And I don't mean just the weather (although that's enough - it's ONE degree right now).
Yeah, as the entire world knows by now, the Chicago Bears - and I hesitate the use the word "lost" - failed to win the Superbowl last night.
I was hanging out with some cousins, not expecting to get too emotionally involved in the game, since I'm generally uninterested in sports I'm not actually participating in, and because I was caught in the middle between my hometown and my new hometown.
I did my best to get into the spirit of things. I cracked open a few beers. I gnawed on some Home Run Inn pizza. I tried to figure out the weird Superbowl commercials. I intercepted phone calls from my family in Indiana who were calling to razz my cousins every time the Colts scored again.
After that first miraculous dash across the field by Devin Hester, I admit I yelped in amazement with everyone else. A great chorus of triumph swelled in the house as we all screeched with joy. It was a beautiful moment.
But it was for naught. As quickly as I got caught up in the excitement of that first astonishing Bears touchdown, my spirits fell, along with those of millions of others in the Windy City. My cousins became more agitated, and even the one who teaches toddlers started swearing like a sailor and calling for Rex Grossman's head on a platter.
I consoled myself by cuddling the family's Jack Russell terrier, and chomping another bratwurst, but all was lost. Sorry to say, Chicago, I even called for my cab well before the game ended.
I still love you, Chicago. I really do.
Did I mention it's really cold today?