by.

As a lifelong Bears fan, I’ve always hated the idea of heading to Green Bay for a Bears-Packers showdown. Mostly because of one thing: that walk of shame through the sea of green and gold after another Bears defeat. The very thought used to churn my stomach.

But then, I arrived.

Envy set in as soon as I parked my car in a makeshift front-lawn parking lot. Despite the garish green and gold (let’s be honest—it’s yellow), Lambeau Field is pure magic. It’s the kind of place that reminds you why football is more than just a game.

Yes, I’m saying it.

I wandered through Titletown, past the beer halls and tailgates spilling into front and backyards. Every corner of this place breathes football. With autumn’s crisp chill in the air, Green Bay—and Lambeau specifically—creates the perfect stage for the sport. This is football as it was meant to be played: outdoors, in a town where the team truly belongs to the people.

And despite my blue and orange allegiance, I loved it.

I walked the grounds with a mix of admiration and hope—hope that the Bears’ next stadium will honor our Midwestern soul. Let’s pray they resist the siren song of flashy Vegas-style monstrosities and build something that would make Papa Bear proud.

Of course, I got my share of ribbing for wearing Bears colors. Oh, I heard it—plenty of it. But somehow, even the taunts were tinged with Midwestern politeness. It’s nothing compared to the venom Cubs fans endure on the South Side.

Forget, just for a moment, that this is the Packers’ holy ground. If you love football—real football—make the pilgrimage to Green Bay. Have a brat, savor a beer, and soak in the soul of America’s game, born and raised right here in the Midwest.

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