The Seattle Seahawks-Minnesota Vikings Wild Card showdown was third coldest game in NFL history. It was the coldest game in Seattle and Minnesota team history. So obviously, I had to go witness the inevitable freezing hot mess that would ensue. The visitor’s side unsurprisingly sat in the shade, which matters heavily, according to my Viking fan friends. I immediately regretted not taking one of the free rally towels to at least stand on as my feet were obviously the first thing to ice over (according to the BBC, the hypothalamus, the brain’s gland that serves as the body’s thermostat, will do what it takes to keep the core warm, which is why you first start to lose feeling in your hands and feet before all else in sub-freezing temperatures). Not even the hand warmers I stuffed in my boots helped because, apparently, they need more consistent oxygen flow to stay active (for future reference). Conveniently they were piping hot once we left the stadium and hopped into an Uber, however.
Getting into TCF Bank Stadium at the University of Minnesota, the Vikings’ temporary home while their brand new US Bank Stadium gets its finishing touches, was the most incredibly efficient experiences I’ve had attending any professional sporting event. I guess that’s what happens when the high temp at kickoff is -6° Fahrenheit with a wind chill factor of -25°. Vikings fans were pretty welcoming, for the most part, including my friend who was kind enough not to kick the Seattle fans out of his home after the game and the couple behind me that were self-admitted Seahawk fans. “Look! There’s Russell right there,” the wife said to me as he attempted to warm up his throwing arm as best as he possibly could in that weather.
Tickets were also cheaper than your average game at the ‘Clink’, but then again most places are more affordable than Seattle these days. My friend back in New York asked, “How did you get tickets?!” Well, that was the easy part. Demand was low, and I have so much new respect for the fans in places like Buffalo that stick it out in similar conditions for a good chuck of their season.
For those of you who dared not leave the comfort of the balmy Pacific Northwest, I will do my best to illiterate just how cold it was on that Sunday:
It was so cold, Steven Hauschka practiced kicking with footballs he stored in the freezer.
It was so cold, our phones just completely shut down even before kickoff.
It was so cold, I had icicles on my eyelashes.
It was so cold, after a sip of beer, my bearded friend was promptly adorned by tiny icicles.
It was so cold, my beer turned into a slushy after about three minutes. I needed a beer warmer, not a beer koozie.
It was so cold that my hot chocolate froze.
It was so cold, a nearby gentleman’s soda exploded, nearly taking out an eye. Fortunately, it was so cold that the soda froze before it seeped into anybody’s clothing.
It was so cold, Jon Ryan suffered a broken nose in the first quarter while trying to convert on fourth down after a low snap but apparently the the weather kept the swelling down long enough for him to play the entire game.
It was so cold; the women’s bathroom was a triage of fans painfully rubbing the feeling back into their feet while sitting on the floor halfway into the second quarter. ON THE FLOOR. Of a public bathroom.
It was so cold, every time the ball was punted it sounded more like a MAC truck’s tire blowing out on the freeway.
It was so cold, the Vikings’ Gjallahorn froze and broke into pieces, forcing them to use the backup (also, kudos to the team for having a backup Gjallahorn).
And finally, it was so cold, Viking tears froze.
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