“Snowpocalypse”? Really people?

Ice builds up along North Avenue Pier while temperatures hovered around zero degrees Fahrenheit on January 7, 2015 in Chicago, Illinois. Most of the city’s schools were cancelled today as wind chill temperatures were expected to exceed -30. (Scott Olson/Getty Images)

Every year I hear the same thing. People in Atlanta, or Nashville, or some place south of Louisville start ranting and raving about the snow, ice, or cold -as if it’s the newest thing.

Welcome to Chicago. We may not be the coldest city (I had a case once in North Dakota in the winter, and…they win), but we know cold here. We don’t cry and bitch and moan. We just deal.

It’s just frozen water, c’mon.

Just the other night I had to a chase a suspect through the slick wintry mix streets shortly after a good pounding of snow. I wore a thin parka, but still the cold bit through. I was slipping and sliding all over the place, but then so was the perp.

I cornered him in an alley. He slowly turned, defenseless. Except for his huge shotgun.

“Some winter huh?” I said, smiling. He didn’t smile back. That’s when I went completely third grade on him. I dived behind a snow covered dumpster and grabbed some white stuff.

Now I don’t usually brag about this kind of thing, but I have always been able to make a pretty mean snowball. I don’t throw them badly either. My little brother Tommy had come in from the cold with many a whelp on his face, much to my mother’s chagrin.

The top of the dumpster exploded and I realized that I was about to be the one with whelps tonight. (I should always remember to bring my gun, even when I’m just going down to the Jewel to get some snacks and toilet paper.)

He fired another shot that covered me in snow, but gave me just the cover I needed. I rolled out from behind the dumpster and beaned him in the face with an icy snowball. He reeled back and I got to my feet, firing another iceball that hit him right in the eye. Before he could even get his gun back up, I was on him and pulled the shotgun out of his hands.

I gave him one more head shot, this time with the butt of his own gun. He slipped on the ice and fell back, hitting his head once more for good unconscious measure.

Yeah, snow and ice can certainly be dangerous. Much more so when you’re a two bit meatball trying to play mobster and you’re up against the Official Snowball Fight Champion of Forest Lawn Elementary! (There was no real title, but everyone remembers I’m sure!).

The new Filton Sibley book is on virtual shelves everywhere. Find it here >

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