A Century in Green and Gold

My Packers fandom wasn’t just shaped by where I grew up—it was inherited through a family history that had been intertwined with the franchise for generations.

Backstory

I grew up thinking my Packers fandom was mostly a product of place. When you can see Lambeau Field from your childhood bedroom window, it’s easy to assume your loyalty comes from geography alone. The Packers were simply part of the environment I was raised in. What I didn’t fully understand until I got older was that my connection to the team ran much deeper than that. Long before I was born, my family’s story had already become intertwined with the history of the Green Bay Packers.

That connection began with my great-grandfather, George Bertrand, who opened Bertrand’s Sporting Goods in downtown Green Bay in 1931. What started as a small family-owned sporting goods store gradually became one of the Packers’ primary equipment suppliers during the team’s early decades. At a time when NFL organizations operated on far smaller budgets and relationships mattered just as much as contracts, George became more than just a local business owner serving a football team. He became part of the community that helped sustain it.

George supplied the Packers with everything from footballs and uniforms to cleats and other equipment. During training camp at Rockwood Lodge, he would often drive out to fit players for shoes, and if someone couldn’t afford what they needed, he made sure they had it anyway. To him, the Packers weren’t simply another customer. They were part of Green Bay, and Green Bay was part of him.

His support for the team extended well beyond business. During seasons when attendance was low and selling tickets was difficult, George still bought season tickets because he believed the Packers represented something bigger than football for the city. Over time, that commitment evolved into genuine relationships. George became friends with Vince Lombardi, and family stories still tell of Lombardi sitting around the kitchen table with George discussing uniform ideas—or the two of them going duck hunting together in the offseason.

That connection didn’t end with George. Years later, his son—Dick Bertrand—continued the relationship by working alongside the Packers in the equipment room at Lambeau Field. What began with one sporting goods store became a bond that stretched across generations, tying my family not just to the team itself, but to the people and traditions that helped define it.

As a kid, those stories felt like family history more than anything else. I knew them, but I didn’t yet understand what they meant. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized how unusual they really were. Most Packers fans inherit memories of great games, legendary players, and championship seasons. I inherited stories about the people behind the organization—the relationships, the community, and the individuals who helped support one of the NFL’s most storied franchises from the inside.

That perspective changed the way I think about my fandom. I didn’t become a Packers fan because of one game, one player, or one championship run. I became one because the Packers had already been part of my family’s story for decades before I ever watched my first snap. What I inherited wasn’t just allegiance to a football team. It was a sense of connection to the people, place, and history that made the franchise what it is.

That’s why every trip back to Lambeau feels different to me now. Walking through the stadium isn’t just a return to the place where I grew up watching football—it feels like stepping back into a story my family had a hand in long before I was born. When I say I’ve been a Packers fan my whole life, that’s true. But in a lot of ways, the story started long before mine did.