Playoff or Porcelain Bowl, ask Coach Lombardi

Apparently, Vince Lombardi was as nauseous as my mother when the Packers played the Browns on January 5, 1964.

They had all gathered in Miami for the Playoff Bowl, a game so anticlimactic Mr. Lombardi referred to it as a "hinky-dink football game, held in a hinky-dink town, played by hinky-dink players."
Coach Lombardi expressed his disgust for the bowl, which pitted the two second place teams against each other and took place one week after the NFL title game, to anyone within earshot, a considerably wide range for the vocal Italian. My mother, meanwhile, was pregnant...with me.
We found my dad's handwritten notes recently, and they piqued our interest in one of sports history's oddest bowls. Deemed an exhibition game, the Playoff Bowl did not count toward any statistics. Even though Bart Starr completed 15 of 18 passes for three touchdowns and 259 yards, including a record-setting 99-yard touchdown pass, none of those numbers factored in his career numbers.  
Other records set that day but not counted included:

• Most points scored in game- by the Packers (40) and both teams (63).

• Most yards gained rushing- by Green Bay (231)

• Most total yards gained- by both Green Bay (490) and Cleveland (418).

The Playoff bowl lasted a decade from 19961 through 1970, a remarkable run for a game hardly anyone wanted to play.

The 1963 Packers won the 1964 Playoff Bowl, a game
their coach called the toilet (or something less appropriate) bowl.

We found these notes and started wondering
why the team would be preparing to play a
football game after the NFL championship
game already had been played.

They took notes on scratch paper back in the day.

Pretty thorough preparation for a game no one wanted to play.

lay.

Our friend Trina gave us hope

The last ornament hiding on a lower branch of our Christmas tree had the biggest story to tell and made the melancholy task of its removal all the more so.
Our friend Trina gave us our "hope" ornament and I spotted it stubbornly clinging to the tree well after I thought I had taken down all of the ornaments. I even chuckled a little because it was so appropriate that my Trina ornament would outlast all the rest.
Trina, who rose to the challenge of a stage four breast cancer diagnosis with tremendous grace and strength, died on October 2 this year. The terrible irony of Trina's death is that the cancer did not kill her. She wouldn't let it.
Handed a death sentence, Trina fought back. She travelled back and forth across the country for weekly treatments at MD Anderson in Houston, Texas. She took advantage of holistic techniques and made dramatic changes to her eating habits. And when the breast cancer invaded her brain, she battled that back too.
During this extraordinarily difficult period in her life, Trina became a local celebrity. She launched the Trina Fund to help women defray the cost of cancer treatments. She organized her hundreds of followers into a group called Trina's Warriors and urged them to pray for other cancer victims. She chatted companionably with all kinds of people, both in person and via the Internet.
Trina triumphed over her cancer and, for a short while, she enjoyed a relatively carefree life again. Little by little, though, death launched a second front and Trina began to slur her words and have trouble with her balance. Necrosis of the brain stem, a chance reaction to radiation, did what the cancer could not. Eventually, it killed her.
Sometimes we have to plow through a tremendous mound of sorrow to uncover hope. Thanks to Trina, I think I found it on my Christmas tree.
I hope we'll all continue to support cancer research so heartbreaking battles like Trina's will not be in vain. I hope we all find a tiny measure of the fierce determination to live Trina displayed, and that we use it to appreciate our own opportunities here on earth. And, finally, I hope we can keep our minds open to the possibilities that transcend us.
Because as I yanked the last string of lights off our tree this year, and I am happy to report that Molly witnessed this small miracle, I found one last ornament. The engraved silver star read "Believe."

It was tucked away so we could barely see it,
but eventually we found the hope.

In the middle of her battle with cancer, Trina, left, and her
daughter Hillary, right, came to see Katherine in Madison .

Trina fought her cancer with a sassy attitude and a twinkle in her eyes.

Trina was a beautiful woman who raised two beautiful children.
Below is her daughter Hillary's video. Hillary was born a gifted
musician and her journey with her mother has given her music
extra poignancy, depth and beauty. Enjoy.

*For more information about the Trina Fund, see this page:

http://www.womensfundfvr.org/html/grants.php#Trina

Spontaneously we took the plunge

One New Year's morning eight years ago, I woke up and decided I wanted to take the Polar Plunge.

My then 14-year old daughter Katherine offered to join me, which both surprised me and committed me to the event. The temperatures hovered around 0 as we rooted through the house for appropriate gear. Hampering our search was our clear realization that we had no idea what constituted appropriate gear for jumping into a frozen lake. We thought shoes might be a good idea.
Molly, then aged five, and Vinnie, aged 11, volunteered to be our wingmen and an extremely skeptical Vince agreed to be our driver.
If Katherine had second thoughts as we fought our way through the festive crowd to the opening someone had thoughtfully chopped into the thick ice, she did not say. As it was my idea, I plastered a giant grin on my face and pretended not to be scared. This façade came in handy when I heard my name called out over the din.
A colleague waved cheerfully from the pier. Until that moment it had not occurred to me that anyone I knew would see me flailing though the icy water in my swim suit.
Worse, I spied photographers.
Adrenalin propelled us forward and we ran into the water. Not too bad, I thought, and I stupidly dove under. For just a moment there under the water, safely hidden from the paparazzi, I thought I was going to die. My brain stopped communicating with the rest of my body and my limbs would not move. I might have stayed lodged there until spring had not my maternal instincts finally kick in. "Must. Save. Katherine," I thought as I struggled to my feet. This is how I remember it anyway.
Photographs of the event tell another story, one far less heroic. The truth is my skinny 14-year old daughter dragged me out of the icy water that day and into the blessed arms of little Vinnie, who stood at the edge of the water with a big blanket for us.
I have not once since that morning awoken with an urge to jump into icy water, but I don't regret our plunge. It taught me two valuable life lessons:
1) That skinny 14-year old is stronger than she looks
2) It's not the size of the wingmen that matters, it's the size of their heart (and the blanket they hold).

Here's our before shot. We weren't sure we would survive.

Photographic evidence of Katherine yanking me out of
the water. She is being helped by then Appleton Post-Crescent
City Editor Bernie Peterson, who sent me this photo.

That's Molly in the front wearing my coat.
We were thrilled to see them on the shore
as we emerged.

This is a hilarious shot of us being interviewed following the big plunge.

Note the gentleman walking on the ice behind us.

The NFL career that nearly wasn't

Just 20 years old when the Packers offered him a contract in 1960, my dad needed a parental signature to launch his NFL career. That took some convincing.
My grandma, Julie Kostelnik, worried her young son would get hurt and she initially refused to sign.
As Phil Bengston, reporters, Dad and his college girlfriend Peggy Fey all crowded into my grandparents' small living room, my grandfather, a coal miner named Mickey Kostelnik, chuckled.
"Hey," he said. "Why don't you interview a man who works for a living?"
Eventually, Grandma relented and signed the contract that paid my dad, a second round draft pick, $8,750 for the season. He used the $750 signing bonus he received to buy an engagement ring, setting up a memorable weekend the following June in which he and my mother hosted a rehearsal dinner on a Thursday night, graduated from the University of Cincinnati on Friday and  married on Saturday. Less than a week later, following a send-off brunch at which all of my mother's relatives cried because no one had ever heard of Green Bay Wisconsin, the young couple packed up and drove away.
My dad went on to play nine years in the NFL, earning five NFL championships including two Super Bowl titles.
The irony of that success is that no one saw it coming. My dad didn't play football at all until high school and his college career developed only by chance. The UC coaching staff spotted him in game film they were reviewing of Ed Denk, an offensive lineman from a neighboring high school. The Bearcats ended up signing both Ed and my dad, once they'd tracked him down.
Ed actually had to convince my dad to accept the scholarship and the two prep opponents became carpool buddies and, eventually, lifelong friends.
And, as thrilled as she was when my dad graduated from college thanks to the scholarship he earned on the football field, my grandma never did warm to the game.

It took some convincing for her to sign it,
and then my Grandma kept the contract for more
than 40 years before she eventually gave it to me.
Of all the signature's on this document, including Pete
Rozelle, Phil Bengston and Vince Lombardi, Julie
Kostelnik's turned out to be the most coveted that day.

Back then everyone received essentially the same
one-page, two-sided contract with hand written amounts.
The only addendum on my dad's contract was this paragraph
regarding his bonus.

Baba and Pap, shown here in their living room in 1989, were not
very impressed by their NFL visitors back in 1960.

He had to convince his mom to let him play.

And the night shall be filled with music

Dr. Tim Winch used to herald the New Year in our neighborhood by taking a midnight lap around the block playing Auld Lang Syne on his trombone.

Behind him trailed lucky invitees to the Winch New Year's Eve party, whose happy revelry loudly laid claim to one of the coolest holiday gatherings in town.
Sadly, Dr. Winch died in 2005 but he left a legacy of music that, thanks to the wonders of cyberspace, reaches well beyond the corners of our lucky street. All three Winch children are accomplished musicians and two of them released albums this year.
The oldest Winch and only daughter, Tanya, has been singing professionally most of her adult life. She just released her most recent album, Dirty Mercy. Based in Austin, Texas Tanya performs all over and teaches songwriting within a group called Girl Guitar.
Sam Winch released the Lullabadeer in 2005 and created a whole new genre of coffee house/circus music. On that album Sam performs with a 10-piece band including a trombone. He's released a second album called Senator Sam since then and has been featured on various television shows including Grey's Anatomy.
An accomplished pianist, Adam Winch also writes contemporary music and performs both with his siblings and solo.
Along with the Winches, our neighborhood has produced other outstanding musicians including Cory Chisel, Ethan Cook (American Fiction) and Hillary Reynolds (the Hillary Reynolds Band).
Born in this neighborhood and swaddled by the quality sounds of our friends, Molly has developed an appreciation for great tunes and lovely lyrics. We've been spoiled by the sounds we can here right from our front porch and, in the case of Ethan, on our roof.
So, even though we'll miss Dr. Winch and his trusty trombone when we ring in 2012, we won't be without excellent music and we hope you're not either. Read on for links to some of our favorite Appleton musicians.

Molly and I tried to upload music from this wonderful album
every way we could think, but this blog is not suited for audio
files. Trust us, though, it is worth a listen. Check here for more
of Tanya's music: http://tanyawinch.com/. The album can be
purchased here: https://www.cdbaby.com/cd/tanyawinch

Here is Hillary Reynolds singing one of our favorites. Here

is a link to more HRB music: http://www.hillaryreynoldsband.com/

Get your own version of Auld Lang Syne right here:

http://americanfiction.bandcamp.com/album/angels-amongst-men

Here is a link to more American Fiction tunes: http://americanfiction.bandcamp.com/

A toast to my big brother George. The richest man in town.

Until my mother brought a beautiful bouquet (and, inexplicably, a loaf of challah) to our house, I had not considered that this would be the silver anniversary for my husband and me. I often still feel like the college kid who worked long hours on the student newspaper and flirted with a handsome goofball named Vince.

The quarter of a century since then has been busy for us and passed so quickly we hardly ever paused to reflect. Four of our proudest accomplishments from all those years stepped in and, last Friday, they allowed us to do just that.
We celebrated with a four-course meal orchestrated by my oldest daughter Katherine. Rich in so many ways, the meal hardened our arteries and softened our hearts. Each of our children prepared something and, as we ate our way through stuffed mushrooms, salad, braised short ribs, creamy mashed potatoes and chocolate cake, we felt our gratitude (and our waistlines) growing.
Our wedding took place on a frigid Saturday on January 3, 1987. Vince's brother Jimmy, who was just 13-years old then, gave a toast that quoted one of the Biskupic family's favorite movies.
"A toast to my big brother Vince," he said. "The richest man in town."
Our lives since that toast have been richly blessed by kind children, loyal family and special friends.
And, while it still does not seem possible that 25 -- twenty five -- years have gone by, I only need look at our four sweet chefs, all of whom have grown taller than me, to know that they have.
We raised our glasses at the anniversary dinner too, grateful for the years and keenly aware of how quickly they pass.

Our four chefs take a quick break from the kitchen chaos for this pose.

Vinnie handled the first course and produced these delicious stuffed mushrooms.

Katherine plated a lovely salad with balsamic herb vinaigrette

Charlie hand mashed the potatoes.

My mom and John brought flowers for us and bread for Chanukah.

Charlie's braised short ribs. So delicious. We had never had them
before. We had never had a Dutch Oven before either. Well worth
the purchase.

Molly's double chocolate cake capped the feast.

A perfect season of friendship lasts nearly 50 years

Among the many enduring friendships built during the Lombardi era, perhaps the most unusual was that of tight end Marv Fleming and my mother, Peggy Kostelnik.

Fleming, who stood 6-4, grew up poor in South Los Angeles. Boosted by her sixties bouffant, Mom barely reached 5-2 and led a charmed life as a Cincinnati co-ed.
Despite such disparate childhoods, the two formed a bond based on an appreciation for classic literature and good health, and a keen eye on a future beyond the football field.
Their friendship developed on the team bus. Back then the Packers split their season home games between Lambeau Field in Green Bay and County Stadium in Milwaukee. The wives rode the team bus back to Green Bay after Milwaukee games and, while most of the gang dozed, Marv and Mom chatted.
He came to our little house on South Fisk Street for Polish meals my grandmother whipped up when she visited.
In 1968 my dad had to get to the stadium early to rehab an injury, so Marvin drove me to nursery school and let me stand on the passenger seat of his car as we cruised through the Green Bay streets.
The next year, when my Dad was traded to the Baltimore Colts and our family moved to an apartment there, my Mom asked Marvin to house-sit. Another characteristic they shared was extreme tidiness. Later that season, when the Colts played the Packers in Green Bay, my mom asked my dad to check on the house. She was thrilled to hear Marvin had made Dad remove his shoes before entering.
Last year, Marvin was inducted into the Packer Hall of Fame. He invited my mom to sit at his table and mentioned her in his gracious speech. Extremely successful throughout a 13 year football career, Marvin played for two legendary teams, the Green Bay Packers and the Miami Dophins. He played in five Super Bowls, earned four rings and was a member of the only NFL team to complete a perfect season, the 1972 Dolphins.
He has thrived off the field as well and his lifelong commitment to good health has paid off. He and my mom still chat periodically, in person, on the phone and via email.
Marvin lives well, invests wisely and supports several charities, with his favorite being the Herbie Fund at the Hospital for Sick Children in Toronto.
Molly has met Marvin a few times, including a summer afternoon two years ago. As I took their picture, Marvin urged me to fill the frame. He reviewed the digital picture and shook his head. "No, you have to fill the frame," he said. "Focus in."
I believe this phrase accurately describes Marvin, a poor kid from Compton who works hard to fill the frame of a very big life.

Here they are at the Packer Alumni brunch earlier this season.

He used to drive me to nursery school.

Molly and my sister Kathy pose with Marv as he urges me to fill the frame.

Friends for 47 years.