Gather round, kids and lemme tell you how they played football in Minnesota before America became a land of climate-controlled wienies.
This is Bud Grant.
This is Bud Grant.
He would give the same speech every training camp:
"Eskimos built railroads in Alaska and never complained about the cold. They didn’t have thicker skin," Grant would say; "they just approached their jobs with a particular mindset: no matter how cold, it was just another day."
"Eskimos built railroads in Alaska and never complained about the cold. They didn’t have thicker skin," Grant would say; "they just approached their jobs with a particular mindset: no matter how cold, it was just another day."
Even in wind chill temperatures of 30 below, his rules held:
No gloves
No long sleeves
No long johns
No hand warmers
No heaters on the sidelines.
He saw opponents huddled around their kerosine heaters as a weakness.
He was the f'ing Jon Snow of the NFL
No gloves
No long sleeves
No long johns
No hand warmers
No heaters on the sidelines.
He saw opponents huddled around their kerosine heaters as a weakness.
He was the f'ing Jon Snow of the NFL
Bud Grant would make his team practice on frozen farm fields.
Tonight they are playing on a surface created by MIT grads.
Tonight they are playing on a surface created by MIT grads.
And right there for every Bud Grant rule was a certain kind of fan that would happily sit on a frozen metal benches for four hours in air so cold, your beer frosts over between sips.
(If you brought a cushion, you were soft).
(If you brought a cushion, you were soft).
While my friends in Minnesota have engineered their way to sushi bars in 72 degree bliss, I'm proud to say we still happily freeze our nads off in Green Bay. The lower the temperature announcement at kickoff, the louder the cheer.
