Tailgating with the families of University of Wisconsin football players — and Drew Bledsoe

MADISON, Wisc. — On fall football Saturdays, nearly every corner of University of Wisconsin territory roars. Speakers blare music at frat houses, Badgers fans pack sports bars, and alumni grill brats and backslap at tailgates. But just a few minutes’ walk from the stadium is a sliver of concrete where the ties go even deeper than school pride: “the family lot.”

Wedged between Dayton and Spring streets, this unremarkable stretch of pavement is bequeathed from each “team mom” to the next, like a hope chest. On an afternoon in early September, hours before kickoff, it’s already overflowing with a red-clad sea of players’ relatives and family friends. They wear custom sneakers, badger earrings, and traditional “game bibs,” red-and-white striped overalls.

The crowd includes an octogenarian here to support her grandson, a safety who she proudly notes has already been setting records; a single mom from Wichita whose son would go on to score the Badgers’ first touchdown of the afternoon; and two former New England Patriots, Todd Rucci and Drew Bledsoe. Rucci’s sons both play for Wisconsin, and Bledsoe considers them “adopted nephews.”

“The lot is passed down from teams past to us, and then to the next generation of Badgers,” said Nicole Wells, a 1995 alumna whose boyfriend’s sons are now on the Badgers’ roster.

They get to town days early and line the sidewalk at the Camp Randall Memorial Arch, applauding as players walk to the stadium dressed in suits and ties, out of respect for the game. Then families head to the lot to down nips of Fireball whiskey and eat — cheese dip, bratwurst bites, sardines someone has dared bring on this 70-degree day — but also to fret about injuries and pray silently for a win.

Just steps away, students — surely all 21 or older — wage their own parties on porches and roofs, with funnels, and beer pong tables, and a 12-foot inflatable bottle of Bud Light. One house wears a banner featuring a vulgar list of things to do to the Washington State team, only one of which involves football. Those with tickets will eventually head to their stadium seats; others will plug in long extension cords and haul TVs out to their backyards.

Wherever you look, the goal of the afternoon is simple: Party. At a nearby Kwik Trip, buying 30 Natty Lights gets you 15 free. Al Beckman, a senior from Worcester, Mass., sitting beside a reporter on an apartment building roof, outlined the game day strategy: “Wake up, drink, look at yourself in the mirror, and say ‘Go Badgers!’”

But for those at the family lot, the game’s stakes are more personal. And even strangers are treated like family.

Dave Arneson, a former Badgers tight end who organized the tailgate, will not let you leave the lot without trying his white chocolate macadamia blondies. (He’ll also insist on pouring you a cocktail with plenty of ice — Crown Royal, since you’re classy, and Diet Seven Up.) One Saturday, Arneson supplied 20 pounds of ground meat for “walking tacos”— pour a scoop into a bag of Doritos or Fritos and you’re good to go. He cooked it in his Wisconsin-branded crockpot, which matches his tablecloth, class ring, Wisconsin-red Jeep Wrangler, Badgers’ hat, T-shirt . . .

“If you look in my closet,” he said, “it’s all Wisconsin.”

The Badgers would lose that Saturday’s game. But somewhere on the lot, the next generation was already preparing for the future. Abby Norris — a lifelong Wisconsin fan whose dad and three brothers all played in Madison — is gearing up a third generation, her 9-month-old, Duke. He happily whacked a foam football, occasionally stopping to gnaw on its squishy exterior. “He’s ready to play,” Norris said with a smile. Duke’s father, a high school football coach, held him steady as he ran.

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