Blessed Suffering

Blessed Suffering

By Matthew Dicks  /  Illustrated By Sean Wang 

Certain things in life make no sense when you observe them objectively. We answer a telephone call with “Hello?” even though the phone tells us who’s calling. We drive to a gym to walk on a treadmill. We announce we’re leaving social media…on social media. Yet we do them anyway. Sometimes, we love them despite their ridiculousness. 

This is my thought when my friend, Shep, spills his beer on the folding table, and it’s so cold — 4° with a -10° wind chill — that the beer flash freezes.

What are we thinking? It’s January 10, 2004. The AFC Divisional Playoff vs. the Tennessee Titans. I’m standing in a dirt parking lot — P11 — across the street from our hallowed hall:

Gillette Stadium. 

It’s the coldest game in New England Patriots’ history. It’s so cold that the Patriots provided hand warmers at the gates. They opened their field house as a warming center, allowing fans to step inside and then return to their seats. Dunkin’ Donuts handed out free coffee in the parking lots and warming area.

Yet here I am, standing in the dark with my friends, shivering, as we wait for the 8:15 p.m. kickoff and a game that would end at nearly midnight. Ridiculous.  

I’m a Patriots season ticket holder, which means that for the past 25 years, I have spent many a Sunday standing in the frigid cold, driving rain, relentless snow, inexplicable sleet and hail, and sometimes, blessedly, the blazing heat on an early September afternoon.

I have sniffled. Shivered. Suffered. And returned. So goes life for a Patriots fan. 

Yes, a multitude of warm, cozy restaurants surround the stadium, providing delicious food and a friendly atmosphere before the game, but no. I am a tailgater. I stand in parking lots and eat meat while waiting to watch my team hopefully win.

It makes no sense. It also makes all the sense in the world.

Happily, my friends and I have gotten better at this as time has gone by. 

First, I upgraded my winter clothing. Layers of flimsy sweaters and jackets have been replaced with arctic gear akin to that worn by Mount Everest climbers. Alpaca wool socks. Arctic-grade boots. Mittens with specialized pockets for handwarmers. Hats and coats for every occasion. 

Then came the EZ Ups with walls. Propane heaters. Flat screen TVs to watch the early game. Grills. Tables. Side tables. Trash cans.  

We all own warm, comfortable living rooms adjacent to refrigerators, pantries, stoves and clean bathrooms. But no, we build a half-baked living room on dirt in a parking lot two hours away to stay warm for the three hours before game time.

We’ve gotten much better at this over the years. It took a decade of suffering and near-frostbite, but today we know how to do it right. And it’s worth it because the memories are joyous.

The gathering of dedicated, impassioned men and women before a game, devouring meats of various sizes and types, corn bread, victory brownies, and massive amounts of beer.

I don’t actually drink, but I don’t mind watching my friends get tipsy before the game. It’s often quite entertaining. 

And anything can happen at a tailgate. 

I watched two men drive into the parking lot with a Christmas tree propped up in the bed of their pickup truck labeled Tree-bow, after Tim Tebow, who briefly played for the Patriots but was playing for the opponent on this day. These two geniuses set the tree on fire prior to the game, apparently burning their representation of Tebow in effigy and nearly burning their truck to the ground in the process. 

I remember the time we forgot to bring the grills, so we cooked our food in a neighboring half-baked living room of strangers who became our friends on that day.

There was the time my friend, Tom Swale, left before the game was over, taking the meat for the after-game tailgate with him. Desperate for food, we traded beer for meat with random tailgaters throughout the parking lot while asking strangers to make videos threatening Tom’s life. We managed to trade enough beer for meat to make a decent meal. Tom has never been invited back to a game.

But there are also those lovely autumn games, when the weather and temperature are not factors, and the land surrounding the stadium is bathed in autumnal splendor. I bring my wife and now my son to these games; tailgates fit for civilians who want to eat a hot dog and watch a game without worrying about their survival.

I love these games, too. Fall signals the beginning of something great: another Patriots football season. A return to one of my favorite places on the planet, and a return to the gathering of friends and meat in a parking lot that has oddly come to feel like home. 

My wife loves a day when she can wear light cashmere and feel warm, and that is what these blessed September and October games have to offer: they are easy games to attend. Lovely afternoons in the stadium. But, also, often forgettable. When you’re not struggling to not die, the party before the game isn’t exactly unforgettable. 

It’s those late autumnal games — late November and into December — when the temperatures drop, the wind howls and the beer flash freezes when the memories are made. There’s something about surviving a Patriots game in harsh conditions that makes the experience so much more visceral, meaningful and unforgettable.

Early season games are perfect for fair-weather fans, because that is what they so often offer: fair weather. Late-season games — the day after Thanksgiving and a week before Christmas — when all the leaves have fallen from the trees, it’s dark by mid-afternoon and the freezing rain is encrusting your eyebrows, are for the intrepid, the brave and the true fans of this great team. These are the games that test your mettle. 

The Patriots beat the Titans that day back in 2004, and they went on to win the Super Bowl. It snowed during the AFC Championship Game, which I also attended, of course, but it was a balmy 30°. Light wind. Piece of cake. We didn’t have propane heaters or side tables for our tailgate yet, but those luxuries weren’t needed that day. They never really are. 

Give me an autumn afternoon or evening where I stand on dirt, consuming meat and sharing stories with my friends, and I am a happy man. Possibly cold and wet and shivering, but also happy. 

Matthew Dicks is an elementary school teacher, bestselling novelist and a record 55-time Moth Story SLAM champion. His latest books are “Twenty-one Truths About Love” and “The Other Mother.” Connect on Facebook Instagram @matthewdicks.

Sean Wang, an MIT architecture graduate, is author of the sci-fi graphic novel series, Runners. Learn more at seanwang.com.