Jim Geake is anchoring bottle rockets to the wings of a toy glider, prepping it for a glorious and presumably short-lived trip: across his yard, over a crowd of boisterous Bears fans and right past a tenor belting out the national anthem.
Rev. Dan Brandt is exploring the intersection of faith and football and praying he can zip through his 5 p.m. mass fast enough to catch the start of the game.
Delores Adams is wrapping up a string of days that would make a lesser deli clerk quiver. She has worked enough to stack cheese plates in her sleep, but the end is near–one more pile of grapes, one more slice of roast beef, one more stick of celery then, at last, it’s over.
This is the day. Super Bowl Sunday.
Gridiron-loving Chicagoans, in a delirious dither, have now gone from bubbly to fully carbonated.
They are jacked, amped, energized.
Busier than a sweet-toothed bear in a honey shop.
Some are running to get that one extra bag of chips, because you just don’t want to run out. Others are ignoring common sense long enough to hoist mugs in single-digit temperatures and tailgate before a game that’s more than 1,300 miles away.
Standing breathlessly on the cusp of football glory, Bears fans have planned, cooked, toiled and daydreamed.
Here are a few of their soon-to-be-legendary tales.
Couple pull out all the stops
About seven minutes before the Bears beat the New Orleans Saints and punched their ticket to the big game, Jim Geake looked at his wife and said: “We’re going to the Super Bowl. Dang it, let’s do something fun.”
Next time Mr. Geake proposes “something fun,” his wife might want to seek clarification before agreeing.
She now has bleachers in her Highland Park living room and is missing a chandelier, which was removed so the Geakes’ 80 guests Sunday would have an unobstructed view of the game.
It doesn’t stop there. Geake is co-owner of the financial services firm Wayne Messmer & Associates, and Messmer himself, Chicago’s iconic national anthem singer, will be on hand to sing “The Star Spangled Banner” outdoors before the game.
A bottle-rocket-propelled white Styrofoam glider with a 48-inch wingspan, tethered between a tree and a fence, will do a celebratory “flyover” as Messmer and his wife croon the last notes of the anthem.
“If I had more than two weeks to plan it, we probably would’ve done some other things,” Geake said, as if the two big-screen TVs, the caterers and the planned fireworks show wasn’t quite enough. “Should they lose, it’s a lot easier to lose in a crowd having fun than it is sitting at home screaming at yourself.”
He paused, realizing his karmic faux pas, then added: “Of course, they’re not going to lose.”
Restaurant gets early opening
It’s been two weeks and a cloud of dust for Dan Latino.
Plans to open his new bar in Lincoln Square by St. Patrick’s Day were altered considerably when the Bears made the Super Bowl. Latino and his son, also named Dan, saw an opportunity, and they pounced.
They ripped up tile, put in a new tin ceiling, hung dim yellow lights, added booths, an automated teller machine, tall tables and chairs, a fireplace topped by a large mirror and, most importantly, five flat-screen TVs.
The work ran late into the night. A vacant space erupted in a flurry of activity, replete with the smell of varnish and the feel of desperation.
The cable got turned on, the liquor was delivered, an awning went up above the front door.
Bowmans Bar & Grill was born, albeit prematurely.
“It’s just a matter of coordination,” Latino said, promising that “Bear Down, Chicago Bears” would be blaring throughout the bar on Sunday. “It’ll be like New Year’s Eve.”
Sandwiches don’t make themselves
Delores Adams has one thing to say to all the fans out there who’ll be sucking down chicken wings and melon chunks, snacking on meaty sandwiches and devouring lovingly arranged veggie plates.
“You’re welcome.”
Though certainly not the city’s lone architect of Super Bowl eats, Adams has done her fair share, working long hours behind the deli counter at a Dominick’s just south of the Loop.
She’ll be there until game time assembling last minute subs, the protocol echoing like bad poetry in her head:
Bread, mayo, mustard,
Meat, meat, meat,
Cheese, lettuce, tomato, bread,
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
“All this week, lunchtime, daytime, nighttime, it’s been sandwiches, sandwiches, sandwiches,” said Adams, still mustering a smile.
She’ll hustle home after work Sunday, wash the smell of ham off her hands and settle in to watch the game.
“I don’t know what I’m going to have for dinner yet,” she said. “But it’s NOT going to be a sandwich.”
4th quarter means business
For Gordon LeBlanc, the Super Bowl will be awesome, at least until the start of the fourth quarter.
That’s when he and 13 co-workers will leave their homes and, more importantly, their televisions and head to work at Sportco in Naperville, charged with silk screening thousands upon thousands of championship T-shirts.
Company President Eric Withaar will already be inside the one-story plant, awaiting a Reebok representative who will decide, perhaps before the game is even over, which team logo they should start printing. Reebok is the official outfitter of the NFL.
As a season ticket holder, Withaar naturally is rooting for the Bears. A Chicago win also means more money: Sportco will print 40,000 shirts–half on dark blue fabric, half on white–if the Bears win, but only 20,000 if the Colts win.
The lure of cash also will keep LeBlanc from feeling too bad about missing the game’s final installment.
“I’d rather be home watching,” he said, “but it’s money in my pocket.”
A Super Bowl blessing
When the pregame hype reaches its final hour, Rev. Dan Brandt will be duly fired up–to say a 5 p.m. mass at Nativity of Our Lord Catholic Church in Bridgeport.
“Even if I’m there alone,” he said, “I’m going forward.”
As a Bears devotee, though, Brandt feels confident God will forgive him if he rushes the service along: “You better believe I’m going to go fast. I’ll sound like those guys who read the legal stuff on the commercials.”
As he pondered the Sunday sermon, Brandt knew he had to find a way to impart spirituality on spirited fans. So he looked at the way this Super Bowl season has united Chicagoans.
“It’s about fostering brotherhood, a common goal, a common interest,” Brandt said. “When a blessing like this comes along, folks sure get out and celebrate together.”
Some even get out and pray.
Ron Onesti will start his Sunday early at the Holy Ghost Church in Wood Dale.
He’s not a regular. In fact, toward the end of the week, it took Onesti a few moments to recall the church’s name.
Though his spirituality may seem Bears-centric, there’s no way he’s missing mass.
“You are either talking to Jesus, Buddha or anyone in between,” Onesti said of Chicago fans. “The Bears unify everybody.”
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