Hey there, it’s Glenn Blamstead again, the guy who’s been building pole barns for Sherman Pole Buildings longer than some of you have been able to legally buy beer. I still live out here on the edge of Mora where the cell service drops out right when you’re trying to call in a pizza order. Life’s good, mostly. Except for last month when my cousin Earl decided to “help” me upgrade my sleeping situation.
How Earl Turned My Bedroom Into U.S. Bank Stadium
Earl calls me up one Tuesday—mind you, this is the same Earl who once tried to deep-fry a turkey in a fish fryer and nearly renamed Thanksgiving “Fire Department Appreciation Day.” He’s all excited because he’s “scored a deal” on Marketplace.
“Glenn, buddy,” he says, “you still got that little twin-size bed from when Aunt Linda made you take it after Uncle Orville went to the big lutefisk buffet in the sky?”
“Yeah, Earl, I do. It’s fine. I’m one guy. I don’t need the Taj Mahal of mattresses.”
Wrong answer. Earl hears “challenge accepted.”
Next thing I know, this flatbed rolls up with a mattress so big it needed its own zip code. King size. Purple pillow top. Looked like a Viking longship made out of memory foam.
The Vikings Mix-Up That Cost Me My Garage
See, Earl didn’t buy a regular king bed. He bought a “Minnesota Vikings Official King-Size Sleep System” that some sports memorabilia place was blowing out because the team is having… well, let’s call it a “character-building season.” Young J.J. McCarthy is out there throwing darts, but the record is stuck at a grim embarrassing number and the fanbase is one more pick-six away from burning purple candles at church.
Earl swore it was destiny. “Glenn, you’re basically Viking royalty—big guy, builds big barns, drinks out of horns on weekends. This bed was made for you!”
I tried explaining the only horns I own are on my deer mounts and they’re strictly decorative. Didn’t matter. Earl already paid $800 for a mattress that retailed for three grand because it has the Vikings logo stitched right on top and little horn buttons on the corners.
Trying To Get It Through The Door (And Failing Spectacularly)
We get this monster off the truck and immediately realize regular doors laugh at furniture this size. Had to take the storm door clean off the hinges. Then the interior door. Then we stood there staring at my bedroom like two Labrador retrievers looking at a math problem.
Earl goes, “No problem, we’ll just take it straight out to the pole barn.”
Smartest thing he said all day.
Why My Sherman Pole Building Is Now Home To Viking Royalty
We wrestled that purple beast right into my 40×60 Sherman building—the one with the high ceilings, insulated walls, and enough square footage to host the NFL Draft if Nashville ever gets tired of it. Rolled it in through the 12-foot overhead door like we were delivering a pontoon.
My old twin-size bed? That stayed in the house bedroom where it actually fits. The king bed now sits out in the shop on a platform I threw together from some leftover 2x10s, looking like a throne waiting for Ragnar Lothbrok to come claim it after a long day of pillaging.
First night I tried sleeping on the Vikings bed in the pole barn, I rolled over and had to send up a flare to find the edge. Felt like I was camping on the Metrodome turf back when it still had a roof.
The Night I Accidentally Became A Viking Berserker
Second night, same deal—ten hours of the best sleep I’ve had since the Clinton administration. Woke up ready to go split firewood with my face. The pole barn is quiet as a library, dark as Earl’s future if he keeps shopping online, and smells faintly of stain and sawdust—like a hug from your grandpa who actually liked you.
Meanwhile the little bed in the house feels like a prison cot. I lasted exactly one night before I marched back out to the shop with my pillow under my arm like a hobo with standards.
Earl’s Latest Bright Idea: Tailgate Slumber Parties
Of course Earl thinks this is genius. He’s already planning “Vikings defeat recovery sleepovers” out in the pole barn after every loss. Bring your own blanket, a twelve-pack, and a dream that next year will finally be our year.
I told him the only purple I want in my barn is the bruises I’ll leave on him if he invites the whole VFW. But honestly? I kinda like it. Added a little wood stove, threw down Mom’s old rug from when gas was seventy-nine cents, hung some vintage Vikings pennants I found in a tote (because irony is free), and mounted the big screen above the foot of the bed. It’s basically a man-cave that comes with a snooze button.
Why A Sherman Pole Building Beats Any King Bed, Every Time
Look, if you’re gonna go big in life—whether it’s a mattress, a garage, or just your average Tuesday—do it in something built to last through Minnesota winters and whatever else life throws at it. That fancy Vikings bed is already sagging in the middle faster than the offensive line on third-and-long. My Sherman pole building? Still standing tall, solid as my opinion that the prevent defense prevents exactly one thing—winning.
We build these buildings tough, with heavy-duty framing and materials that don’t flinch when the temperature drops to “see ya in April.” You could park actual Viking royalty in there and it wouldn’t blink.
If A Real King Ever Shows Up, I Know Where He’s Sleeping
So yeah, I got a king sized bed now. Don’t know any kings. But if His Majesty ever rolls into Mora looking for a place to crash, I’m pointing him straight to that purple monster in the pole barn. Me? I’ll take the cot in the house or just sleep on the concrete—been thinking about it anyway, builds character.
And if the Vikings ever figure out how to stop turning the ball over more than a butterfingers convention, maybe I’ll even let Earl crash out there with me to celebrate.
Until then, Skol… and sweet dreams, whatever size your bed (or building) happens to be.
—Glenn Blamstead
Sherman Country
“Where even a king would sleep like a champion… and probably never leave.”
