It’s funny how something so simple can spark such emotion.
Yesterday, while trying to psych myself up for the (not totally meaningless but I hate preseason games) game against the Cardinals, I found myself strolling through YouTube. The search was on for something to get the blood pumping for the kickoff at Lambeau this season. While the coffee was working its magic waking me up, I knew that something would be able to get me jacked up for a preseason game.
Inspiration often comes in the smallest, most subdued ways.
While I was certain that the sounds of Metallica blasting in my ear would be enough to get me amped up, I found myself watching this instead:
Over and over, I watched this. I had seen it many times in the past, but for some reason, it really got to me yesterday. The words, the story, and the haunting melody playing in the background got me thinking about what a privilege it is to be a Packers fan.
I thought about when I was a kid. Game day for my dad and I was a routine-Church at 9am, home around 1030, and all football for the rest of the day. The jersey would go on right after getting home, and a quick lunch was consumed, with the two of us talking about the match up of who the Packers were playing. The bond between father and son strengthened every Sunday the Packers played.
Once lunch was done, the two of us headed upstairs to take in the game. Unfortunately, living in Chicago did not offer much opportunity to see the Packers play. We were happy with what was available-we listened to the game on a fuzzy sounding WTMJ through the little black radio kept in the bathroom. It was the only room in the house that it worked in, and the only radio that picked up WTMJ out of Milwaukee. So, we made do.
Week after week, we would listen to the game just outside the bathroom, our ears peeled to the radio, every play met with greater anticipation than the one before. The setting was odd, but the greatness of the play taking place over the radio was only surpassed by the greatness of the company I was listening to the game with.
Over time, as technology progressed, we didn’t need the radio to take in the game as often. As the Packers got better, we got to see them on TV more and more. We never got rid of the little black radio though. It always sat on top of the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, always ready for us to use, and create another memory. I will never forget those Sundays listening to the game with my dad. I thought it was a privilege to listen to the games on the radio and have those memories with my dad forever
Thank you Mel Knoke. I feel the power too.
Filed Under: John Rehor