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
Over the course of almost three years Buster and Max have been on the short end of the stick for a lot of famous incidents. There’s the Meatball Massacre, the Christmas Catastrophe and the time Jax let Buster and Max outside in a driving snow storm without us knowing… poor dogs turned into real life Four legged Olafs.
But the thing is these guys were here long before Jackson… and honestly I’ve cleaned more Buster and Max pee and poop then I’ve cleaned up from Jackson. These guys are a huge part of Jackson’s life and from day one, they’ve been extremely protective of him.
Meanwhile, Jackson has tried to ride Buster like he was a camel and has attempted many WWF finishing moves on poor Max. Both dogs have nubby tails, yet Jackson is still able to yank on them and the fact that Buster’s ears are still attached to his head is a miracle.
The thing is though, Jackson has learned how to be patient, caring and at times remorseful through his relationship with his “brothers”. It’s been, at times stressful, but for the most part it’s been so very rewarding to watch my son and two dogs interact and enjoy each other’s company.
They say a dog is mans best friend… but I’d venture to say that once a child comes along… a dog is a boy’s best friend. (Especially this little boy and “Di-Di-Dah and Dah”).
Sorry Sons: Chronicles of a New Dad 