A Letter to Bill Simmons of ESPN (The night I found out)

I love my Dad.

I am the son of the best person I've ever met. Think about those eleven words. I am the son of the best man I've ever met. To me he is Phelps in China. Sure it's been said before, and at times I bet some people have meant it, but I believe it. So many sons think of their dads as larger than life figures who can tackle anything with force and might. My Dad showed me honesty, thoughtfulness, caring, respect, and patience are more powerful tools for a man to use.

I have three children. They are without question the greatest things I have done in my lifetime. Jersey is four and a half, Piper is three, and my son Cru is not quite 8 months. Having them gave me a new set of eyes. I no longer have the eyes of a son, a brother or a friend. Now I have the eyes of my father.

I see the way he sculpted me into a man. How he made my sister into the a woman every family would be proud of. And how when you find the women of your life you never let them forget how much you are in love with them.

About two years ago I can remember my Dad swinging through town to pick up odds and ends for Door County, when I stopped by his house after work. After the initial Packer talk, Sox talk, Bulls talk, ect...The conversation changed to the future. We talked about things he still wanted to do and places he still would like to see. We talked about my dreams. Dreams I have for Tracy (my wife) and myself, and dreams I have for my children.

My dad said to me, "I am so proud of the man you are, Mike. You have always had many talents, but who knew being a dad would be your best." To me that was the equivalent of Tiger saying, "Mike, I wish I had your short game."

When Cru was born I felt a deeper connection to my Dad. Cru made me realize how important my Dad was in influencing me. The first two months of my sons life I was harder on him than Belichek on a reporter. I didn't see it then, but I do now. My dad and I were talking about how hard life had become between juggling a family and a career in the auto industry when he kind of stopped me and said, "Mike hang in there. Know that I love you."

He listen to me and knew that sometimes all you can offer and all you need are the same, love. He showed me just how much my son needs my love. He needs my hugs and kisses. He needs me to tell him I love you.

I want to watch him sing Christmas songs on an out of tune ukulele to his grandkids on Christmas.

I want to talk him into spending way too much on going to the Super Bowl to watch the Packers, because who knows when this will ever happen again.

I want to see him play catch in the front yard with Cru and Colette and Tom's son while the girls cheer. Who am I kidding, Piper will be out there making tackles.

I want to go on a guys fishing trip again and know the only thing I care about catching, is time with my Dad.

I want to play a round of golf with three generations of Lucier men where we all break 50 on the front nine.

I want my best friend to be ok.

I wrote this tonight after I found out my Dad has cancer. I've already read it and reread it hundreds of times, and two things hit me like Reggie White hitting Bledso in the Super Bowl.

The first is that you only get one Dad. In his life, if he does his job as a dad, he will be your hero, best friend, and your greatest loss. Before I met up with him tonight, he was already the first two.

The second is how important sports are to dads and sons. Sports are the single biggest reason to call your dad for no reason. Why else would I call my Dad on a random night in the middle of the week and give him the play by play of last three innings of Buerle's no no? When I really stop and think about it, do my Dad and I really need to know the intrococies of why Scott Wells was demoted? Is it that important to figure out where the Bulls are going to come up with scoring now that Gordon left? In the end of July? I believe it's the way we say I love you to dad.

The Masters has always been held as one of the faces on the Lucier sports Mt Rushmore. One of the last real memories I have of my Grandpa is sitting in his family room the year Jack drank from the Fountain of Youth. I remember goofing around for the duration of the front nine, while my Dad and Grandpa talked about what ever it is adults talk about when you are nine years old. Then it started to happen. As each hole went on, less words were spoken. By the time Jack got to the par 3 neither person would say a word until after each shot. I think they thought they were there. I didn't get it.

I get it now. My dad and I watched the British this year the same way over the phone. There were times when no words were spoken for minutes at a time. Even though he is hundreds of miles away and the bill kept getting bigger, it was the best Sunday of the summer.

Outside of my family I have one true love, the Green Bay Packers. I was born in 1976. It wasn't until the mid 80's that I understood what this team meant to my family. I became a fan at about the same time as Anthony Dilwig and Randy Wright were under center. Bad time to start. They were followed by the Magic Man (he was behind the line). Better for sure, but not great. Then Wolf traded for Favre and the rest is history.

I can tell you every Td he threw and every smile he put on my face. I drove 7 hours both ways all winter long to see him play. Do you know how hard it is to do that when you are going to school at ISU? My Dad and I met at almost every game wondering what he would do next.

I loved the flyovers.

I loved playing catch at the Midway.

I loved the yapping with Sapp.

I loved my Dad's stories of being at the Icebowl.

I loved the wins, and the losses. Because at least we still had Favre.

I loved being a Packer fan.

I loved being my Dad's son.

If Lambeau Field was completely empty and you could pick out any two seats in the stadium, you would pick out the two we have. We have two seats on the 49 yard lines. The midfield line splits your shoulders. I couldn't imagine being anywhere in the world but there when Brett comes back. This year though, the seat next to me will be empty. My best friend will be battling for his life.

If the chemo acts like the 85 Bears D the odds are that he will make it at least another five years. If it acts like the Packers D from last year...he's in real trouble. What I'm saying is that a Packer fan is cheering for the Bears!

Here is what I am getting to. I think you and your dad should take the seats with a couple of stipulations. One...You must cheer for Brett when he takes the field. (I hope he throws 7 td and they loose by 1). Two...You have to do a diary.(Say Bernie Lucier a few times to help his sprits) Three...Midway through the second half there will be a lull during a TV timeout, tell your dad what he means to you.

This is what I would like in return. One...Somehow if my Dad is going strong enough by next April, help us get to the Masters. Two...if not, help send me. If he is too weak to go, I'll come back and tell him what the fairway smelled like and how the curves on Amen Corner are as good as those on a beautiful woman. And If he is no longer with everybody, he will still be with me.(Remember I now have his eyes) Three... Let me write a diary about it.(It will be funny, light hearted and heavy all at once) Last...Post them over fathers day, just in time for the U.S. Open.

My name is Michael Lucier. My fathers name is Bernie Lucier. I can't think of a better gift next fathers day.

You can reach me at H-630-497-1984 / W-847-843-0400 x0 /C-847-769-7696 or email michaellucier@msn.com.