My First NFL Playoff Experience

Saturday, January 10

I didn’t know exactly how to feel when I woke up that morning.

But I felt the weight of the world before my feet hit the floor.

It was game day, the Wild Card round against the Green Bay Packers. Bears–Packers. An iconic rivalry that doesn’t need explaining. One that lives in history books and family arguments between borders, in winters endured and memories passed down. This game was about legacy in the making.

The game wasn’t until the evening, which gave me something rare, time.

Time to move slowly. Con calma. Time to prepare for the chaos I knew was coming.

When I woke up that morning, Lovely Day by Bill Withers was already looping in my head.

“When I wake up in the morning, love / And the sunlight hurts my eyes…”

Not because the day was sunny. In fact, it was cold, gray and heavy with anticipation. It’s Chicago winter. But it was a lovely day in its own way, because it was playoff time, my first one.

And as the song played on…

“And something without warning, love / Bears heavy on my mind…”

That line became literal.

I know it’s not what the song is about. But it was a quiet, funny double meaning. A song about optimism unintentionally soundtracking a day filled with pressure, responsibility and emotion. Ese día, todo giraba alrededor de los Bears. That day, it was all about the Bears.

First thing that morning, I went to the gym. Moving deliberately. Just enough to get the blood flowing. Pegándole duro a las pesas. As I lifted, I thought about how ordinary the routine felt compared to how extraordinary the day ahead might become.

By the time I finished, my phone had shifted into work mode. Emails about the game. Media requests. Last-minute adjustments layered on top of each other. Texting back and forth with journalists. The postseason doesn’t replace the work, it sharpens it.

I’m familiar with the flow of gamedays. I’ve been with the Bears for five seasons now.

But this was my first postseason. Everything felt more intense. Different. Exciting. I didn’t know what to expect, and that was part of it.

As the day moved forward, I realized I was carrying more than just game day logistics.

I was carrying perspective.

I thought about my younger self, an immigrant kid who didn’t grow up imagining spaces like this. Someone who wasn’t “supposed” to be here. Not working for an NFL franchise. Not inside a playoff run on one of the biggest stages in the sport. Even now, it still feels surreal that I get to be here.

But I also understood that this experience wasn’t just mine.

At that same moment, my family was in Mexico celebrating my grandmother’s 75th birthday. A milestone. One of those moments that, in my culture, means everything. Music. Food. Stories. La familia junta. Family is central to who I am as a Latino, and missing something like that isn’t easy.

But even from thousands of miles away, they were with me.

They followed along through messages and social stories. They didn’t fully understand football or playoff implications, but they understood that it mattered. They were cheering from afar, proud, invested, present in the only way they could be. And in many ways, that’s why I do this work. Para ellos. To carry them with me into spaces they once never imagined.

I felt my community with me too. In the messages. In the reactions. In friends and family members who didn’t care about football, now cheering for the Bears simply because I was part of the team. Through me, they were experiencing something new, as if they were right there with me.

With that came responsibility.

A responsibility to carry them through the journey. To represent my community with care. To recognize how difficult it is to walk these paths when there aren’t many of us in this industry… at least not yet. I wasn’t just experiencing the playoffs. I was holding the weight of what it meant to be here. Con la comunidad en la espalda.

When I arrived at Soldier Field that afternoon, the air felt different. Fans everywhere. Energy jumping.

The cold hit immediately, sharp and unforgiving. Snow floated through the air, catching the stadium lights as it fell. The kind of cold that settles into your hands no matter how prepared you think you are. Long stretches outside. Fingers numb. Face burning. Breath visible with every exhale.

And yet, the energy.

Fans poured in wrapped in navy and orange. Faces red from the cold. Voices loud before kickoff. Some had waited their entire lives for moments like this. Some carried painful memories of seasons past. The rivalry lived in chants, in laughter, in the tension you could feel in your chest. I wasn’t just watching from a distance. I was on the field, working through it, feeling it move around me.

All of this existed alongside something heavier.

Outside the stadium, my community was hurting. ICE raids. Fear moving quietly through neighborhoods. Families watching the news and wondering who might be next. I carried that contrast with me, standing inside one of the most iconic sports environments in the country while people who look like my family and friends were being targeted simply for existing here.

It made the moment complicated.

It made it real.

That night, when the Bears won that Wild Card game, the emotion came in waves. Relief. Pride. Disbelief. The comeback. The Ice Man, brrr. The defense locking it down. The stadium shaking. Unreal.

I did my best to stay professional, to stay composed. But I also couldn’t stop myself from celebrating the moment with the fans.

Afterward, as the stands slowly emptied and the noise faded into echoes, I finally stopped moving. I looked around. I let myself take it in.

Como dice Bad Bunny...

“Debí tirar más fotos…”

Like Bad Bunny said, “I Should've Taken More Photos…”

Not what the song is about. But exactly what I was feeling. For once, just stand still and capture the moment, let time freeze for a moment.

Knowing Bad Bunny would be headlining the Super Bowl halftime show this weekend felt like its own kind of moment. Spanish lyrics on one of the biggest stages in the world. Different roots. Different stories. But still representation. A reminder that nuestra gente también pertenece aquí. Estamos unidos. I’m happy to see that.

After the win against the Packers, the city celebrated.

The days that followed blurred together. Early mornings. Late nights. Constant coordination. Watching my peers grind. It was exhausting. It was beautiful.

The following week brought the Divisional Round against the Rams. Same anticipation, heavier weight. Higher stakes. Colder air. Louder expectations. Again, Soldier Field. Again, snow. Again, belief.

The throw from Caleb to Kmet to force overtime was ridiculous. Shocking. Incredible. And just like that, the road to the Super Bowl came up short. The dance ended. “We almost had it.” The loss in overtime hurt, there’s no way around it.

You feel it professionally.

You feel it personally.

You feel it because you know how much went into getting there, players, staff, fans, everyone involved.

But even then, I slowed down. I took it all in.

What a season.

This playoff run wasn’t just football.

It was responsibility. Sacrifice. Gratitude. Perspective.

And when I think back to that morning to “When I wake up in the morning…”

I understand why the song stayed with me. Not because the day was easy, but because even in the cold, the chaos, the good and the bad, I was exactly where I wanted to be, where I needed to be.

Here’s to the first Bears postseason in years.

Here’s to those experiencing it for the first time.

Aquí seguimos. Bear Down. 🐻⬇️