It’s not the weather, or the fact that the morons who run the food service there eliminated Guinness (the only beer that actually tastes good when consumed in cold weather outdoors). It’s not the terrible team that the McCaskeys have foisted on us, or the over-loaded media hype that led us to believe that a 7-1 team that hadn’t beaten anybody with a winning record had a chance to make the Super Bowl.
No, when I go to Bears games and endure the obnoxious behavior of a certain breed of Bears fan, I begin to root for whoever we’re playing. Why? Because these mopes are so rude, and have invested so much venom and hate in their souls, that I wish them to suffer as much as possible.
In the second half yesterday, as I had to listen to one of these asshats verbally abusing a perfectly nice family with mixed loyalties (two Bears fans, four Packers fans), I began to root for the Packers. I knew that the pleasure I would get from the Bears winning would be vastly less than the pain this jerk would suffer from the Bears losing, and I’m willing to make that tradeoff.
This family left early in the fourth quarter because one guy seated to their right was inches away from physical violence, spewing obscenities and spittle inches from their faces. No sign of security, of course: those red-jacketed mopes only show up AFTER brawls begin. (And I’m not talking the cheap seats here: United Club, section 205, rows 1, 2, and 3, is the scene of this little drama.) I silently smiled as the refs flung questionable flags against the Bears, and I rejoiced in Jay Cutler’s utter lack of leadership on the field. As these jerks with no sense of proportion, no understanding that this is a GAME, swore and cursed and suffered, I rejoiced.
When the tough guy who’d threatened to beat up a guy half his size, in front of his wife and two daughters, left with five minutes remaining in the game, flipping off other Packers fans, I went back to rooting for the Bears. Not that it mattered.