Saturday was June 1, a day that signifies the unofficial arrival of summertime in the Midwest, and the exodus of overpriced veterans from rosters in the National Football League.

It happens every year -- big-name talent hits the waiver wire, sometimes returning at reduced rates to their original clubs in a few weeks, other times re-starting their careers at a new location and with a new playbook.

And so it goes with Antonio Freeman. Perhaps the last critical link to the Super Bowl years of the 1990s other than Brett Favre, LeRoy Butler and William Henderson, the seven-year veteran wide receiver seems destined to end his career wearing something other than Green & Gold. {INSERT_RELATED}

Unfortunately, there are now rookie bonuses to pay -- including to Freeman's potential heir apparent, Javon Walker -- and other salaries to account for. Freeman, who caught touchdowns in both Super Bowls, has expended his usefulness to the Packers, at least at an acceptable rate of economic efficiency.

Whether this is a tragedy or merely reality depends on how you view it, but it's at least mildly lamentable either way. Just this past January, Freeman caught an important fourth-quarter pass in the NFC playoffs for a critical first down against San Francisco. But the play, in which he inexplicably held out the ball at arm's length while still in traffic, aptly sums up Freeman's fall from grace around Titletown, even while he was still contributing.

Because despite his game-turning, record-setting, 81-yard TD grab in Super Bowl XXXI and numerous plays like it, lately people only seem to remember his lesser moments. There was a car accident in a parking lot when he was driving but told the cops he wasn't, the final-game suspension against Tampa Bay in 2000, the holdout that preceded a comparatively poor season in 1999, the sound bytes to the press that begged to be misconstrued.

Yet there was an indefinable attribute that Freeman brought to the game, too, one that is harder to measure than cap dollars. He was fun. He was spirited. He was cocky. He was tough. Bears fans hated him. He played with broken arms and broken jaws and who knows how many unreported aches and pains. He went over the middle. For a while, there were few receivers in the NFL I would have chosen ahead of him.

I had occasion to find myself at the Packers-Titans game this past season, the last game the team lost before the divisional playoff defeat in St. Louis. In the stands with my parents and future wife, my group arrived early and watched the teams warm up. Freeman was everywhere before the game, chatting up teammates, shagging punts and generally bouncing around like a hyperactive teen at a Strokes concert.

Over the years -- out of sheer, oppressive, family necessity -- my mother has become a knowledgeable and passionate Packer fan. As we watched Freeman mingle during the pre-game, she said to me, without prompting, "I love Freeman. He's my favorite."

Coming from a woman who grew up in Ironwood, Mich. in the 1950s, it was a telling statement on the man's overall appeal.

Should Freeman (who was officially waived Tuesday) not return at a reduced rate before September, we shouldn't remember him for the car accidents and suspensions. We should remember a punt return for a TD in the 1995 playoffs against Atlanta, TD receptions in each Super Bowl, the sprawling Hail Mary TD catch in a rout of the Bears at Soldier Field in 1996 just before halftime (and his emphatic spike of the ball into the retaining wall beyond the end zone in celebration), the fade route for a score in the NFC Championship against Carolina, his go-ahead score against San Francisco in the 1998 playoffs before the inevitable Young-to-Owens pass of lore, and all his other first downs and touchdowns we saw in person.

There is one Freeman moment etched in my mind. In the Monday night game against Jacksonville this past season, the Packers rallied from 14 down in the last 20 minutes to ultimately win, 28-21. On the final drive during a timeout, I watched at home taking short breaths and preaching inner calm as I pondered playoff ramifications. The TV scanned the Packer huddle, with obligatory in-stadium grooves lining the commentary of Al Michaels & Co. as background music. As the team huddled, Freeman swayed his body to the beat in perfect rhythm, digesting the play as well as the bass line. It was the perfect Freeman moment; the game, after all, is supposed to be fun.

Wherever he eventually lands, I'm sure Antonio will enjoy the scenery.