The '85 Bears: We Were the Greatest (29 page)

Of course, I was feeling pretty good because we had whipped the Giants and their outstanding coach, Bill Parcells, 21–0. Talk about defense. The Giants never converted a third down the entire game. Oh for 12. How could they possibly win? I do recall that Fridge was playing on defense and hit their little running back Joe Morris like a runaway cement truck. Kind of sad when that happens. Otis Wilson had a funny line about it. He said he looked down at Morris, “and I thought it was a poster of him.”

Now we were 16–1 and ready for our next step. That would be against the Los Angeles Rams the next Sunday. I was feeling okay, but then the nerves took over again. Where were we now? We were the owners of an amazing record. We were division champs. We had the best defense in the league, the best running back, the best of a lot of things. But we were right back where we were the year before. It was the NFC Championship Game coming up, against another West Coast team. I couldn’t live through another game like the San Francisco game from last season. And I knew guys like Payton and Singletary couldn’t, either.

Or a guy like free safety Gary Fencik. He was a Yale guy who had his MBA from Northwestern, and you would probably think he was some yuppie pinhead sissy who didn’t give a damn and just wanted to look pretty. But he was another ferocious guy. Hell, coming into 1985 he already had more tackles than any Bear ever, even Dick Butkus. He and Doug Plank used to run into receivers just for fun. Just to see if they could knock them out.

Fencik was writing a column for one of the newspapers, which was appropriate because he was the brains of our defense. In that NFC game out in San Francisco in 1984 Gary had four tackles,
an assist, two passes broken up, and two interceptions. If we’d won, he probably would have been MVP. If we’d won. Fencik didn’t want to go out like Ernie Banks, like Gayle Sayers, like Jerry Sloan, like Ron Santo, or any of those other Chicago stars who had never won the championship game.

We were everybody’s biggest target, including, I’m sure, the Rams. And remember, they were out in Los Angeles then, not St. Louis. A lot of people loved us, but I think a lot of people hated us, too. Maybe I’m wrong about that. I was really a guy with blinders on at that time, not caring about the rest of the world. Just our own little world.

The genius oddsmakers had made us 10-point favorites over L.A., but they didn’t have to play. The Rams had Eric Dickerson at tailback, and he was one of the best runners in the history of the NFL. In their last game he’d run for 248 yards. I respected their coach, John Robinson, too. He’d come to the NFL after coaching at Southern Cal and taking them to three Rose Bowl championships in seven years. But deep down inside I felt this year was different. Yeah, we were playing another huge game to see if we could get into the Super Bowl. But this time we were playing it at home. We were the top dogs in this one. That’s right, all of those regular-season wins weren’t just for show. They meant something.

Then, too, L.A. was starting a guy named Dieter Brock at quarterback, a 34-year-old rookie, who had come into the NFL from the Canadian League. I’m sorry, but with our defense, that was like throwing a pork chop into a dog pound. I may have told our team that. I’m sure Buddy did. But we didn’t say anything publicly.

I started talking about us being the Grabowskis. I meant it. We were the common man. And now the common man was going to do something the fancy man could only hope to do.

The game started, and it was a cold, gray day, and I remember it looked like it could snow at any second.

McMahon had been fined by the NFL front office $5,000 for wearing a headband that said “Adidas” on in it during a previous game. I don’t know why he wore it. Probably to make money. So in this game he’s got the Adidas thing around his neck, and when he takes his helmet off I see he’s got a new stretchy thing around his forehead. This one says, “ROZELLE.” There’s no explaining this guy. I mean, Pete Rozelle is the freaking commissioner of the league. And he’s at the game, watching.

But I suppose it was sort of fun, and I heard later Rozelle loved it. It was pretty clever, I suppose, and about the most interesting thing McMahon could do after being ordered not to wear signs on his head.

“I see he’s got a new stretchy thing around his forehead. This one says, ‘ROZELLE.’ There’s no explaining this guy. I mean, Pete Rozelle is the freaking commissioner of the league. And he’s at the game, watching.”

—Ditka on McMahon

You need discipline on a team, but as I’ve said all along, McMahon was a different duck. He was the most devious person in the world, and he’d always find a way to get under your skin. Mine, Rozelle’s, the opponents’, everybody’s. To be honest, though, I think Walter sometimes wore a headband that said “Kangaroo” on it, a shoe company that gave him a car when he broke Jim Brown’s all-time rushing record. They paid him a lot of money, so why shouldn’t he advertise their company? I just don’t like the way the league lets guys make idiots of themselves in all of these end zone things, all of these dumb celebrations, and then uses it to promote the NFL. Why should they care what your helmet or T-shirt says? You know why? They’re not getting their cut of the money. That’s why it bothers them. You want to straighten things out, then cut out everything—all of the promotion. Just make it football. Is that asking too much?

I remember when the NFL wouldn’t let the 49ers’ former coach, Mike Nolan, wear a suit on the sideline. They said they’d fine him, because he had to wear official NFL issue. That’s just flat-out embarrassing to the NFL. Mike Nolan’s dad, Dick, was a great coach in the league, and he wore a suit, and his son was trying to honor him. It’s disrespectful to Tom Landry, to Vince Lombardi, to Buddy Parker, hell, to George Halas. They all wore suits on the sideline. The NFL is all about marketing now, not being reasonable.

One reason I was such a Mike Nolan fan is he hired one of my favorite players for his staff, one of my favorite people in life, current 49ers coach Mike Singletary. Another one of my favorites, Les Frazier, got his first shot at coaching in the NFL under Tony Dungy in Indianapolis. Les was one of the most underrated cornerbacks ever. He had six interceptions in that 1985 season, and he would get another one off Brock against the Rams. Nice guy, and I’m thrilled he’s back in the game (as the Vikings’ defensive coordinator). And Singletary—you know how I feel, and I’ll tell you more about him in a minute.

But thinking about individualism always
brings me back to McMahon. He had a great ability to recognize defenses, and when he saw something he knew was wrong or weak, he knew how to exploit it. But the main thing is he was not at all reluctant to audible after he saw something. Didn’t care at all. Avellini and Harbaugh would put me over the edge with a couple of terrible audibles, but McMahon did it all of the time. And I gave him the freedom to do it. Sometimes I didn’t understand why I did. But I did. And as a result of that he made some incredible plays for us that year. I guess that’s what a creative madman can do if given a chance.

“He got a couple of nice blocks downfield, and this beat-up guy with a knee brace and everything weaved around and dove into the end zone for a 16-yard touchdown.”

—Ditka on McMahon

That’s what he did early in the first quarter against the Rams. We were down in the red zone, and it was third and 8, and we had a pass play called. McMahon scrambled to his left and faked, looked for receivers, faked, and then he took off running. He got a couple of nice blocks downfield, and this beat-up guy with a knee brace and everything weaved around and dove into the end zone for a 16-yard touchdown. Hell, the great Eric Dickerson’s longest run of the day was nine yards. And no TDs, either.

Then with the score 10–0 in the third quarter, we have the ball again, and it is second and 10 at the Rams’ 22. I call a draw play. Give it to Wally, see what he could do. Seems like a no-brainer. But there’s McMahon at the line looking around, barking off stuff. Oh Jesus, I know something’s happening. He’s calling an audible. There’s the snap, and McMahon moves to his left. Willie Gault is lined up on the left and he runs downfield and gives an inside fake to cornerback LeRoy Irvin, a beautiful post-flag move, and Irvin bites on it, and Jim throws a perfect touchdown pass to Willie in the corner of the end zone. Jim’s feet were off the ground when he threw and he was all cockeyed, and his arm went straight across his body, exactly how nobody should ever do it.

I’m a genius, aren’t I?

McMahon was pumped up. I remember what
Payton said afterward. “He was a crazy nut out there. He did everything but take his clothes off, and if we’d been out there longer, he might have done that.”

Seventeen points was way more than we needed, because the defense had locked down the Rams offense and thrown away the key. Dickerson got a total of 46 yards rushing, and Brock threw for a total of 44 net yards. It was a joke! They had 130 total yards of offense, and our defense even outscored them.

The defensive touchdown came with under three minutes left, and the crowd really started to get excited, realizing we might truly make it this year. Singletary had been playing his usual great game, and I could see that warrior look of determination in his eyes. They didn’t call him “Samurai” for nothing. This was a guy who was so intense and focused on being a great football player that at Baylor he broke 16 of his own helmets. During the Rams game he saw some screws lying on the field and didn’t realize they came from his own head gear, and his facemask was ready to drop off. He broke his chinstrap after that. And at the end his helmet was cracked. He didn’t care.

At one practice in 1984 he was leading the team in calisthenics and he just started screaming, “I refuse to go home early!
I refuse to go home early!
” Can you understand how much this guy wanted it? All of it?

Well, he wasn’t going home early this year. Dieter Brock dropped back to pass, and Buddy’s dogs came roaring in on him, just like they had all afternoon. Dent smacked the ball away, and Brock went flying. William Perry came lumbering by and tried to pick up the loose ball. It kept bouncing, and finally Wilbur Marshall got it. He shrugged off Dickerson, who was diving for him, and then he took off upfield. Fridge was running with him like a big old elephant, and some other Bears were all around, looking back, like a posse. Singletary must have been somewhere in there, I know he was, and my God, it was beautiful. It had just started snowing, these big, slow flakes coming down like in one of those Christmas snow globes, and it was perfect. Bears weather, Bears dominance, Bears success, Bears kicking ass. If we could have frozen that scene and made it a billboard, it would have captured the season.

We won 24–0. In our two playoff games we had scored 45 points and hadn’t given up one.

There were cigars in the locker room, brought by Covert. But it was still subdued. No champagne, no screaming. Lots of hugs, handshakes. Big smiles. But we had one more rung to climb, one more peak. Everybody knew that.

Of course, McMahon said what was on his mind.

“Fuck the champagne, I want a beer.”