Super Bowl XLV and My Dad's Death

"Winning isn't everything. It's the only thing."
--Vince Lombardi

“Football is a great deal like life in that it teaches that work, sacrifice, perseverance, competitive drive, selflessness and respect for authority is the price that each and every one of us must pay to achieve any goal that is worthwhile.”
--Vince Lombardi

In 1967, during the massive offensive push called the Tet Offensive (named after the Vietnamese new year "Tet"), a young mess sergent was pulling base-camp guard-duty in a well-worn foxhole. His name was Alan Bernardy; in the crook of his left arm was an M-16 and in his right hand was a transistor radio, plastered to his right cheek and crackling a broadcast from a world away. The broadcast was of the 1967 NFL Championship between the Green Bay Packers and the Dallas Cowboys, in a game for the ages labeled "The Ice Bowl." Alan, sweating in his tropical hell, could still feel the sting of the -16 degree (-48 celsius) temperature of the game, for he had spent his first seventeen years enduring the cold Wisconsin winters.

This young mess sergeant was my dad. He died just over a month ago at the age of ... 67.

Growing up, there was no choice that I would be a Green Bay Packer fan. It was a family ritual that I could not escape. I took them into my heart as my dad fostered not only a love for football but also a love for his home team. I lived my entire life in Kentucky, but that did not matter. Being a Green Bay fan does not require that one live in Wisconsin.

My dad and I banged heads many times in my life, but our love for the Green Bay Packers always forged two hard heads into one partisan effort at pride. It was our greatest bond.

Before my dad spiralled into dementia from the amount of ammonia in his blood due to his failing kidneys, one of the last things I said to him that he comprehended was that I didn't think Green Bay was going to make the playoffs, that they needed to win their last two games to do so. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. What he would never know is that Green Bay would never lose another game, winning six in a row, including last night's thrilling Super Bowl. Not only would they make the playoffs, but they would become world champions.

I don't think I believe in mysticism so much that I think Green Bay won because my dad died. Many Green Bay Packer fans died over the last few months, I'm sure, and each one's family could make that claim. However, what this win means to my sister and I as we move on as the only members left of our family is much more personal, but no less monumental. It brings symmetry to the one tradition that all four of us (including my mom, who died in 2008) agreed upon at all times: that we love the Green Bay Packers.

As I was laying in bed last night, I brought my boys in to sleep with me. I do that sometimes. In the dark, I asked for their attention. I said: "You boys will not care much about this now, but someday when you are older you will wonder about this night. You will be big Green Bay fans just like me. At first it will be only because you love daddy and like to love what daddy loves. But soon, the team will enter your heart and belong to you like it did me. At that moment, you will remember this night and think of me and grandpa and what it all means."

They remained quiet, unable to understand fully what happened. As I write this, I look to my left bicep and the Green Bay "G" tatoo that I got in 1996, the last time Green Bay won the Super Bowl. Yes, my boys will definitely understand someday.

~Sign Off ~