Why Soldier Field Matters to Chicago

My grandfather took my father to Soldier Field. My father took me. I've taken my kids.

By Dear Kevin Warren · 2026-01-21

My grandfather took my father to Soldier Field. My father took me. I've taken my kids.

That's it. That's the whole argument.

But let me spell it out anyway, because apparently we need to explain why a century-old stadium on the most beautiful lakefront in America matters more than a tax-subsidized parking lot in the suburbs. Chicago style: no apologies, no hedges. This is Chicago talking, not a glossy corporate memo. ---

A War Memorial, Not a Venue

People forget what Soldier Field is. Not what it does, what it is.

The stadium opened in 1924 as a memorial to American soldiers who died in World War I. Those 100 Doric columns? They're not architectural flourishes. They're a tribute. The stadium was built to honor sacrifice, and it was built where Chicago gathers: on the lakefront, connected to Grant Park, visible from the skyline.

For 100 years, Chicago has come here. Not just for football. For championship boxing. For JFK rallying Democrats in 1962. For Pope John Paul II saying Mass to 350,000 people in 1979. For concerts and soccer matches and the Olympic bid watch party that broke everyone's hearts.

Soldier Field isn't a Bears asset. It belongs to Chicago. The team is a tenant. A beloved tenant, but a tenant.

When someone asks you to tear down a war memorial so a billionaire can build a revenue-optimized dome in DuPage County, the correct response isn't "what's the economic impact?" It's "absolutely not." ---

The Walk

I've written about the walk before, and I'll write about it again. Because the walk is the point.

You start downtown. Maybe you're coming off the L at Roosevelt, or maybe you walked down Michigan Avenue. You cut through Grant Park. Buckingham Fountain is behind you. The museum campus spreads ahead.

The lake smell hits before you see the water. You cross the streets, navigate the crossings (which could be better), and then you see the colonnades rising. The limestone. The history.

You're walking through Chicago to watch football. You're not driving to some isolated island surrounded by highway interchanges.

The suburban proposals eliminate this. They replace the walk with a parking lot. They replace the connection to the city with the connection to I-90.

That matters. Where something is located shapes what it means. A stadium on the lakefront means one thing. A stadium next to a Costco means something else. ---

Weather as Identity

Here's the thing the dome advocates never understand: the weather isn't a problem to solve. It's the point.

December at Soldier Field is brutal. Your hands go numb. Your face hurts. The wind off the lake ignores whatever you're wearing. And then Khalil Herbert breaks a run, or the defense forces a turnover, and 60,000 people scream into the frozen air, and for a moment the cold doesn't matter at all.

That's not discomfort. That's communion.

Chicago earns everything. Nothing comes easy here. Not the winters. Not the parking. Not anything. The city is hard. The people who stay are harder.

Bears football in the cold reflects that. You don't show up to a December game because it's comfortable. You show up because it matters. You earn the wins by freezing through them.

Put a roof on it and you've removed the test. You've made it into any other entertainment experience. You've traded something real for something climate-controlled.

I don't want climate-controlled. I want real. ---

What We Inherit

When I sit in Soldier Field, I'm sitting where Gale Sayers played. Where Dick Butkus hit people. Where Walter Payton gave everything he had every single Sunday. Where the 1985 defense made offensive coordinators reconsider their career choices.

I'm sitting where Brian Urlacher hoisted the Halas Trophy in the snow during the 2006 NFC Championship. Snow on his shoulders. Snow on the trophy. Snow on everyone.

That moment couldn't happen in a dome. Not just because there wouldn't be snow, but because the moment needed the cold. It needed the earning. We'd all been standing there for hours, frozen, committed. That was the point.

My kids were there for that game. They'll tell their kids about it. The story won't be about a comfortable indoor experience. It'll be about how cold it was, how loud it was, how real it was.

You can't build that. You can only inherit it. And you can only lose it. ---

The Legends Knew

I keep coming back to what the players said, the ones who built this franchise.

Mike Ditka: "If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. This city doesn't give you anything. You have to earn it."

Mike Singletary: "This is a blue-collar town. The people here work hard. They expect you to work hard."

Brian Urlacher, after that championship snow game: "It was snowing, it was cold, and we were in Soldier Field. There's no place I'd rather be."

None of these guys asked for a dome. They didn't want the weather fixed. They understood that Bears football in Chicago weather IS Bears football. Everything else is a franchise that happens to be located here.

Would Payton have wanted a dome? Would Butkus? Would the '85 defense, 12-0 at home in the elements, have wanted to play inside?

The answer is no. The legends knew. ---

What Chicago Loses

If the Bears leave Soldier Field, here's what goes with them:

The lakefront location and the walk through the park. The skyline rising behind the end zone. A hundred years of history. A war memorial. The site where popes said mass and presidents gave speeches and fighters went to war.

They'd leave that for a parking lot. For a dome that looks like every other dome. For corporate naming rights and premium seating and climate control.

The new stadium would have better bathrooms. It would have wider concourses. It would have luxury suites and club levels and all the revenue optimization a modern franchise needs.

But it wouldn't have the columns. It wouldn't have the lake. It wouldn't have the cold.

It wouldn't be Chicago. ---

The Choice

Kevin Warren wants us to believe this is a business decision. Facilities. Revenue. Competitive advantage.

But it's not about business. It's about identity.

Chicago is a city that keeps its promises. The lakefront was supposed to be "forever open, clear and free." That wasn't marketing. It was a covenant. The people who came before us fought to keep the lakefront public. We inherited their work.

Soldier Field is part of that inheritance. A war memorial on public land. A gathering place for the city. A stadium that belongs to Chicago, not to a franchise.

Walking away from that isn't a business decision. It's breaking a promise. ---

Why It Matters

Look, I know the counterarguments. The 2003 renovation messed up the sightlines. The capacity is small. The infrastructure needs work. Soldier Field isn't perfect.

But neither is Chicago. That's kind of the point.

This city is a mess of old bones and new construction, ambitious plans and chronic dysfunction. Chicago isn't optimized. It isn't polished. It's real.

This city fits Soldier Field. The limestone and the wind and the stubborn insistence on outdoor football in December. That's Chicago. That's what we're trying to protect.

A dome in the suburbs might be better for the balance sheet. It wouldn't be better for the city. It wouldn't be better for the fans who've been coming here for generations. It wouldn't be better for my kids, who deserve the same frozen Sundays I had, the same frozen Sundays my father had, the same connection to something that started before any of us were born.

Some things matter more than money. Soldier Field is one of them.

Keep the roof off. Keep the city in it. Let the wind heckle. Let the cold judge.

That's not just football. That's Chicago. ---