The name’s Jeff.

Though I didn’t grow up here, when it comes to the Pack, I may as well have.  See, my folks grew up in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, and if you’re reading this from the U.P., you know that’s Packer country as much as Wisconsin is – you’d have to just about get to St. Ignace to find anyone rooting for the Lions in Da UP.

My mother even attended St. Norbert’s.  And when I was a wee little kid, I grew up wearing a #66 jersey.  At the time I was too small to know or even pronounce the name on the back of the jersey, but I knew it was something important to my folks and my heritage.  My dad would tell me stories about Bart Starr and the Pack of old, imposing their will on whomever they played against.  And he told me how I should gnarl up my face when I was wearing Ray Nitschke’s jersey, so I’d at least look like Nitschke, if I couldn’t play like him.

I attended college in Da UP, having to endure my collegiate years watching Lindy Infante’s Packers serve up year after year of losing teams.  In the early 90’s I moved to the Fox Cities, right around the time a new coach (by the name of Holmgren) and a gunslinger quarterback (with a name that wasn’t pronounced the way it was spelled) joined the team.  From there I became just another statistic, adding my name to the list of local Packer-backers.

I hope you enjoy this blog, and take a minute to reply to some of my entries.  I’m not a big stats guy, but I’m pretty good at calling a spade a shovel when watching a game.  If you think I’m out in left field, call me on it.

My hope is if you’re reading this from somewhere else in the world, you’ll feel a bit closer to the Frozen Tundra.