A Love Story

Sherida, Rolly, Bonita, and Sherri Lynn posing with the most recognizable trophy in all sports.

My first stop today was at Rolly's Coach Club in nearby Altoona. And for damn good reason.

The reason starts many years ago, at this very same establishment, when a much younger, much more handsome version of pool veteran Jamie Dittrich (hint: think me but with less muscles) sat drinking Leiney's and watching hockey on TV with his girlfriend, Melanie.

When Melanie, exhausted from working three jobs to support Jamie's dream of becoming a champion axe thrower, got up from the table, Jamie assumed she was going to use the bathroom before driving his drunk ass home. It was a shame, really, since it was such a close game on the tube, but he wisely concluded these were the small compromises of which a healthy relationship is made. So he gathered his jacket and started for the door, only to run into Melanie returning to the table with two fresh beers.

"I thought we were leaving," Jamie remarked, incredulously.

"No, I thought we'd watch the rest of the game first," Melanie replied.

And that was THE MOMENT Jamie knew he was going to marry this woman.

So you tell me, how was I not going to pay respects at Rolly's before heading east?

And boy am I glad I did. I meant to only stop by for some photos but the small group of regulars seated around the smoky bar proved so gosh darn friendly that I stayed for a hunk of the afternoon, itinerary be damned.

If there is a friendlier bunch of Sunday afternoon drinkers than the gang I found at Rolly's, then I sure as hell hope I meet them soon. How friendly? Mark, dressed in full Packer regalia, bought me a beer AFTER he learned I was a Vikings fan.

Thanks for the beer, Mark!

Hank and Nita Harris, the self-described "oldest antiques in the village."

It was a great way to start my day on the road and when I returned several minutes after my first departure to find my abandoned wallet, computer and phone right where I accidentally left them on a table, the smiles that greeted me underscored my theory that Wisconsin is home to some of the nicest people on the planet. Thanks, Sherida (pronounced "share-ah-dah"), Sherri Lynn, Bonita, Mark, Hank, Nita and Rolly for reminding me why I wear my WISCONSIN shirts so proudly back in California.