Freezing Fans — Dec. 26, 2022 - Johnny Boy Marketing

🧩 Today’s Puzzle Pieces 🧩
Chiefs! 🏈
Indy Tickets 🏎️
Bank Visit 💰

When I bought the tickets to the Christmas Eve contest between the Kansas City Chiefs and the Seattle Seahawks as a gift for Boys The Elder & Younger, it was sometime in September and temps hovered around 90 degrees. The thought that the game might be played in subzero weather actually held some appeal at that moment.

Yet when it came time to leave for the three-hour drive across the state of Missourah to Arrowhead Stadium on Christmas Eve morning and we were all dressed like we were about to tackle the Iditarod, the idea of sitting outside watching football and freezing our asses off was a bit less attractive.

The feels-like temperature was -17 when we started the drive at around 6:30 a.m. And that was actually warm by comparison to the previous 36 hours. We’d bottomed out around -35 in the feels-like, and truthfully … that really is the only scale that matters. You can tell me the temperature is 5 degrees, but if it feels like, -35, that’s the freaking temperature.

My own outfit consisted of:

Regular underwear (calm down, ladies)
Long underwear
Sweatpants #1
Sweatpants #2
Regular socks
Heavy wool socks
Hunting boots rated to -60 protection.
Thermal long-sleeve undershirt
Hoodie
Chiefs jersey that no one saw because …
Heavy winter coat
Stocking cap #1
Stocking cap #2
Scarf
Thick-ass winter gloves
Afghan handmade by Wifey Poo

In addition to all of that, we also added Hot Hands, Toe Warmers and Body Patch thingies.

We still froze our asses off … and it was great.

The Chiefs dominated the on-the-field action and easily beat the Seahawks. The stands were filled with freezing fans cheering their butts off for the home team. Four of them were me and my fam — the Core Four. Conversation wasn’t easy, and not because of the crowd noise. It’s hard to talk through a scarf and an Afghan wrapped around your head, harder still to hear through a hoodie and two hats pulled down snuggly over your ears. But it still was an amazing time of memory-making.

Wifey Poo did what Wifey Poo does — selflessly take care of her tribe. She signed up to be a designated driver, which landed her two free hot chocolate coupons. I did the same but got only one coupon. Sexism or something. She, of course, had made a ton of preparations in advance of the day, ensuring we had some snacks and water bottles (which froze solid midway through the first quarter). Wifey Poo is strong at caretaking. I might be the family encourager and able to give talks that inspire action; it’s Wifey Poo who keeps us alive.

We started to warm up about an hour into our return journey toward our Humble Country Home. Those boots might have been rated to protect my toes up to -60 degrees, but if you’re out in nasty cold for five hours or so, they are kinda like France and surrender easily at some point. By the time we pulled into the garage, we were all gloriously tired. The rest of the night consisted of watching A Christmas Story, a Christmas Eve tradition in our family dating back to Boy The Elder’s young years. Sleep was not hard to come by as we awaited Santa’s arrival.

I have watched the Indianapolis 500 on television ever since I was a small boy. Father Dearest would tape the race on our VCR (look it up, kids), and I would watch it over and over and over again while playing on the floor with my Matchbox cars. I watched each race so many times that I could actually do the commentary.

Growing up in Suburbia, New York, the thought of attending the race was a dream. Father Dearest isn’t much for crowds, and the thought of being around several hundred thousand people made his eye twitch. Yet I have always really, really wanted to attend the race in person.

This past summer, I went to my first-ever IndyCar race, at World Wide Technology Raceway just across the Missourah border into Illinois, accompanied by BTE. It was amazeballs. I really wanted to go back this coming summer.

Wifey Poo took that want and raised it. The last present I opened on Christmas morning was from her — tickets to the 2023 Indianapolis 500. I am beyond excited and cannot wait. Between the Indy in May and Metallica in November, I’ve got some great things to look forward to in the coming year.

The Indy — May 29, 2022

🧩 Today’s Puzzle Pieces 🧩Racin’🏎️Heat☀️Gorilla Guy🦍 When I was a small boy, the Indianapolis 500 was must-see TV. I’m not sure exactly how it started, but it must have been around 1978 — when I was a 4-year-old boy who loved Matchbox cars and big wrecks. It was around that time that Pops brought home…

Freezing Fans — Dec. 26, 2022

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