What a weekend, and I was right there with everybody else. But a small part of me ...

I didn't have tickets, but I had a television set and a remote and snack food and soda and beer. And I shared that sense of communal joy we all had during the most memorable sports weekend this state may have ever seen. But a small part of me ...

I used picture in picture. I did some calisthenics to warm up for chair sitting. I had ice. I waved to strangers in Brewer jerseys, or Packer shirts or Badger red. But a small part of me ...

I had grandkids on my lap, children on the couch. I had nieces and nephews and strangers who became relatives. I stood in line at a grocery store, chatting with people I'd never seen before or would ever see again. And we were all talking the same language. But a small part of me ...

That's right. A small part of me couldn't help but wonder what we might be able to do if we could channel the kind of emotion, intellect and energy we all had this weekend into solving some problems much more serious than a won-loss record or a seeding in a playoff bracket.

There's a group of black kids who play football in a park in my neighborhood. Their parents show up, lined with blankets and watch their boys hustle up and down the field. But there are no uniforms. This is flag football, because there isn't any money to get real uniforms.

There's a pair of baskets in another park, near where I live. It used to be the site of some of the best street basketball played in this city. Former Buck Russell Lee used to play there. Now those hoops sit lonely, grass growing through the cracks in the cement and nets ripped from the hoops so you can't always tell if your shot is good or not. No money.

And it's not just sports.

For some reason we have this out of control rate of baby deaths. Co-Sleeping and bad prenatal care and lousy homes and hopeless mothers and no fathers. Little babies dying. How come we don't get as excited about that stuff as we do about a Prince Fielder home run?

The lines of hatred grow deeper on an almost daily basis in Wisconsin. Lots and lots of people hate "the other guy." It's getting to the point where we may never be able to get anything actually done. How come we aren't as worried about that as we are about whether Ryan Grant is going to be okay?

The public education system in this city is in peril, with budget cuts derailing the most promising efforts to educate our children. How come we aren't as upset about that as we are when Aaron Rodgers throws an interception?

There are so many poor people in Milwaukee. I mean poor where you aren't sure about whether you will have food tomorrow. Poor where you don't even know if your child is going to school or not. With all the riches surrounding sports, how come we don't try harder to do things that might end poverty for some of these poor families?

I'm not trying to rain on anybody's parade. I cheer and yell and remain fascinated with the best of them. When the talk grows too loud in the living room I want people to hush so I can hear the announcers.

I am thrilled to be a part of this huge slice of humanity. But this small part of me wishes it were just a little more humane.