This Is Wisconsin Badger Football: Program Is More Than a Sport

My parents got divorced when I was around 18 years old.  As with any separation of this nature, it was hard for everyone involved.

My mother eventually got married to a gentleman by the name of Robert Price.  Dr. Price, a Russian professor at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point, would become my stepfather for the next 15 years.

As well as being a fine college educator, he was an avid amateur sports fan.  He rooted for everyone, from the local high school to the Division III Pointers, and most avidly for Wisconsin Badger football.

I never got to spend a whole lot of quality time with Bob.  It can be tricky for a young man to establish a relationship with his stepfather, and this situation was no different.  Our time was often limited to holidays and the occasional visit, which consisted of mostly small talk and irrelevance.

Finally, several years ago, I was able to obtain two tickets to the Badger/Spartan game at Camp Randall.  I could have picked from a wide variety of friends more than eager to attend the game, but for some reason I decided that Bob would appreciate this experience more than any other.

Being born and raised in Detroit, the opportunity for Bob to see his Badgers take on his home state university was an offer far too good to pass up.  Plans were set, and we both looked forward to the event at hand.

I arrived early in the morning to pick up Bob and head down to Madison.  Bob, an amputee and diabetic, was not in very good shape that morning.  Suffering from some blood sugar irregularity, he was semi-coherent and babbling indiscernibly.

It was touch and go at first, but with some well-placed snacks from my mother, Bob, although not feeling well, eventually started to come around.  Not wanting to cancel our plans, he was insistent on attending the game.  He was obviously quite tired but intent on spending the afternoon with his stepson watching Bucky lay the smack down on Michigan State.  We hopped in the car and headed for MadTown.

Much like anywhere, when you get to Camp Randall Stadium it is a madhouse.  Bob, slightly rejuvenated, began the long mile-and-a-half trek to the stadium.  Prosthetic leg and all, we trudged slowly through the sea of surging red and white nearly 30-some blocks to the stadium.

Watching this man struggle to the venue was one the hardest things I have ever witnessed.  Stoic as he was, never a word of weakness was uttered, as at the finish line was a date with Big Ten Football.

We eventually got into the madhouse and made our way to the seats.  They were second row end zone, and although there was a constant stream of people walking in front of us, we were present, in person, for kickoff.   

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