Putting a roof on it

 No, no, no, NO, Lori Lightfoot. Haven't you been in Chicago long enough to, you know, understand Chicago?

Look, I get you're trying to keep the Bears from kiting off to the 'burbs, same as a whole lot of other NFL teams these days. It's the hipster thing to do.

But putting a roof on Soldier Field? 

No, no, no, NO. No.

Forget that Mayor Lightfoot's proposed stadium would carry a price tag somewhere between $900 million and $2.2 b-as-in-billion, a good chunk which would inevitably be paid for by work-a-day Chicagoans who like their collars blue and their Old Style cold. And forget that domed stadiums are the devil's work anyway, turning a game designed for the elements into a climate-controlled waltz for players who like their unis spotless and doilies with their tea-and-crumpets.

But a domed stadium in Chicago? On the lakefront?

At least half the Bears mystique, if they still have any, is tied to those days when the snow flies and the wind comes off Lake Michigan like a truckoad of chainsaws. It's called Bear Weather, and it defines Bear Football: Brutal, elemental, painful. Bear Weather hits you in the mouth, and Bear Football hits you in the mouth. It's Dick Butkus horse-collaring some poor mope in the open field; Mike Singletary hitting a running back so hard he forgets both his mother's name and what day it is.

Once, long ago, I was in Soldier Field for Bear Weather. It was late November, and the Bears, who were awful at the time, were playing the Lions, who were worse. I think it was 28 degrees at game time, and, yes, the wind was coming straight off the lake. I was wearing six layers and I've still never been colder in my life.

Build a domed stadium at Soldier Field, and I'm sitting in shirtsleeves in late November.

No. No. No, no, no, NO.