It was around 6 in the morning of a cold and rainy November day in Chicago. The year was 1995, and I had just gotten off a near-16-hour workday and was in desperate need of a shower, food and sleep.
I got none of that.
Instead, I hopped in my car and headed east on I-94. The rain was just beginning to shift into snow; but I remember thinking, If I don't make any stops, I can still make it to the Pontiac Silverdome before kickoff.