I was named after my father, the third to his junior. But I've never gone by that name except for tax purposes. Instead I go by another name he gave me, Bart, in honor of his favorite football player as a kid, Green Bay quarterback Bart Starr. But being named after a two-time Super Bowl MVP is just the beginning of the bond between my dad and me.
While we share a common love for the Packers, when it came time for me to decide where I'd go to college, our sports loyalties diverged for the first time. Dad is a North Carolina graduate, and bleeds Carolina blue. I grew up going to football games against everyone from Texas-El Paso to William & Mary in Chapel Hill. I loved the Tar Heels too, and followed football and basketball religiously. Dad introduced me to Woody Durham and Mick Mixon's radio coverage of North Carolina games, and after bedtime, I'd stay up for hours on a school night listening to the end of a basketball game, falling asleep to the sounds of the post-game press conference.
Then, I chose Virginia. Sure it was in-state, but it wasn't North Carolina, where not only dad, but mom graduated from too. No matter how similar, Charlottesville wasn't Chapel Hill, and Mac McDonald, voice of the Cavaliers, was no Woody Durham. My allegiance shifted quickly from Dad's beloved Tar Heels, but I think it only intensified the sporting bond, as now we had something else to talk about -- an ACC rivalry.
In football, North Carolina got the best of a Cavalier team struggling without the injured Antoine Womack my first year, but second year was a different story.
Virginia went down to sub-par North Carolina 21-0 in the first half, and I knew I was going to hear about this game for a solid year if Virginia didn't come through. At the half, my dad and younger brother called my apartment and left a five-minute-long message that included the North Carolina fight song and the alma mater, both sung in two-part harmony. Fortunately for me, the Cavaliers stormed back and outscored Carolina 37-6 in the second half to win in one of Virginia's many great comebacks since Al Groh arrived. I returned my dad's call after the game, but he claimed there was "a bad connection" and that he couldn't "hear me."
I called again this year when Virginia knocked off the Tar Heels at U-Hall on Todd Billet's three with 13 seconds remaining. I grabbed a friend's cell phone and was quickly told that "nobody here wants to talk to you."
My dad came with my mom to their first Virginia football game my second year, a 48-13 slaughter of Maryland. They came because at halftime I went on the field to help coach a pee-wee squad I'd coached that season in a short exhibition. But my dad was impressed by what he saw, including the Cav Man video and the exciting brand of football that Groh has brought to Virginia. During that game, somewhere between the thunder sticks and Billy McMullen's leaping pass off a reverse to Michael McGrew right near the student section, my dad began to think about making these games a regular pastime.
By the next August, he'd bought tickets for the upcoming Cavalier season, and North Carolina wasn't even on the Cavaliers' home schedule. I think he realized that Charlottesville was my Chapel Hill, Groh my Dean Smith, and he liked being there for that with me. Plus, he just loves live football.
My dad certainly didn't become a Virginia fan. His loyalty still lies with Carolina, a fact that he stresses more during basketball season than any other time of year. With my brother headed to North Carolina in the fall, we'll see how his attitude toward Virginia athletics evolves. But this was never meant to be a case of conversion; this is a story of a dad and son who love watching sports, especially football games, together. We've seen tons of great ones, maybe even more since I've been to college. Each has a special quality, but the best is easy to pick.
It was our first game at Green Bay, reached by a 20-hour drive to Wisconsin during last fall break and prompted by Brett Favre's possible retirement. Sure, the Packers didn't win-- they suffered a heartbreaking loss in overtime -- but that wasn't nearly as important as being there. My dad sat between my brother and me, and with my high school and college buddy to my right, I knew my best friend was on my left wearing an authentic No. 15 Starr jersey purchased just for the occasion.
On this Father's Day, I know that no matter how many times there is a "bad connection," my dad will be right there, ready to watch another down.
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