On Boxing Day, the NFL announced that it was cancelling the Eagles-Vikings game. The reason? It looked like it was going to snow.
I couldn’t believe it. Tough men playing in brutal conditions is (or, I suppose I should say, was), an unshakable pillar of the football mystique. No matter how bad it gets, the game goes on. Look at the mighty Green Bay Packers, for example, playing all those games up there on the Frozen Tundra at Lambeau Field, wearing their short-sleeved jerseys with the temperature below zero. Think of all the games we’ve seen in swirling blizzards, where the groundskeepers could hardly keep the yard-lines and hash-marks visible. Think of all the games we’ve seen in monsoon-like downpours that turned the field into an acre of cleat-sucking mud. I even remember a Bears game I couldn’t see at all, because the field was completely shrouded in fog.
It was clear to me that this pigeonhearted decision, which should live in infamy, was yet another depressing, and in this case deeply symbolic, example of an America gone soft. Arrayed against us, all around the world, are implacable foes: lean and obdurate men, their eyes burning with unquenchable fire, stubborn and unyielding in their cause even in the face of certain death. Meanwhile, such pampered milksops have we become, such cringing, sniveling quake-buttocks, that we can’t even play football — and yes, we are talking about football here — in the snow.
Well, it seems I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. Here’s what Dennis Prager has to say about it.