"The Big Dog" Mitch Vosburg (left) and Doug Vosburg pose for a photo in 2004. (Courtesy photo/"The Big Dog" Mitch Vosburg/Daily Press)

OK, last column in Escanaba, better make it count, right?

First, because so many of you asked, where am I going? Well, that requires a small back story.

This particular story starts in 2005, when the athletes I covered weren’t even born yet. For a project in the fourth grade we had to do a report on one of the United States that wasn’t Michigan.

I immediately claimed dibs on one state for some random reason I don’t remember. But the state representative that I reached out to sent me a lot of information. I even remember one of the print outs he sent asked him who had the better fries: Burger King or McDonald’s?

His answer was Burger King. He was right.

His state was forever cool in my mind. And fast forward 20 years and I’m going to be calling that state home.

Minnesota.

I will be taking over as sports editor for the Mankato Free Press beginning Aug. 5. It’s an opportunity I am beyond excited for. It’s an opportunity I believe is earned. And for those who’ve followed my journey so far, it’s an opportunity five years in the making.

Except it’s not.

This journey started well before June 20, 2020. And before I leave the state of Michigan, allow me to explain the real reason why I started on this crazy journey as a journalist.

This journey started in January 2009. But before we dive into that story, let me tell you about someone named Doug Vosburg, or as I called him “Uncle Doug”.

Uncle Doug was a one-of-one human being. He was his own vibe with a love for Hawaiian shirts, Detroit sports, puzzle games and superheroes.

But by Thanksgiving of 2008 Uncle Doug started feeling sick. By Christmas his skin began to turn yellow, like he was playing on a softball team for Springfield’s nuclear power plant that had a manager who kept telling Don Mattingly to shave off his sideburns. He became weak to a point where my younger brother had to open his Christmas gifts for him.

On Jan. 19, 2009, Uncle Doug died from the damage his body took from years of alcohol abuse. He was 42.

As the visitation and funeral process went on I began to understand who Uncle Doug was. He was creative as evident by his hundreds of illustrations and sketches. He had a deep love and appreciation for “Gilligan’s Island”. He left an impact on nearly everyone he met.

He was also someone who never found his calling in life. He worked at various liquor stores, even the one in the heart of my hometown of Climax. My Dad would drive us there every Saturday morning to grab a pop and candy, but the biggest treat was seeing Uncle Doug.

And sure, working the job he did had some perks. He constantly received free tickets to various sporting events in Detroit and Chicago.

The more I began to uncover about Uncle Doug the more I realized that he didn’t use the skills he had in a career he could thrive in. The worst part was that there was nothing he could do about it as he laid in his coffin wearing a Detroit Tigers polo.

But I could.

At that moment, when I was 14, I did something I rarely do — I made a promise, and this promise was to myself.

He was going to live vicariously through me.

Whatever success I found wasn’t solely mine, it was ours. Whatever struggle, amount of adversity or kitchen sink life threw at me I knew I was never going to be alone.

But man, that promise has been difficult to keep.

A little over a year later my parents separated and later divorced. Less than a week after separating my Grandma took a mighty fall, colliding skull first with the cold, unforgiving concrete garage floor. My aunt found her about 40 minutes later as she was attempting to crawl to the phone while leaving a trail of vomit behind her.

At 15 life didn’t just hit me hard. It honestly felt like “Avengers: Infinity War” when Thanos decided the best way to incapacitate Ironmon was to drop an entire planet on him. As you can probably tell, being crushed by a planet is anything but pleasant.

I was able to visit her a few days later in the intensive care unit. She was out of it, big time. Nurses were applying water through sponges on sticks onto her lips to help her stay hydrated.

One nurse had me hold my grandma’s hand and tell her who was here. I obliged.

“Hey grandma, it’s me, Mitchell,” I said.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, she did something I never expected. With all the strength she could muster she lifted my hand, pressed it up against her lips and gently put it back down.

At that moment it felt like all my pain lifted away. At that moment I realized that no matter how bad life got, everything would be OK in the end.

I didn’t realize this lesson until a decade later though.

Like Uncle Doug I made some poor choices. I made decisions that made everything appear like I wasn’t going to keep that promise.

Then we get to the moment where I contemplated suicide. Yeah, I thought about my funeral. But I also remembered Uncle Doug.

When I looked in the mirror on that day I muttered two words — you promised. And ever since that moment I’ve done everything in my power to keep that promise; to live the life Uncle Doug dreamed of while using my skills to the best of my ability.

It didn’t matter if it was an eight hour round trip to DeKalb, Ill. while devouring Chicago deep dish pizza in the front seat of my car with Christian Booher. It didn’t matter if it was an 11-hour road trip across three states with Aurora Abraham. It didn’t matter if it was writing a dozen stories in one day five days after the funeral of my emotional rock.

It didn’t matter if it was riding shotgun in a drag race, dismantling an ice bridge to get to Mackinac Island to cover two high school basketball games. It didn’t matter if it meant working 20-straight days more times than I could count.

Members of the Mid Peninsula basketball teams chat to kill the time aboard a ferry to Mackinac Island on Feb. 9, 2024 on the waters of Lake Huron.

It didn’t matter that I’ve worked the past year with one good leg. It didn’t matter that I worked a 17.5-hour day with one good leg and good arm with my left forearm healing from being bitten by my neighbor’s dog to cover two state quarterfinal softball games under the bridge only to work 15.5 hours two days later with a trip to Michigan State University.

Escanaba senior Maddy Mott (23) attempts to keep her balance after catching a flyball while junior Addison Noblet leaps in the air in excitement during a MHSAA Division 2 state quarterfinal game against Hudsonville Unity Christian on June 10, 2025 at Margo Jonker Stadium on the campus of Central Michigan University in Mount Pleasant. (“The Big Dog” Mitch Vosburg/Daily Press)

It didn’t matter that I spent two days commuting to Green Bay and back just to be part of the media circus for the 2025 NFL Draft, limping the final mile back to my car as I arrived home at 3:30 a.m. with birds chirping after the first round concluded.

NFL fans make their way to the stage prior to the 2025 NFL Draft on April 24, 2025 outside of Lambeau Field in Green Bay, Wis.

In the end it just doesn’t matter. Whatever I have to do to keep that promise to Uncle Doug will be done.

But I couldn’t do it without the last two years and readers like you. I arrived here emotionally wounded. I’m leaving here with scars both metaphorically and (looks at left arm) literally.

So what did I learn over the last two years?

I learned that I’m leaving here with evidence that I am the person I dreamed of becoming.

I was never really one of the “cool kids” growing up. I was never on homecoming court or even in the top 10 of my graduating class of 35 students. But that doesn’t matter today. I’m leaving here a warrior, a rockstar and authentically myself.

I was able to speak my truth, and in doing so I know I helped one person find the strength to admit that they weren’t OK and needed help. That person was a Dad.

I’m leaving here knowing I made an impact. I’m leaving here knowing I set an example of what hard work, a positive attitude and capitalizing on every opportunity imaginable can unlock in this world.

I’m leaving here knowing that no matter how hard life gets I’m keeping my promise to Uncle Doug.

And for that, I am grateful.