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Green Bay — If you got on the waiting list for Green Bay Packers season tickets today, you could expect a just-won-the-lottery call from 1265 Lombardi Ave. in, oh, about 955 years.

Unless you're into cryogenics - maybe Ted Williams was a Packers fan? - it doesn't make much sense to sign up.

But people do. Though the season-ticket waiting list is 86,000 deep and the Packers estimate only 90 tickets turn over each year, the list continues to grow. It's more a kick-the-bucket list than a bucket list, but here's the thing:

People sign up for season tickets because their spot on the list can be passed down to heirs. There's nothing wrong with long-range planning.

Each year, the Packers send out postcards to those on the waiting list, updated to reflect their new position on it. Imagine the excitement when that postcard arrives: "Wow, I moved up 82 spots to No. 72,116!"

What other team, besides the Rolling Stones, is guaranteed to sell out every home game for the next 10 centuries? The NFL will have expanded to Mars by then and players will be genetically engineered, but fans will still be sitting on aluminum bench seats at Lambeau Field, chanting, "Go, Pack, go!"

Gotta love cheeseheads.

With apologies to the Pittsburgh Steelers, who have an incredibly rabid and supportive fan base, there is nothing quite like Packers fans.

They don't bleed green and gold, but they sure do wear it. Go into any bar, restaurant or shopping mall and if you don't see someone in Packers colors within 30 seconds, you've made a wrong turn somewhere and are probably in Nepal.

Come to think of it, there are undoubtedly Packers fans in Nepal. They're everywhere. Season ticket holders reside in all 50 states and several foreign countries, including Australia and Japan. Now that's a commute.

The most overused cliché in sports these days is "(Fill-in-the-blank) Nation." As in Cubs Nation, Red Sox Nation, Boise State Nation, et al. Just because a team has expatriate (or even Patriot) fans sprinkled across the country doesn't mean that team has a "nation."

But Packers Nation is, well, national. Every major city in America has at least one Packers bar, where fans can wear their Aaron Rodgers jerseys, drink Wisconsin-brewed beverages and act all Sheboygan-y.

What makes the Green Bay Packers unique is that they are a nonprofit entity and the only publicly owned team among major professional sports. Thanks to statewide support and NFL revenue sharing, the franchise thrives in a city of about 100,000, major sports' smallest TV market.

It helps that nothing much happens in Green Bay, other than what occurs at 1265 Lombardi Ave. Lambeau Field, with its soaring green facade, stands out in a neighborhood of well-kept ranch homes and is the region's corporate, cultural and social epicenter.

On game days, the parking lot is filled hours before kickoff with all-pro tailgaters, and smoke from bratwurst sizzling on grills hangs thick in the air. First-time visitors have been known to get on their hands and knees and kiss Vince Lombardi's asphalt.

Coach Mike McCarthy - a Pittsburgh guy, by the way - will never forget the first time he saw Lambeau, when he interviewed for the quarterbacks coaching job in 1999. He got the job, spent one season in Green Bay, left for other coaching positions and returned as head coach in 2006.

"Just the drive down Lombardi Ave., it reminded me of South Hills, by South Hills Mall, back in Pittsburgh," he said. "You see Kmart, Red Lobster . . . and all of a sudden there's Lambeau Field. My goodness, that's different.

"And having the opportunity to work here, it's just so unique. You have a stadium in your backyard, in a sense, and the relationship with the town and the team is very unique."

With all due respect to the Rooney family in Pittsburgh, the Packers have 112,150 "owners," the overwhelming majority of whom hold exactly one share of stock (including retired team president Bob Harlan, who paid $25 for his share).

Talk about a license to print money. The Packers' most recent stock offering, in 1997-'98, netted 106,000 new owners who paid $200 per share - and sent more than $21 million directly to the team's bottom line.

The stock certificates are basically worthless pieces of paper; they cannot be resold, except back to the team at a fraction of the cost. But the powerful emotional attachment they provide is priceless. When general manager Ted Thompson signs a free agent, the stockholders can brag that they helped bring the player to Green Bay. And they're right.

The Steelers have a proud tradition, but the Packers date to 1919 and the dawn of pro football. So, in Wisconsin, you're born into Packerdom; your great-great-grandfather cheered for Curly Lambeau and Johnny Blood, your great-grandfather for Don Hutson and Tony Canadeo, your grandfather for Bart Starr and Paul Hornung, and your father for Don Majkowski and Sterling Sharpe.

You cheered for Brett Favre, until he put on that ugly purple uniform of the hated Minnesota Vikings.

Yes, people take their Packers seriously around here. Raymond Raab of Menomonee Falls was watching the playoff game against Atlanta two weeks ago and was feeling ill. His concerned wife, Louise, wanted to call 911.

"He said, 'No, no, no, I want to watch the Packer game,' " Louise said. "Finally, when they were ahead by so much, he said, 'OK, you can call 911 now.' "

Ray Raab died nine days later.

"I'm not really a Packer fan, but I guess I'll be watching the Super Bowl," Louise said. "I think Ray is getting a kick out of this."

Why not? He's got the best seat in the house. And he only had to wait 81 years for it.