I am a lifelong Minnesota Vikings fan. It has been a miserable experience. I grew up watching, and emulating Fran Tarkenton at quarterback, which I played from about age 6 (Ask my dad, he will tell you that my first pop warner football team was undefeated and unscored upon. I will cringe in the background as recounts the glory of my 6 year old gridiron days. I will giggle though as he recounts the reasons for our success. We ran 3 plays in our complicated "East Coast" offense: halfback sweep right, halfback sweep left and quarterback sneak. Other teams tried to incorporate all sorts of ridiculously complicated X and O plans which were no match for our crew of Italian boys who played defense - I played for the "light blue collar" team of the Greenwich pop warner league.).
In my childhood the Vikings were an easy team to love. They played outdoors at Metropolitan Stadium. They had a defensive front four known as the "Purple People Eaters" and had offensive talent that delighted as well: Chuck Forman, Ahmad Rashad, and Sammy White among others. The teams welcomed sunny clime suckers to the snow covered stadium with temperatures that rarely pierced the positive side of zero once December hit. They were on television breathing the fire of warm air and covered with sweat and snot icicles. They ate their young, and were loved for it. I watched as the ran through snow drifts, plunged across goal lines you could only imagine as they remained covered by the white powder. I marveled at their toughness.
Unfortunately, and despite their tremendous talent, they suffered a number of Super Bowl and Championship game losses during their heyday of outdoor warring (the late 60s and 70s). They could not quite get over that hump, at one point running into one of the greatest teams to ever play under the leadership of Terry Bradshaw and one to be coached by Jon Madden (I married a Broncos fan in 1993 figuring I was safe. They would never win a Superbowl either despite their flirtation with championship crowns…And my choices for betrothal were limited as it was not likely I was ever going to be attracted to, nor would I ever consider, marrying anyone from Buffalo, the only other possible choice when considering football's "always a bridesmaid and never a bride" team allegiance).
So this weekend, when the roof at the Metrodome (the Hubert Humphrey Dome, as it was originally known and named for Lyndon Johnson's former Vice President, for those of you who think he was Target's salesman of the year) collapsed, I was not surprised. It is not the first time. In fact, the frequency of its demise is actually rather amusing. What creative genius thought of building a flat roofed building in a city that averages at least 45.3 inches per year. Not only is it a flat roof but it is made of fiberglass and Teflon and weighs over 500,000 lbs. It must be a real treat to sweep the snow off its roof as one stands 16 stories above the ground at its highest point. Excellent thinking.
Inside this dome shelters what used to be a hearty and bawdy crew of fans: wild, horned-helmet clad warriors of Scandinavian birth. Vikings fans used to bring fear and noise in support of the purple and gold clad marauders. Now they sip chardonnay and marvel at how mediocre the team has become. They point to the freezing cold as their excuse to huddle in cashmere and cotton relative warmth of a climate controlled environment as they clap and ooh and ahh, usually at the Viking's recent ineptness. And, when confronted, those same J Crew models, cum fans, point to the fact that even Minnesota's baseball team, a group of spring and summer "sporters", have moved to a stadium which has a retractable roof (but then we all knew baseball players have long since moved from athlete status to tabloid sideshows who sit out injuries that include things like sprained toes and hurt feelings).
If the Chicago Cubs cannot win a World Series until they reverse the curse of Mrs. O'Leary's cow, then the Vikes had better think long and hard about where they play. There can be no Superbowl win until they move back outside. Maybe the smartest thing to do would get their vaunted architects to build a giant can opener, and just take that lid right off.
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