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.   

We did the whole kit and caboodle.  We feasted on brats and beer in what was an “I buy, you fly” fashion.  We also found ourselves immersed in the jump around and unfortunately got to watch Charles Rogers burn us deep right in front of our eyes.  For all extents and purposes we got crushed, but to the two of us it didn’t matter.

The ride home was quiet.  Bob slept most of the way, and I dropped him off later that evening in what was a less than healthy state.  Not a word was said about the adventure, but the appreciation from this proud man needed no verbalization.

We once again went our separate ways, back to our often disconnected lives.

Dr. Robert Price would pass away less than a year later.  Our Badger game together was the only time we ever truly bonded as father and son.  As I look back, I wish I would have taken the time to create more moments, but in the end, a trip to Camp Randall is all I have to hold onto.

My mother would tell me later on in life how much this trip had meant to my stepfather, and today I share with you exactly how much it meant to me.

Every day I try to take a moment to realize that there is more to sports than what happens on the field.  It is about memories, it is about moments, and it is about making the time to enjoy a spectacle with those you love.

I bleed red and white.  I have hung from trees on State Street after Rose Bowl wins, and I have watched Ron Dayne break every record in Wisconsin history.

None of this really matters to me.  What does matter is the memory of a trip to Camp Randall, with the stepfather I barely knew, and how a trip to Madison changed all of that forever.

That, folks, is Badger Football.

Alex Tallitsch also owns and operates The Packers Lounge a blog on the net dedicated to the Green and Gold.

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