I am unable to hate Aaron Rodgers (and I hate that)

I had a hangover on Monday, physically and mentally. Strangely, neither stemmed from frustration about the Green Bay Packers Super Bowl victory.

The physical hangover resulted from an ill-conceived science experiment. A couple friends brought over a soda making kit - a gas injection device that carbonates anything - and we collectively decided that 9 p.m. was the best time to test a recipe for sparkling long island iced-teas, in the interest science, of course. Because you know what a 12 ounce cup of gin, vodka, tequila, and rum needs? Increased drinkability. The plan was either a rousing success or an epic failure depending on whether you asked us last Sunday night or Monday morning.

The mental hangover was harder to wrap my hands around.

A Packers Super Bowl victory is as close as you can come to a sports apocalypse for me. I hate Green Bay. I hate everything about them. I hate the Lambeau Leap. I hate the green and yellow uniforms. I'd hate the stupid cheese hats even more if they didn't help me so easily identify people with whom I will never be friends. Green Bay practically ruined my entire football watching childhood and, consequently, I enjoy watching the Packers lose almost as much as I enjoy watching the Bears win. (Hey, when you're a Chicago sports fan, sometimes schadenfreude is all you got.)

Yet, in the aftermath of the Packers victory and Aaron Roders coronation as Super Bowl MVP and the-next-great-quarterback I felt strangely ambivalent. I even tried to cry, but it turns out poking yourself in the palm with a dinner fork doesn't bring up tears, just searing pain in your hand. Try as I might, I could not get the faintest bit upset over what should have been one of the more vomit inducing championship celebrations of my life.

Because, frankly, I respect this team.

I feel like Vince Vaughn at the end of Anchorman, "I hate you Green Bay Packers. I hate you. But [gosh darn it], do I respect you."

I respect Aaron Rodgers. I respect Charles Woodsen. I respect the way BJ Raji is a dead ringer for the lady who played Precious. I respect Green Bay's cadre of wide receivers. I respect the way they can dominate on offense without any semblance of a running game. I respect the 2010 Green Bay Packers.

I never respected Brett Favre during his heyday. Not ever. Not even a little. I grew a grudging respect for him - a quasi-Stockholm syndrome - at the tail end of his career, but only after he started handing out interceptions to Bears defensive backs like glazed doughnuts at a Krispy Kreme. But during his prime? Pure, unadulterated hatred.

Brett Favre was the embodiment of pure evil. I hated the way announcers euphemized his interceptions as "gunslinging". I even hated the way he pronounces his name. THE R COMES AFTER THE V, BRETT. YOUR NAME IS FAHV-REH. WHY DOESN'T ANYONE ELSE REALIZE THIS? I FEEL LIKE I'M TAKING CRAZY PILLS.

Aaron Rodgers is different. He has played so well and displayed such dignity, grace, and leadership in the process, that I'm forced to admit not only a completely un-begrudged respect, but also a bit of admiration. Aaron Rodgers is everything you want in an NFL quarterback and, even though I tried as I hard as I could to get upset, I was happy to see him revel in the much deserved post-Super Bowl celebration.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to whip up an extra large batch of sparkling long island iced teas and throw my laptop through a window.