| As I walked under Lake Shore Drive and made my way around
Chicago’s Field Museum, a wonderful sight overtook me and made me forget the
30-degree December weather. As I came around a corner, I had to smile at the mass of
humanity that sat before me. Hundreds of minivans and sports utility vehicles, billowing
smoke from grills big enough for a restaurant, hunting jackets, plenty of Bears apparel
and hearty laughter filled the crowded parking lots of Soldier Field. What a beautiful
sight to behold: NFL tailgating in all its glory and splendor. "This is more like
an event; it’s not just the game itself," says Jim Collin, a relative of mine
who leaves with friends from DeKalb, Ill., at 5:30 a.m. every Sunday the Bears are at home
in order to get a good spot in line before the gates to the lot open at 7 a.m.
The characters
Tailgaters vary greatly both in age and dedication and come in all shapes and sizes
— though most would admit they aren’t necessarily the types of people who had an
Ab Master at the top of their Christmas list.
The sport of tailgating, much like football, has players who stand out above the rest.
By walking around most stadium parking lots, you can pretty easily distinguish between the
experienced veterans and the unseasoned rookies. Some tailgaters are lifers, having handed
down season tickets and helmet grills for generations. Other participants partake once
every few years with the in-laws’ or company tickets. The lifers are the ones with
homemade Walter Payton flags, frayed jerseys, coolers with dents in them and a story for
every occasion.
Characters abound in a tailgating parking lot, and it’s usually not too difficult
a task to find them. Take, for instance, the group in Chicago that brings its own homemade
port-a-potty to the game so none of them will have to "walk to the end of the lot and
stand in line with all the rest of the fools." Or the guys who set up a four-foot
snowman — complete with features made of leftovers — in the middle of a nearby
street, only to give a standing ovation to the first car to flatten Frosty. Or the guy
we’ll call "Potsy," who was afraid to give his real name for fear that his
new bride would find out that he wasn’t exactly out of town on business but instead
was hanging with his old high school buddies yet again against her wishes.
If tailgating had an MVP race, it would be hard for the voters not to have lifelong
Bears fan Kirk Bredehoft among the leaders. When I met Bredehoft — better known,
according to his business card, as "the international Bear fan extraordinaire"
— early on Thanksgiving morning in a lot outside the Pontiac Silverdome, it was clear
I had found a media darling. That Thursday represented the 94th consecutive Bears game in
which he had taken part in tailgating festivities. Bredehoft told me the outlandish story
of how he had rolled in from the Bears game in San Diego on Tuesday night. He had just
enough time to do a load of laundry and pack up the car again before he bolted for Detroit
Wednesday morning to meet friends for the Thursday game.
"This is a way of life for me," he said, nodding in approval while gazing
over his little slice of heaven. "A lot of people are always telling me how they wish
they could do what I do."
What he does in the real world is work as an electrician. And somehow, Bredehoft was
able to negotiate his unconventional travel schedule with his boss before he was hired.
But following his beloved Bears does have its consequences. "I don’t know what
summer vacation is," he says.
All the games "sort of blend together sometimes" for him, but Bredehoft
rarely forgets a face. A 25-foot flag helps acquaintances find his locale at games, and
these are acquaintances who hail from places such as North Dakota, Toronto and Texas, not
just the Chicago area. He manages to keep in touch with fans he has met at exhibition
games in Germany, as well as regular-season games in Tampa and Oakland, just to name a
few.
"My mom thinks I’m a little wacked," Bredehoft says. "She says,
‘You know, I really think you should see a professional.’ And I say, ‘Hey,
mom, I get to see 53 of ’em every single week.’ "
The companionship
Perhaps the best part of the entire tailgating experience is the camaraderie that takes
place between every bite of a pork-chop sandwich or sip of a favorite frosty beverage.
Football and grilled food have a tendency to pull people together. They can come from many
different backgrounds, but on game days, they all seem to be a little closer to one
another.
Jim described how, over the years, he and his friends have come to know the people
around them in the parking lot. Everyone has their designated spot if they get there early
enough, so you know where people will be if you need something. They learn about other
people’s lives, get to catch up with their own friends and share some laughs in the
process — all in a day and age when there doesn’t seem to be enough time to do
any of the above anymore.
"This is my time," offered a devoted tailgater named Paulie before wiping
cheese sauce from his beard, unbuckling his belt and settling into his plush
"Monsters of the Midway" folding chair. "I’m not thinking about work,
the bills I have sitting on my kitchen table or my mother-in-law’s bad attitude.
I’m at peace with my friends ... and my Bears."
The rest of society could learn something by studying the spirit of the average
tailgater. Tailgaters are naturally friendly, even to those cheering for the enemy, and
willing to share whatever they can to help their fellow fan. Need barbecue sauce? Run out
of charcoal? Can any of you guys finish off the rest of this (insert sizzling,
artery-clogging food here)?
The food
Speaking of that artery-clogging food, the preparation of the day’s meal and
general satisfaction with the final product are worthy of discussion and admiration.
On Thanksgiving, our group had the entire spread front and center: turkey roasting on
the grill, mashed potatoes and stuffing on the stove, cold drinks on ice, etc. The only
differences between our feast and the more traditional one at home with the relatives was
the fact we woke up earlier (a lot earlier in order for my friend James to beat an old
Lions fan to the lot for the first time), were done eating by 11 a.m., could see our
breath when we asked someone to pass the salt and had to take our gloves off to get a
better grip on the fork … if we chose to use utensils at all.
There are no rules when it comes to eating tailgating grub. The selection of food and
the way it’s cooked, however, can earn some serious style points.
"We usually change the menu depending on the team we’re playing," Jim
says.
In other words, enjoying chicken when the Bears play the Eagles, pork loin or lamb
chops when they play the Rams and the very best in meat, beer and cigars when Chicago
hosts the hated Packers. "No cheese though," Jim adds.
The group often dabbles in a little herring around the holidays and recently has
indulged in beef kabobs that may or may not feature vegetables other than potatoes,
depending on how healthy they’re feeling the day before.
Jim’s group also toasts the traditional morning Bloody Mary but substitutes that
week’s opposing quarterback’s name for "Mary," as in, "Hey, you
ready for a Bloody Favre?"
And surprisingly, the colder it gets, the better the tailgating is.
"You just don’t need as much ice," Jim says.
The wins and losses
The energy, for obvious reasons, isn’t quite the same in Chicago when the Bears
are struggling. As the losses mount during the season, pregame conversation turns more to
opinions on who should be playing more; Da Coach, Mike Ditka; and what the Bears need to
do to better themselves in the upcoming draft.
Talk of taking "that Arrington kid" or "getting Simeon Rice to come
home" echoed throughout the lot in December as the Bears found themselves slipping
from playoff contention. Telling stories of the great Bears teams of the 1980s or prior
tailgating encounters helps to dull the pain.
The non-participants
As thousands of football fans crossed the street and walked by in a rush some 15
minutes before kickoff, I couldn’t help but feel they were missing out on something
big by not taking the time to tailgate. Couldn’t they see the social brotherhood?
Couldn’t they sense the congeniality? For crying out loud, couldn’t they at
least smell the food?
After enjoying all of these things before two games, I can’t imagine there would
be any way a true tailgater could put a halt to this lifestyle.
"I guess if my heart stopped beating," Bredehoft says, finishing his sentence
with a crooked smile.
OK, there’s one. Now pass the brats. |
