There are certain games that stick with you — not because of the final score, but because of the way they’re played. The kind where effort shows up in every possession and leadership doesn’t need to be loud to be felt (and coming from me, that’s saying something). This one happened to be my first game stepping in as head coach, but what made it memorable had very little to do with me.
This weekend was one of those games for Jackson.
From the opening tip, he was locked in. Focused. Ready to do whatever the team needed… and as the game unfolded, it became clear that his impact wasn’t going to be measured just in points, but in stops, hustle plays, and moments that quietly changed the direction of the game.
Let’s start with defense — because that’s where this game was won long before the scoreboard caught up.
Jax, you took on their best shooter and shut him down. He managed just one shot all game because you were everywhere — hands up, feet moving, body in the right place every possession. You forced tough jumpers and never let him get comfortable. That kind of defense doesn’t always show up in the stat sheet, but it wins games. Your defense was locked in, disciplined, and relentless.
Then there was the hustle.
The ball felt like it had your name on it. You kept it alive over and over — offensive rebounds, assists, steals, tip-outs — just refusing to let possessions die. When we were down by six and momentum wasn’t ours, you were the spark.
No one in this league wants to see you defending them and for sure no one wants to drive the lane and see you standing in the key. You’re like a young Dennis Rodman (before he dyed his hair like an Easter egg). Those extra efforts don’t always go as stats in the box score, but they change everything. They kept us in the game and helped turn it around.
Slowly, possession by possession, we climbed back.
Eventually, we took the lead. Eventually, we won.
And there you were, right in the middle of it — leading the way, doing the little things, helping us come back and keep our team in first place.
Jackson, this was your game. And it’s one I’ll never forget.
PS: I plan on retiring with an undefeated head coaching record!
The scoreboard said we lost our playoff game today… but I walked off that field proud of my son and my team.
This season, my son played up with the fourth graders even though he’s only in third grade. From day one, he never used that as an excuse. He just showed up… every single time. Not one missed practice. Not one late arrival. Every drill, every rep, every huddle… he gave his full effort.
He earned his spot as a starter on offense and defense. He returned kicks and he did everything we asked and more, without ever complaining. He worked hard, listened, and played with heart every single game. That’s not something you can coach… that’s just who he is.
As his coach, I saw the growth. As his dad, I saw the love for the game and for his teammates in his eyes everytime I looked at him.
The quiet confidence that comes from knowing you’ve earned it, that is not part of his game yet… so I’ll say it for him…
He belonged here this year… and he earned every second of it. When the season ended, even in that tough loss, I realized something: stats and scores don’t define a player — character does
There are trips you plan, and then there are trips that have been living in you for years even before you ever pack a bag.
This one felt like the latter.
I had been to Lambeau Field before—twice, actually. Once with Stephanie which resulted in me catching Jordy Nelson in Lambeau Leap and once for a -19* playoff win, so I knew what it looked like, what it felt like, how it somehow manages to feel both massive and intimate at the same time. But I had never been there like this. Never with both of my boys. Never with the four of us together. Never as three Packers owners standing side by side, carrying a tradition we’ve talked about endlessly at home into the place where it actually lives.
After landing in Miwaukee on a quiet Friday night, we started the long drive across Wisconsin, the kind of drive where conversation fades in and out and everyone is half-tired but too excited to really sleep. Green Bay doesn’t announce itself loudly. There’s no sudden skyline, no dramatic entrance. Instead, it sneaks up on you. And then, in the distance, you see it—a small glow against the dark sky. Easy to miss if you didn’t know what you were looking for.
But we knew.
That tiny illuminated speck grew with every mile. Slowly at first. Then unmistakably. Until finally, there it was—Lambeau Field, rising out of a sleepy town like a cathedral, glowing against the night as if it had always been there and always would be. I’ve seen it before, but seeing it through the windshield with my family beside me made it land differently. Heavier. Fuller.
We couldn’t go to bed, not even after a long flight and a three hour drive… That night we found ourselves right inside Lambeau for some food and a walk around the atrium where so many of my football memories live. It wasn’t the focus of the trip, but it added to the feeling that this place isn’t just about Sundays. It’s about moments. Shared ones.
Inside the stadium, everything felt amplified. We took the tour. We walked the halls. Later in the trip we would step onto the field and stand beneath the goalposts, trying to fully process the fact that we were standing where legends stood. In the Hall of Fame, the Lombardi Trophies gleamed behind glass, and for a moment the boys were quiet. Not because they were bored—but because they were registering something bigger than themselves.
Meeting former players throughout the weekend felt like touching history. Dan Majkowski. Brady Poppinga. James Lofton. Jerry Kramer—a Hall of Famer whose name still carries weight the second it’s spoken. Watching him talk to Jax about how to avoid a block and footwork and then allowing him, as the oldest, (because according to Jerry, “the oldest has the most responsibility”), to wear his Super Bowl Ring had me covered in goosebumps. Watching my boys meet them, shake their hands, listen to their stories, felt like watching football generations overlap in real time.
And then there was Oliver, standing with Super Bowl champion Ryan Grant, getting a lesson in running back technique. No crowd. No pressure. Just a former Packer passing down knowledge to a kid who dreams in green and gold. That’s the kind of moment you don’t fully understand while it’s happening—but you know it will matter forever.
Game day came fast.
We spent the morning in Titletown, the boys running around with that restless energy only kids can have when something big is coming. We tossed a football back and forth, the boys throwing passes to Steph (who believe it or not throws a pretty tight spiral) while Lambeau towered over us in the background. That image—casual, unscripted, perfect—might be my favorite memory of the whole trip. No tickets scanned. No crowd noise yet. Just us, a football, and the stadium looming quietly behind it all.
Tailgating together felt like something we had been rehearsing for years. Food, laughter, green and gold everywhere. Conversations with strangers that didn’t feel like strangers at all because when you’re there, wearing those colors, you’re already connected. The boys took it all in, wide-eyed, absorbing not just the spectacle but the sense of belonging.
The game itself had its own unexpected twist. With Jordan Love injured, Malik Willis stepped in and did what Packers quarterbacks have always been asked to do—win. Watching him guide the team to a win felt symbolic, especially with my boys beside me… waiving the Yellow G Flag in support. Football, like life, doesn’t always go according to plan. But preparation, belief, and opportunity still matter. The end of the game came down to a defensive stop on fourth down to put the game away and just like that the four of us cheered like it was a Super Bowl win.
As we walked out of Lambeau that day, tired and happy and still buzzing from a HUGE WIN, I realized something simple but important. I’ve written a lot about the Packers. I’ve watched them for decades. I’ve passed that love down intentionally, sometimes obsessively. But this trip wasn’t about teaching my kids why the Packers matter.
It was about watching them feel it.
Seeing the place. Standing on the field. Meeting the players. Throwing a football in the shadow of Lambeau. Driving toward a glowing stadium on a quiet Wisconsin night and knowing exactly where we were headed… to the place where the Lombardi Trophy was born…. and while it might visit other cities… the Lombardi Trophy will always call Titletown home.
Titletown
This wasn’t just my third trip to Green Bay.
It was our first—together.
And somehow, that made Lambeau feel brand new again.
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BTW… we are now all currently on the 44 year waitlist for Season Rickeys at Lambeau:
Go Pack Go!!!
The Owner Trio
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…PS When you can try to get in a Lambeau Leap… you do it!
Hopefully this is just the first of his many Lambeau Leaps
The greatest day of the year. Draft day. I already locked up my #1 pick!
Expert analysis to the above draft pick: “Really bro?? His squats are terrible as is his 40 and Herbstreet claims he has “adverse reactions to dairy, soy, and the zone blitz”
“I wouldn’t draft him in a PPR. Kid’s got no hands!”
A Letter from the Commissioner to the Leagueions:
Good Morning Ladies,
I write because it is that time of year again when we must all start preparing for the single most important event of the year, Fantasy Football. Yes this is more important than Vic and Mike’s weddings (no they didn’t marry each other, surprisingly enough). First, while it sickens me to do so, I must pay my respects to our reigning champion and first ever to be presented with The Hearthstone Trophy… Jimbo (I suffer enough as a Mets fan) Brunetti and his silent co-owner Ray Glow whom I have never met, and have suspicions that it’s really Jim’s wife.
The league started off in a bad way, considering the commissioner was unable to accurately locate the BWW and was late to his own league draft. Highlights included Ryan (I know nothing about football) Klein, ordering spicy Asian wings by saying this was not his first time “having an Asian”. Also noted was the Jimbo our league champ left without paying his tab… typical Mets fan. Then the Pick Heard Round the World happened. Michael Crabtree who was fresh out of season ending Achilles surgery and was picked in the 5th round by Mr. Klein. Words of advice for this year boys: “If he don’t have a sticker… don’t be a picker!” Not present on draft day, Jason (I only like to draft slow guys, his words not mine) crept his way in and out of the playoffs all season before falling off the last few weeks.
Don’t forget the scoring change that had to be voted on after the draft since yours truly screwed up the settings. If you weren’t aware, with the settings that were originally set, Jacoby Jones was projected to score 87 more points than Calvin Johnson because of the return yards scoring. This was quickly changed and order was restored (and my team was back on track to win the league since I did not draft any returners). Our inaugural season was marked by some huge trades, names like Calvin Johnson, Aaron Rodgers, Eddie Lacy and Tony Homo all being packaged and shipped off to different teams than they were drafted by.
So now the league sets itself up for a new year of expectations, and Sundays filled with excitement and for some horrible drafters (RFizzle) lots of crying. We have some new members this year who look to fill the void of the two who could not handle how we here in the “Who’s Coming With Me” league roll. That being said I would like to formally introduce our newest members, Miguel (I hang out with Jordan Cannetelli) Dwarte, Dwight (My biceps are bigger than my brain) DiMartino and Dante (no name, sorry I actually don’t know your last name as I type this) and Zack (wait you were in the league last year) St. John. Good luck young grasshoppers, as we come to play in this league.
The draft this year will have a few surprises. We will be live drafting at Casa de Hearthstone. We will have a guest MC, and a chef who will cater the event. I will not however, supply any of you alcoholics with beer, so bring your own. If you have any specific ideas on how you would like the draft order to be selected just throw them on the Facebook league page and we will vote on them soon.
For the newbies, your team names have to be great and represent who you are a Fantasy Football Manager… unless your name is Jim Brunetti and Ray Glow and you name your team “Team Brunetti” This year, as the Commish, I claim the right to change all team names that have not been changed from the original setting, also if payments have not been made by the first week of November I also will be changing the name of your team to something of my choosing. My hope is that Vic doesn’t pay so I can change his name to “Brother of SlimCeli”.
I hate you all… and I can’t wait to hear from y’all soon!
Sorry Sons: Chronicles of a New Dad 