That Sunday afternoon in Arrowhead was a fluke. A contingency, really. How else would a last-place, 0.429 team vanquish the best squad in the NFC North?if not the best in the league, herself? Well, at that time, anyways.

Now, I’m all for dispensing dap where dap’s indeed due. Ryan Succop, my very much relevant homeboy from our days chasing Dietzel at USC (est. 1801), sailed one through a 32-yard berth to give the Chiefs that game. He didn’t always do that as a Gamecock.

11 seconds later, and each shareholder in the Green Bay franchise had been Madoff-ed. The hype was over, the dream deferred. In short, Goliath had fallen; Ockham’s proof that maybe, just maybe, T. ‘Dick’ Tebow’s deity does exist in the god-forsaken world of pro football.

Make no mistake, that didn’t happen again (in the regular season, that is). If for nothing more than Christopher Hitchens was still breathing then.

It sure as cheeseballs didn’t happen Xmas night at Lambeau. Nor on NBC. True, Daaa Bears had Mr. Laguna Beach takin’ snaps, but alas, that’s the only hand they had. A baker’s touchdowns, while a cute, perhaps even quasi-respectable stat going in, didn’t amount to a crock o’ beans under however many tackles Desmond Bishop ended up with.

No, the last real test for Murph & Mike’s Packers came on New Year’s Day. The Lions were in second place then, 1-1 with the lights out, which is how any NFL fan worth his liver was watching a one o’clock kickoff then.

Obviously, the Detroit Lions did not best the Green Bay Packers on Sunday, January 1, 2012. (With the former’s leading receiver named after Calvin ‘K’ Johnson, how twee they?) We all saw what happened?in front of our mothers, no less?the first time these two met back at Ford’s. As per usual, one ‘Bob Richie’ was to blame.

As I said before, Week 15 in Kansas City was a goof?a chance occurrence, à la Owl Creek Bridge. To be sure, it did not happen again.

But what if it did? I mean, Detroit almost fuggin’ won. 45-41. Wouldn’t that’ve been something? I’m imagining Oneida Street East lit up like Atlanta-Fulton County in the time of Sherman. And it’s all fondue, brah.

Thus, I’ve taken to re-penning just but a few lyrics of that classic holocaust tune, “We Almost Lost Detroit”? care of the late Gil Scott-Heron’s 1977 Arista album, Bridges. After all, Scott-Heron, himself, took both title and tale from John G. Fuller’s Reader’s Digest pulp. Re-make/re-model, I always say.

A cautionary history of Fermi 1, the nation’s first commercial breeder reactor, Scott-Heron’s fissile machine was shut down in 1966 after a nuclear meltdown nearly consumed the 313. It took four laborious years to bring the reactor up to code, nevertheless, its resulting performance proved poorer than Hank Williams, Jr.’s choice of words.

“It stands out on a hill, like a creature from another time. It inspires the rookies’ questions?’what’s that?’?for their agents as they ride. But no one stopped to think about the Packers, or how they would survive, and we almost lost to Detroit this time. How would we ever get over nearly losing our stride?

Just eight hours from Detroit stands a giant frozen tundra. It thaws each night as the city sleeps?ready for the huddle. But no one stopped to think about the Packers, or how they would survive, and we almost lost to Detroit this time. How would we ever get over, over nearly losing our stride?

The leapers of Brown County had, sure enough, disaster on their minds. And what would Vince Lombardi say, if he was still alive? That when it comes to Rodgers’ safety, defense wins out every time. And we almost lost to Detroit this time, this time.”

How would we ever get over nearly losing our pride? You see, we almost lost to Detroit that time.”

A scant two years later, Fermi’s core was dismantled, the reactor decommissioned. To wit, much like the Lions’ defense went against the fourth-best passing team, ultimately, Detroit’s efforts at a neutron economy had failed. Automobiles it was, then:

Of course, when it comes to the final fate of athletics in the great city of Detroit, Michigan, all bets are off once Fielder the Younger squeezes into that Tigers uni. Here, then, is Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr.’s woeful take on this tune.