Turkey, gravy, and Packers-Lions warfare. Explore the NFC North’s oldest tradition where Green Bay crashes Detroit’s Thanksgiving party year after year.
Thanksgiving’s True Rivalry Tradition: Green Bay vs. Detroit
There’s a reason Thanksgiving feels incomplete without watching the Detroit Lions play football. It’s tradition. It’s Americana. It’s the football equivalent of knowing the turkey might be dry but eating it anyway because that’s what we do.
And when the Green Bay Packers roll into Ford Field? That’s when Thanksgiving gets personal.
This isn’t just a game. This is Midwest football the way it should be — cold, stubborn and fueled by beer thicker than loyalty. It’s blue-collar grit wrapped in cheese and Motown soul. It’s Aaron Rodgers breaking hearts on national television while your uncle yells at the TV between bites of stuffing. It’s Brett Favre in the snow. It’s Barry Sanders making defenders look absolutely foolish. It’s a rivalry that’s older than your grandparents and twice as bitter. Just how Rebels like it.
Every year, the Lions promise it’s “different this time.” Every year, the Packers bring receipts.
Welcome to the NFC North’s oldest and most painful tradition.
The History: When Thanksgiving Became a Blood Sport
The Lions have hosted a Thanksgiving Day game since 1934. That’s 90+ years of turkey, football and Detroit getting its heart broken in front of the entire country. It started as a promotional stunt to boost attendance and somehow it became as American as apple pie and arguing with your relatives about politics.
Green Bay and Detroit have been playing each other since 1930, making this one of the NFL’s oldest rivalries. They’ve faced off over 190 times, which means there are people in Wisconsin and Michigan who’ve spent their entire lives hating each other over a game played with a pigskin.
The Packers have historically dominated this matchup. Not just won — dominated. For decades, Detroit fans have watched Green Bay waltz into their stadium, eat their metaphorical turkey and leave with a win. It’s kind of generational trauma at this point.
But the tide is turning. Detroit is dangerous now. The Lions aren’t just showing up anymore — they’re biting back. And that makes this rivalry more electric than it’s been in years.
The Packers: Titletown’s Smuggest Export
Let’s talk about Green Bay, because you can’t understand this rivalry without understanding the audacity of Packers fans.
Green Bay calls itself “Titletown” because they’ve won more championships than anyone else. Thirteen titles. Four Super Bowls. A cheesehead wearing fan base that literally owns the team through stock shares (which, let’s be honest, is the most Wisconsin thing imaginable). They’ve had back-to-back Hall of Fame quarterbacks in Brett Favre and Aaron Rodgers for 30 consecutive years. That’s not luck. That’s a pact with the devil.
Packers fans wear cheeseheads unironically. They tailgate in subzero temperatures like it’s a beach party. They’ll remind you, unprompted, that Lambeau Field is hallowed ground and every other stadium is just a building with some seats.
And when they come to Detroit on Thanksgiving? They act like they own the place. Because historically, they kind of have.
The Lions: Detroit vs. Everybody
Now let’s talk about Detroit. The underdog. The franchise that’s been counted out more times than a casino dealer. The team that’s given fans hope, heartbreak and if we’re being honest probably a drinking problem.
The Lions are 5-14 in the playoffs since 1957. One. That’s not a typo. That’s just Detroit Lions football, baby.
But here’s what Packers fans don’t understand: Detroit fans don’t quit. They show up. They believe. They get hurt. And they come back next year ready to do it all over again. That’s not fandom — that’s rebellion.
And lately? The Lions have teeth. The defense is nasty. Dan Campbell is coaching like a man possessed. Detroit isn’t just hoping for a win anymore — they’re expecting one.
And when Detroit wins? The entire city erupts. It’s not just a football game. It’s vindication. It’s proof that loyalty pays off. It’s the kind of win that makes grown men cry into their Thanksgiving mashed potatoes.
The Players: Legends, Heartbreakers and One Guy Named Barry
This rivalry has seen some of the greatest players in NFL history.
Brett Favre terrorized Detroit for decades. The man loved playing in Detroit. He loved the spotlight. He loved breaking Lions fans’ hearts on national TV while eating turkey legs on the sideline. Favre went 7-3 against Detroit on Thanksgiving. That’s not football — that’s bullying.
Then there’s Aaron Rodgers — the smug, impossibly talented quarterback who owned the Lions for over a decade. Rodgers didn’t just beat Detroit. He made it look easy. His Hail Mary against the Lions in 2015? So iconic that we call it the Miracle in Motown. Absolutely devastating. The kind of play that makes you question if God is real and if He roots for Green Bay.
But let’s talk about Barry Sanders — the greatest Lion of all time and one of the most electrifying players in NFL history. Barry made defenders miss. He made defenses look silly. He made Thanksgiving watchable even when the Lions were losing. Sanders retired early, walked away from the game, and Lions fans are still not over it.
In the modern era, Matthew Stafford spent 12 years in Detroit, threw for over 45,000 yards, and never won a playoff game with the Lions. Then he left for the Rams and immediately won a Super Bowl. Detroit fans are still processing that one.
And now? Jared Goff is getting his redemption arc in Detroit. The guy who got benched in LA is now leading the Lions to wins, and it feels like destiny.
The Games That Still Sting
Every rivalry has those games. The ones that get replayed in your head at 3 a.m.
The Hail Mary (2015)
December. Lambeau Field. The Lions had the game won. Then Aaron Rodgers threw a 61-yard Hail Mary on the final play and Richard Rodgers caught it in the end zone. Lions fans were devastated. Packers fans celebrated like they’d won the Super Bowl. It’s still the most gut-wrenching loss in recent Lions history.
Calvin Johnson’s Non-Catch (2010)
A Thanksgiving game. Calvin Johnson caught what should’ve been a game-winning touchdown. The refs ruled it incomplete because of some arcane “process of the catch” rule that nobody understood. The Lions lost. The rule eventually got changed. But the damage was done.
The Trash Talk: Cheese vs. Grit
Packers fans will remind you that they’ve won 13 championships, that Lambeau is the frozen tundra and that Detroit has won one playoff game since Eisenhower was president. They’ll tell you that Green Bay is a real football town and that Detroit is just a city that happens to have a team.
Lions fans will counter that Green Bay is a town of 100,000 people in the middle of nowhere, that Packers fans only show up when the team is good and that Detroit fans are tougher, grittier and more loyal than any cheesehead could ever be. They’ll remind you that Detroit vs. Everybody isn’t just a slogan — it’s more of a city lifestyle.
The trash talk is brutal. The respect is begrudging. And every Thanksgiving, it all comes to a head.
Why This Rivalry Still Matters
In an era of superstar quarterbacks and flashy offenses, some people wonder if old-school rivalries still hit the same.
Because Packers-Lions isn’t about playoff seeding or Super Bowl implications. It’s about pride. It’s about proving you’re tougher than the guy sitting across the table who roots for the wrong team. It’s about Thanksgiving dinners that get awkward. It’s about the group chat that goes nuclear after a bad call.
This is the game where legacies are questioned. Where fanbases are tested. Where every incomplete pass, every missed field goal, every questionable penalty gets dissected for the next 365 days.
And when the final whistle blows, someone’s walking away with bragging rights. Someone else is walking away with regret. And both sides will be back next year, ready to do it all over again.
The Tradition Lives On
Detroit might host, but Green Bay always crashes the party. It’s Midwest football the way it should be — cold, stubborn, and fueled by beer thicker than loyalty.
Every year, the Lions promise it’s “different this time.” And you know what? Maybe this year, it finally is.
Because rivalry never felt so good.
