But first, since I am so considerate to you, my dear readers, I want to you do something. I want to get up from the computer for a few minutes and get yourself a cup of coffee. Or tea. Some hot chocolate would be especially appropriate. Or a nice hearty cup of soup. That would work well, too.
Just get up and get something nice and warm for your tummy. Right now. I'll wait here.
I mean it. Seriously. Get something warm for inside. You will be glad you did.
I can wait.
I'm still here.
Won't go away.
I mean it. You'll be glad I asked you to do this.
OK. Almost ready.
Everybody here?
OK, we can start.
This takes us back three years, almost to the day. It was the day of the district football championship game. I didn't have to drive far on this night--just across the county, about 18 or so miles. Piece of cake.
We had received about three inches of snow a few days earlier. Then it got a little warmer, and some of it melted. The snow had been plowed off the football field where the game would be played.
Then, late in the week, temperatures fell. With a thud. The field, with some patches of snow still on it, froze solid. The night of the game came. It hadn't gotten much above 20 F all day, and now the sun had set. Temperatures were going down, down, down.
By the time I arrived and took my first pictures, it was already about 15 F. That's -10 C.
They had stationed propane heaters along the sidelines--for both teams, not just the home side.
Some schools we have visited for cold-weather games apparently
could only scare up one heater to their name. ;) This time, both teams had them. But one was facing the wind. Home field advantage, you know.
From my story: "But they couldn’t do much for the guys on the field. Many of them play both offense and defense, so they never got a long break on the sidelines."
Regardless of the cold, the band took the field as usual before the game ...
And the fans didn't stay home ...
Then the action started. The officials and many of the players wore gloves. The backs, who had to keep control of the ball, went bare-handed.
During the game, I wanted to go over to the heaters to warm up my paws. But I had a hard time getting there. This photo will explain why.
Yes, it's tackle football. Imagine getting tackled on a frozen field with just a thin layer of brownish grass on it. And this is a playoff game, too! Many players suffered abrasions. "While the field was as hard as cement," I wrote, "it wasn’t that smooth."
Also, the scoreboard wasn't up to the challenge. From my story: "After much monkeying around and switching on and off repeatedly, school officials threw up their hands and relied on PA announcements on the down and distance and how much time remained."
When it got to halftime ... well, here's what I wrote in my column:
| As for myself, I had been wearing fingerless gloves while covering football since the weather got cold, the better to write notes and manipulate camera controls. But that was in normal fall weather, not December conditions. The fingerless gloves allowed my fingers (above the knuckle) to get really cold during the first half. Frankly, they were getting numb. Finally it got to halftime, and I went to my car, started it, switched on the heater and relaxed. The little Mazda has a good heater and I warmed up my hands, my fingerless mitts and my normal gloves. Half-time ended, and I went back to the field, wearing the normal gloves. But when action resumed, I couldn’t find the fingerless gloves. I walked up and down the sideline, looking around. I walked back to the car and looked. No gloves. So the other gloves were used during the second half. (It turned out the fingerless gloves decided at halftime to hide on the floor of the car and stay warm for the rest of the game.) |
Look, folks, it's a district championship game. Important! I need notes to write my story. I cursed my bad luck and slipped out of my gloves as the second half started, slipping my hands back into the gloves at every opportunity. My handwritten notes got harder to write (and, afterwards, read) as the second half wore on.
By the time the game ended, temperatures must have been in the low teens. But our team had won. The batteries in my flash unit had given up the ghost (I had cleverly left the fresh batteries at home), so, for the post-game celebrations and trophy presentation, I used my camera's pop-up flash.
But the kids were really happy ...
Finally, I could go back to the car, start it up, turn the heater up on high and drive home. Even so, I felt like a popsicle. My wife said my hands felt like popsicles. My fingers, especially, of course. The tip of the forefinger of my left hand was especially bad. Numb. I think it would have been getting close to frostbite if I had stayed out in the cold longer. It took a long time for them to warm up again and for the tingly feeling to go away. Finally, they did.
The game was played on the east side of the county. We live on the west side. The overnight low on the west side was -1 F. That's like -18 C.
Epilogue: Our team's season ended one week later, at the regional championship game. It was played out of town, about 60 miles away. It was just a little warmer, plus it was windy. They had a propane heater on their side of the field. We had nothing. We lost. End of season.
* * *
They're playing in the regional championship game again this weekend. But this time, it will be inside the dome in Marquette, where it will be shirtsleeve weather. Nobody's going to get cold.
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