The '85 Bears: We Were the Greatest (16 page)

All week long 4gers coach Bill Walsh praised the Bears, saying their offense was “exceptionally well-designed,” and basically magnificent and untouchable, and their defense “was possibly the most effective defense in football.” Ditka was even more congratulatory and effusive, difficult as that might seem. The Bears coach came close to fainting, his bodice was so tight. San Francisco had “the most intimidating defense I’ve ever seen,” he said. And it had “the most innovative offense that’s ever been.” Ditka didn’t say he thought Bill Walsh was God, but it might have been on his mind. Ditka hoped against hope that his Bears wouldn’t get “blown out of the city.” Gentlemen, grab your barf bags.

Ever the man with an intuitive grasp of the absurd, Ditka told newsmen he had even considered calling NFL commissioner Pete Rozelle. “What if we both didn’t show up?” he asked.

San Francisco, though 3–2, still had the highest rating in the silly Dunkel NFL Index, but the Bears were No. 3, right behind the runner-up Miami Dolphins. “Did they announce it yet?” Ditka said at his Thursday press conference. “The game’s been canceled. Mutual fear.”

“I told him to go in and tell McMahon he was running the ball. Just grab the ball, hold it like a sack of money, and head south.”

—Ditka on Fridge’s first carry

But the rematch of the NFC Championship Game contenders was on. Same field. Same coaches. But one team had a different quarterback. Jim McMahon. And Ditka himself was certain he had learned from the embarrassing defeat the season before.

Fans at that January NFC title game
out in San Francisco had been screaming at us, “When you come back, bring an offense!” It was a fair thing to yell. I had thought we could play conservatively, hang around, and win with our defense in that game. I found out we couldn’t. So we came ready to roll this time. We wanted the other team to be intimidated. We wanted to establish some fear if we could. Lots of it.

This was our offense, doing things right. Walter came out and he was pumped up, to say the least. He rushed for 132 yards and he scored two touchdowns. The last one, in the fourth quarter, he carried two 49ers around the left end with him right into the end zone. It was a 17-yard sweep and it put us up 26–10, and that was the final score.

We played without Dennis McKinnon and tight end Emery Moorehead, because they were injured, and used backups Ken Margerum and Tim Wrightman to fill in. They did fine. Hell, we scored the first four times we had the ball. Our offensive line was exploding off the ball and blocking like crazy. And, of course, our great defense was there. I don’t think Walsh and his guys knew what hit them. Joe Montana was sacked seven times, the most in his career, and they only got 183 net yards, not even half their average.

Like I said, we had a big chip on our shoulder from the year before. Payton told the press afterward that the 49ers hadn’t shown us much “courtesy or dignity” when they beat us before and also that they said “negative things about our offense.” That made me smile a little. But we already had gotten the last laugh.

We had that 26–10 lead, and our defense had stopped them again, naturally, and we were running out the clock to end the game. Well, let’s pause for a moment.

“The problem was Buddy saw this as a slap in the face. That wasn’t how I meant it. It just made us a better football team.”

—Ditka on Fridge playing offense

I remembered when Walsh put that big load McIntyre in the backfield the year before, and how I didn’t much appreciate it. Plus, I like to be a little—what do you want to call it?—creative? So I called Fridge over, and we had a little conference. He was at attention and was like, “Okay, Coach! Yessir, Coach!” I told him to go in and tell McMahon he was running the ball. Just grab the ball, hold it like a sack of money, and head south. We hadn’t practiced Fridge running or put anything in the playbook about it. But the guys might have had an idea I was going to try something different. Perry went thundering off at full speed, screaming to the ref that he was reporting to the backfield and yelling to McMahon that he was now a running back. I didn’t know what Buddy was thinking about this, but what the hell. If the defense isn’t going to use this guy, I’m gonna. I knew Bill Walsh would appreciate it.

So McMahon gave Perry the ball, and Fridge crashed straight into the line. Our offensive linemen were terrified he might fall on them. Hilgenberg used a cut block on his man just to get down and out of the way. We gave the ball to Fridge on the next play, too, and it was just another huge collision. I don’t think the defenders knew what the hell was happening. I know they weren’t crazy about tackling Big Bill. Their safety Carlton Williamson said afterward he personally was “a little upset about it.”

Hey, screw ’em! It’s football. If you can kick somebody’s ass, shouldn’t you do it? It was revenge for me. Yeah, I’ll admit it. A little bit. Maybe a lot. Even though my first thought about using Fridge back there was this big fellow can really block. I’d watch him in sprints in practice, and for the first five yards or so there was all this dirt flying up from under his shoes. Looked like a roto-tiller. I didn’t like it when they used McIntyre in the backfield against us, that’s for sure. So here’s a response.

Buddy had his favorites, which is okay, because he was one of those old coaches who believes you have to earn your spurs and that rookies generally can’t play. He really believed players had to earn the right to be out there. Being the first draft choice, like Perry, meant nothing to him. But Buddy was dead wrong about Perry and his abilities. Buddy didn’t even want us to draft him. He called him “Fatso” or just “Number 72.” Fine, I’ll take the big kid. And I did.

The problem was Buddy saw this as a slap in the face. That wasn’t how I meant it. It just made us a better football team, I thought. Okay, and it was fun. I guarantee you goal-line practices became a lot more fun with Fridge back there. And I started
thinking of other things to do with him. Back then, remember, a huge player was like 275 pounds. Three-fourteen? Three-thirty? It was crazy.

So now we are all the rage. We are the sideshow. It had been building, and the Minnesota game got everybody’s attention, and McMahon and Payton and Singletary were pretty well known. But this was big. In four days we’re going to be on the cover of
Sports Illustrated.
Well, McMahon was on it, throwing a pass over a San Francisco player, above the headline, “BEARS ON THE PROWL: Jim McMahon Leads Undefeated Chicago Past the 49ers.”

“A lot of people thought it was nuts when I was hired to coach the team. But when Mr. Halas hired me, he didn’t hire me for Xs and Os. He hired me because I was a Bear.”

—Ditka

I felt pretty good. I felt I had redeemed our team from the embarrassment of the year before. Well, they had done it. I am certain we had more talent than anybody. But talent doesn’t always win. The sideshow stuff didn’t affect me, it wasn’t important to me. I wanted to be proud of being a coach for this team and city I loved. You only get a few opportunities in life, that’s it, and you better grab them.

A lot of people thought it was nuts when I was hired to coach the team. But when Mr. Halas hired me, he didn’t hire me for Xs and Os. He hired me because I was a Bear. His own family didn’t have anybody like me in it. They weren’t football people. The McCaskeys didn’t play. I think Halas hired me because he had a gut instinct, and he followed it. When I first arrived, he asked me what I wanted to do for my staff, if I had people in mind.

“I have a few,” I said.

Then he said, “I would really like you to keep the defensive coaches.”

“Why?” I said.

“Because that’s a very strong part of our football team. Buddy Ryan came here in 1978, and the players like him and they play hard for him.”

“Fine,” I said. “I have no problem at all with that.”

I meant it.

I only brought in a couple of coaches, mainly Ed Hughes, whom I’d been with for a few years in Dallas, to be offensive coordinator. Buddy was a hell of a coach. But I know he thought he should
have been named head coach. There was nothing I could do about that. You have to understand that when I first got there, the Bears defense was much, much better than the offense. We had to build the offense little by little, put the pieces of the puzzle in place. But it was hard to do when we were practicing against those guys and they were going full speed and we couldn’t accomplish anything. They were better than us, cut and dried. Understand? So what? Buddy and I would have the argument constantly, over and over and over. We don’t play the Bears, Buddy. I don’t see them on our schedule. Do you? Where? We have to play the other team’s defense, not ours! The attitude and respect changed after Covert body-slammed McMichael. And after Fridge played against San Francisco, too. But still I had to tell Buddy to put William in on defense. I mean, this guy was a good athlete. He didn’t deserve the rap of being just a fat guy, and he sure as hell wasn’t lazy.

I wanted Buddy to know we could not win if we had different goals. The only goal should be the whole team’s success. But I saw him get caught up in stats and sacks and stuff like that. I mean, why were we blitzing when we’re up 21 points? Because we’re the No. 1-rated defense and we want more sacks. So I was going to use one of his defensive players when I wanted to.

And I felt good and celebrated just a bit after our win. We got on the plane, and I started drinking wine with Jerry Vainisi. I mean, it wasn’t like we were crazy celebrating. I was just relishing the little bit we’d accomplished. It’s a long flight from California, and the wine kept coming. We felt good and we were dissecting the game, enjoying the glow. When we got to O’Hare early in the morning, everybody went scrambling for their cars. I got in mine and took off and headed north on I-294.

All of a sudden I see a police light turn on, and the next thing I know, I pull over and the guy is giving me a ticket for driving under the influence. I was wrong, and driving after drinking is a terrible thing. But the guy was a prick. I was 100 percent wrong, I admit that. But here I am on the side of the highway, and players are flying past in their cars and they’re looking at their coach getting arrested. I think a player or two stopped, and I told them to keep on going. I didn’t think I was drunk. My judgment was good, but maybe it wasn’t perfect. I argue with that cop, call him everything I can think of. Everything in the book. It’s not a good scene.

I did everything I was supposed to do, though I didn’t take a breathalyzer, because I didn’t want to. Tom Landry called me during the week, and I appreciated that. We talked all the time, anyway, but he just called to give me support. He told the press I was a “good man,” and that was nice.

I came in and gave a talk to the players on Monday, apologizing to them, to the organization, for my behavior. They needed to forgive me, and I didn’t need my authority undercut. And we sure didn’t need any more distractions on our road to the postseason. So I wanted to get this all behind me.