A Very Brady Blog Entry

~Mike Wolcott

**This entry is dedicated to Karen Brady, a dedicated A&M blog reader

    
     It was fall of 2001 and I was thirteen years old. My neighbor Ben and I were in my living room watching The Brady Bunch. My father was also in the room, partially watching from his recliner chair. I know what many of you are thinking, "The Brady Bunch? Really Mick? What the hell is this blog coming to?" Well as cheesy as the show was, I loved The Brady Bunch as a kid. The Bradys had a certain charm about them, and every episode seemed to provide a great life lesson. I can honestly say that if wasn’t for The Brady Bunch in my childhood years, I wouldn’t have turned into the fine upstanding man that I am now. Anyway, I can’t remember exactly what episode we were watching that day, but I do remember that the storyline centered on Greg Brady.

     Unlike yours truly, my father is not a fan of The Brady Bunch. As the episode went along, he began to voice his disdain. "I’ve always hated this show, and I hate that fucking Greg Brady" he said angrily during a scene involving Greg, "What a fucking goofball he is." Ben and I found my Dad’s outburst extremely funny, which inspired him to continue his attacks. For the next 20 minutes, my father ripped Greg Brady for his hair, his pants ("bellbottomed fuck!"), and his overall goofy demeanor. Leave it to my father to make a boring fall afternoon funny.

     Later that same day, I was in attendance for a Buffalo Sabres game. My family and I were sitting in the Box Suites, courtesy of my Uncle Paul. While listening to the national anthem, I noticed that the guy singing looked familiar. I couldn’t put my finger on who he was until my cousin spoke. "Is that Greg Brady?!!" he asked. I looked up at the Jumbotron and realized that it was him. Barry Williams, a.k.a. Greg Brady, was singing the national anthem at the Buffalo Sabres game. Apparently he was in town to promote the World’s Largest Disco, an event that was taking place in Buffalo that weekend. I looked over at my father and laughed. It was a strange coincidence.

     Approximately 3 hours later, the game ended. On our way towards the exits of HSBC arena, I heard a couple of drunken guys yelling. "Hey it’s Greg Brady! Hey Greg!!" I looked over to my left, and there he was. The one and only Greg Brady was standing outside the door of his suite. I walked up to him timidly with my Sabres program, "Can I have your autograph Mr. Brady?" I asked in a nervous voice. He looked down at me with a smile and asked me what my name was. When I told him it was Mike, he grabbed my program and said "Well you sure can Mike."

     On the ride home from the game, I sat in the backseat of the car with my signed Sabres program. I thought about earlier that day and how funny it was to listen to my father rant about how much he hated "that fucking" Greg Brady. I never expected that I would be meeting Greg Brady that same day. At one point, my father turned to look at me from the driver’s seat as I was admiring the autograph. "I can't believe you got Greg Brady's autograph" he said, "He seems like a really good guy."