As Green Bay Packers training camp opens and the pro football season gets started, it’s easy to have a whole bunch of things to anticipate with joy.

Perhaps at the top of the list is that the Packers are one of the favorites to make it to the 50th Super Bowl in San Francisco.  

But I’m looking forward to something much more specific.

On Thanksgiving night, in a game against the Chicago Bears at Lambeau Field, the Packers will unveil Brett Favre’s No. 4 at the north end of the field. You’d think that would be enough drama, but there’s more.

Everyone hopes, and his son says it’s going to happen, that Bart Starr will also be there.

Starr, 81, suffered two strokes last September and has been undergoing rehabilitation ever since.

"I want to say that somebody else will be visiting Lambeau Field that night," said Starr’s son, Bart Starr, Jr., when he spoke at the recent Hall of Fame ceremony for Favre. "I’m pleased to tell you that thanks to your many prayers and well wishes my dad has begun to turn the corner.

"He wants to walk out on the field and give Brett a hug and tell him how much he loves and admires him."

I can feel the tears coming on already.

Understand, I have some history with Starr.

The first time I met Starr was in 1977. I had been assigned to cover the Packers for the Milwaukee Journal. I went to training camp and met Starr and shook his hand. I was so thrilled I called my dad.

Our relationship went downhill from that point.

Starr was an unsuccessful coach, something especially bothering considering the heroic status he justifiably enjoyed in Wisconsin. His record as a player was unmatched. But as a coach he continued to fall short and I wrote about it.

I developed sources on the team and I wrote about the disharmony and the problems both in the team and in the organization. Starr staged pitched battles against me. He banned me from the locker room. He refused to answer my questions. He banned me from practice and when I stood on top of my car to watch, he sent the Brown County Sheriff’s Department to have me arrested.

Our feud lasted for three years and there was never any doubt about who would win the battle for public support. He killed me on that one.

In 1988 one of Starr’s sons, Bret, died in Florida. He had struggled for  years with substance abuse and he died from "self-induced cardiac arrhythmia due to acute cocaine indulgence."

My father had committed suicide several years earlier and I felt horrible. I sent a note to Starr, but never heard anything back.

Several years later there was some kind of celebration in Green Bay, but today I don’t even remember what it was. I went, and Starr was there. As it was breaking up our paths crossed and we stopped. I held out my hand and he held out his and with the kind of unique sincerity he had, he said, "we (I assume he meant himself and his wife, Cherry) want to thank you for your note."

That was it. I never saw him in person again and the furor we created had long since died down. To this day there are people who will ask me about it and people who think I still know a lot about the Packers. It’s funny.

But there are not caverns of ill will between us. I was grieved when I heard about his stroke. He’s 10 years older than me and I had a stroke, too, although mine wasn’t nearly as severe.

I’m full of joy that he is getting better.

And can hardly wait for Thanksgiving.

I know exactly what I’m going to be thankful for and exactly what I’m going to say in prayer at the family dinner.