The Invocation: What in the Name of George Halas?
Friends, fellow warriors of the Midway, and architects who apparently believe a football stadium should resemble an oversized flotation device,
I HAVE SEEN THE RENDERING. AND I HAVE QUESTIONS.
The developers have unveiled a $10 billion vision for Bronzeville Lakefront, featuring thousands of homes, hotels, retail, parks, entertainment, and a shiny new 75,000-seat domed stadium. A bold vision. An ambitious vision. A vision that could bring tremendous investment to Chicago's South Side.
And then there is the stadium. I stared at the rendering for 11 minutes. I tilted my head. I squinted. I walked around the forest. I returned and stared again. Is it a stadium? Is it a giant inner tube? Is it a luxury air mattress designed for the world's largest pool party? Did someone accidentally leave a translucent contact lens on the architectural plans?
WHY DOES OUR FOOTBALL STADIUM LOOK LIKE A FLOATATION DEVICE?
I have spent decades swimming in the mighty Des Plaines River. I know an inner tube when I see one. And that, my friends, is an inner tube.
The Great Chicago Bathtub
Let us examine the design.
A wise stadium should inspire awe. It should communicate strength, permanence, tradition, and the unmistakable feeling that 75,000 people are about to make an opposing team deeply concerned for their well-being.
This structure communicates something else. It communicates that the Bears have entered the recreational watercraft business.
The exterior looks like a giant transparent bagel. A glowing wedding ring. A floating hotel conference center. An enormous airport terminal designed by someone who has never attended a football game but once saw a picture of a spaceship.
Where is the intimidation? Where is the architectural equivalent of Mike Singletary’s eyes staring into your soul? Where is the imposing silhouette that tells Green Bay, Detroit, and Minnesota that they are entering hostile territory?
Instead, opposing fans will arrive and wonder whether they should bring swim trunks. I can already hear the public address announcer: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Bronzeville. Please remain seated until the stadium has completed inflation."
ABSOLUTELY NOT.
Soldier Field Has Its Problems. This Is Not the Answer.
Now, Cicero is not blind to Soldier Field's shortcomings. The stadium has the architectural charm of a spaceship that crash-landed on top of a Roman ruin. The sightlines have been debated. The amenities could use attention. And finding parking on game day requires the navigational instincts of Lewis and Clark. But Soldier Field has something this rendering desperately lacks.
A SOUL.
It sits on the lakefront. It has history. It has witnessed triumph, heartbreak, legendary defenses, questionable offensive coordinators, and enough fourth-quarter anxiety to qualify as a cardiovascular research facility.
It is Chicago.
A new stadium should honor that identity while creating something extraordinary for the next generation. It should look like a place where football history happens. Not a place where a family of bears could comfortably spend spring break.
A Note to the Developers
Cicero would like to offer a few modest suggestions.
First, put some muscle into the architecture. Give us a stadium with a strong silhouette, a commanding presence, and a little Chicago attitude. Second, embrace the city's identity. We are a city of steel, brick, bridges, industry, architecture, and people who shovel snow from their parking spaces with the intensity of a military operation. Third, make the stadium feel like a football cathedral. Not a convention center with a football field accidentally installed in the middle. And fourth, please stop making it look inflatable. I am begging you.
I have already had to explain to my forest friends why the Bears might be playing inside a giant swimming pool accessory. The squirrels are confused. The raccoons are selling tickets to an imaginary water park. One possum has begun referring to the proposed stadium as "The Float."
This is getting out of hand.
Cicero's Architectural Meditation
Close your eyes. Inhale the smell of fresh-cut grass at Soldier Field. Exhale the smell of vinyl pool toys.
Visualize a magnificent stadium rising from the Chicago landscape. Visualize steel, glass, brick, and bold architectural ambition. Visualize 75,000 Bears fans roaring as Caleb Williams leads the offense onto the field.
Now visualize a giant inflatable stadium drifting down the Chicago River. Stop. Open your eyes. That second image is the problem.
Closing Wisdom: Don't Float on This Decision
A wise bear knows that a stadium is more than a roof, a field, and a collection of expensive seats. It is a symbol. A gathering place. A civic landmark. A home.
Cicero supports investing in Bronzeville. He supports keeping the Bears in Chicago. He supports ambitious ideas that improve the city and benefit its residents. But this design needs another trip to the drawing board. The Bears have spent decades trying to build a championship-caliber football team. Surely we can spend a little more time designing a championship-caliber home.
Give us a stadium with some teeth. Give us a stadium with some character. Give us a stadium that looks like Chicago.
And for the love of Ditka, somebody deflate that thing.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I am taking my inner tube and floating down the Des Plaines. At least mine has cup holders.
