The Weekly Fare . . . September 23, 2004

God Bless the Cheeseheads!

I am a Green Bay Packers fan.

I have a Brett Favre refrigerator magnet. I have a Green Bay pencil holder. I have two frozen mugs in my freezer with the big green Packer "G" on them. (After they thaw out there are little footballs and goal posts that float around between the two layers of plastic . . . I love those things.)

I have a football autographed by Packer legend Ray Nitschke. Ray had been signing autographs at a local eatery as part of a Coors Light promotion. When he saw me across the crowded room holding a football, he bellowed, "HEY!! YOU DER WIT DA FOOTBALL - GIT OVER HERE!!" Someone took our picture. Ray's right hand is over my shoulder. It's bigger than my head.

I bumped into Bart Starr at the Roanoke Regional Airport once. Son George now has his autograph below the words; "To a successful and prosperous future . . ." Starr was about the most likable sports figure anyone could meet. He wouldn't sign the scrap of paper in my hand until he had asked me all about what I did for a living and what my son was interested in. I'm not sure they make sportsmen like that anymore.

This all started with my father whose pension for the Packers turned my brother Randy and I into (and here comes my flair for the understated) "some pretty big fans." Whenever the Green and Gold took the field we were always watching, but never in person, of course. Lambeau field was only a dream - a distant and wondrous Mecca that only a few chosen Wisconsonians would ever see.

So when the call came in 1996 from Randy that an outrageously successful old college buddy of his had two extra tickets to the NFC Championship game, including seats on a Leer jet that would whisk us up and back on the same day, I was so "in" as to be already there. I was going to the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field! For the NFC CHAMPIONSHIP GAME!! It would be against the Panthers with "brats" and beer in the parking lot and cheese heads and . . . I looked at my schedule . . .

"I can't go," I said.

"WHAT??" came the response.

I couldn't believe what I was saying. But there it was on my calendar - a Pastoral Nominating Committee trip to Jackson Mississippi to see some guy named George Anderson. It would be our first PNC visit. I could cancel and send someone else from the committee in my stead, but I was hearing a whisper - and it seemed to be strongly insisting that I stick with my obligation. The more I tried to talk myself out of it, the more persistent the voice became. I am absolutely convinced that by the end of that phone call my brother thought I had lost my mind.

And Maybe I had. After relating the offer that I had been given to Pastor Anderson and jokingly advising him that tomorrow's sermon had better be pretty darn good, he looked me dead in the eye and said, "You idiot! For goodness sakes, man! Why didn't you go to the game?!!" As it turned out he was an even bigger Packer fan than I was - having once met legendary Packer quarterback Brett Favre while in college. As I recall, the sermon was quite good, and the Spirit must have indeed been at work, as we eventually wound up calling the Right Reverend Anderson to be our next Minister. But I must confess that that morning in Mississippi I was lamenting the fact that I'd likely never set foot upon Lambeau Field.

"Oh well," I remember thinking, "Good results normally require a bit of sacrifice . . ."

But today I'm here to tell you that miracles never cease and goodness abounds in strangers and God has his plan . . . Because last week son George and I jetted off to Lambeau Field to watch the Packer home opener against the Chicago Bears!

It all started with an amazing bit of lucky research on the internet that resulted in the securing of a motel room adjacent to Lambeau field and two reasonable air fares to Appleton WI - a scant 25 miles from Green Bay. Now all we needed were tickets, someone to share some "tradition" in the parking lot, and a little bit of luck to make the whole weekend special. All of which came together like clockwork!

Our FIFTY YARD LINE, "best seats in the house" tickets came from one Jay Zempel of Appleton who upon hearing our story sold us two tickets for less than a third of what others were selling them for. After Hurricane Ivan delayed our flight, he drove twenty minutes out of his way on Saturday afternoon to meet us at the airport. Not only did he take the time to give us some great travel and game day tips, but he also presented George with a bag of Packer paraphernalia that included trading cards from the Super Bowl team of 1997. On the way to the rental car George shook his head in disbelief, "Dad, what an incredibly nice man . . . Can you believe he brought me all that stuff ?!"

I couldn't. You just don't meet guys like Jay every day. Perhaps the greatest thing he brought George was his example.

The parking lot "tailgate tradition" came in the form of Howie and Kathy Morois, who together with a hilarious mix of fellow Packer Backers, served us up the best Brats, kraut and Rolling Rock (Pepsi for George!) in all the land. Oompah bands played and a variety of somewhat bawdy jokes were told at the expense of the visiting Bears, but it was all in good fun. (You know you're in good company when some of the men are wearing oversized brassieres made of replicated cheese.). No, this was not what one would call a particularly "theological bunch" but if goodness of heart gets you into heaven, I look forward to seeing them all again. (If, of course, I can find my own way.) We were complete strangers and they happily invited us in. If hospitality is exclusively Southern then these guys are hopelessly lost.

And the weekend magic (compliments of the Spirit I presume) came in the form of one Chris Visser, brother of Leslie Visser of sideline commentary fame, who we met on the plane. Chris is one of those "people persons" who goes out of his way to make others feel special, and his job as the "Spotter" for the Fox Sports Network allowed him to regale George and I with all kinds of great insider stories about "how things worked." He invited us out to the team Hotel that night where his crew would be meeting with Brett Favre. He advised us that he probably couldn't arrange for us to personally meet the famous Quarterback but that we were welcome to watch the process. We had dinner there and were later allowed to sit in a specially designated area of the lobby where we could watch all our favorite players as they came in for a team meeting. George was absolutely thrilled, and Dad was having so much fun that he was ready to wear a piece of cheese on his head. (But no bras, thank you.)

As it turned out, Sunday was a banner day for all Virginians present, including ex-UVA standout and Bear's running back Thomas Jones who had his way with the Packers defense. We would have preferred the Green Bay victory, but if anyone had to knock us off, it might as well have been a star from my old school. The Packers fans were fabulous during the game, pulling hard for their team under tough conditions and even after the final gun had sounded, they cheered their Packers as they headed for the locker room. Green Bay is the only team in the NFL owned by the fans and it's more than evident in the loyalty and unswerving spirit they display. As Chris Visser had told us on the flight up, Lambeau Field is probably the best venue in all of sport. He'd find no argument here.

As "luck" would have it, Chris was on our plane back to Cincinnati. As we passed his seat he implored us to meet him at the end of the ramp when we got off .We found him there digging through his bags to come up with some unique gifts for George - including a special media guide prepared for the networks and an Official Security Pass to all parts of Lambeau Field. By now George was feeling like a celebrity himself, grinning and thanking his third benefactor with a sheepish smile that belied his youthful appreciation.

Tomorrow, I'm sending three Virginia Hams to three different homes in the U.S. They're not much really, but I hope they express our appreciation for the acts of kindness that not only made our trip so memorable, but also helped to reaffirm my belief in the basic goodness of the human heart and for our ultimate capacity to love one another. Such "random acts of kindness," as the bumper stickers call them, are what make the world go around - make the world a far more joyful place to be . . . Hopefully George and I will find similar ways to pass them on to "strangers" that cross our paths down the road.
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Are there any strangers, really?

Not to folks like these.

May God Bless the Cheeseheads - and all good and real people everywhere!