Part VI, November 30-December 6

I woke up this morning to a message on my cell phone. I’d left it on all night, so when I opened it, the screen read “ONE MISSED CALL.” When I clicked on “view,” the name read “SBXXXI Sucked.” Ah. Tony Lonian.

When it comes to Packers fans, my friend Tony is among the tolerable. He is respectful and thoughtful. He is able to honestly acknowledge the Bears’ success. He is not the kind of Packers fan you simply wish to castrate. Our relationship with Tony is the antithesis of our relationship with Shlensky. When the Bears rolled over the Packers last year at Lambeau, Andy received fourteen messages from camp friends rubbing it in, because all we’d heard all week was how much our team sucked. Our friend Marc didn’t exactly trash talk, instead choosing to count down the game’s final twenty five seconds. Marc was caller number one. I was caller number four.

However, Tony has always been the type to encourage friendly banter. He is an intelligent, crafty, appropriately diabolical Packers fan. He doesn’t go for your typical “Bears suck and the Packers rule” kind of jabber. He knows what hurts, and that’s what he goes for. He doesn’t call much, but when he does, it sticks.

For example, on the day of this season’s NFL draft, Tony knew that what would bother me most was not our decision to draft Cedric Benson ahead of Mike Williams, but rather the awful occurrence of Cal quarterback Aaron Rodgers plummeting down the draft board, going from a possible number one pick all the way down to Green Bay at pick number 23.

“Hey Jack. Looks like we found our Favre replacement. Enjoy the next ten years, buddy.”

And it’s always that “buddy” that he throws in, and the way that he says everything in such a relaxed tone of voice.

Tony and I met at a party during freshman year of high school. He was dating a girl who my friend wanted to hook up with, and somehow through those odd circumstances, we became friends. It was quickly revealed that he was a Packers fan, and as fate would have it, he ended up at my house for Super Bowl XXXI. All of my oldest friends were over, as were many of my parents’ friends. We were in the basement, they were on the first floor, and everybody in the house was rooting for New England except Tony.

But he wasn’t cocky; I’ll give him that. He was appreciative that I’d invited him over, and he understood how hard it must have been for me to invite a Packers fan over for a Packers Super Bowl. He said nothing. Rather, he sat quietly, waited for each Green Bay touchdown, and then began clapping and fist-pumping and dropping obnoxious rhetorical questions, like “Wow, is Brett Favre a great quarterback or what?”

In the third, the Patriots pulled within six, 27-21. As soon as they hit the point after, I hustled upstairs to use the john. As I was finishing up, a terrible roar emanated from the rest of the house, every voice letting out a simultaneous moan of agony. It was the kind of a roar that told me something positively awful had just happened, like Kelly Leak getting thrown out at home, a roar that fully suggested Green Bay had done something to knock out New England’s momentum, the kind of one-and-done home run play that left no doubt about which team would be champs. Uh oh. Desmond Howard just broke one. And then, out of that cacophony of moans came one joyful, exhaulting, powerful cheer of a yell. Guess who.

That’s how it goes. Every Bears fan in America has at least one Packers fan buddy whose very existence brings him pain and serves as a constant reminder that the Packers are always lurking…somewhere. And of course, it doesn’t matter how close you are to your Packer friend. Tony and I can go months without speaking to each other, but come Packer Weeks I always know I am going to hear from him.

“Jack…Jaaaaaack. It’s Tony. Hello Jack. How’s it going, buddy? The clock just passed midnight. That means it’s December now, Jack. First NFL game of December is coming up. Bears-Packers. Be afraid, Jack. You don’t need to be petrified, but the cold sweats are normal. The Packers are coming, Jack. We’re coming. Brett Favre is on his way. Take care, Jack.”

New Years has always been a fun holiday, one that’s held a special place in my heart ever since I was little. There wasn’t any deep significance to it; quite simply, New Years was the only night of the year that my brother and I were allowed to stay up until midnight…and beyond. As we grew older, a night with my parents turned into nights with our friends, huge blow-out sleepovers with my favorite people.

As was the case with Thanksgiving break, winter break was now the first time in a while that we were all seeing each other, and New Years was the centerpiece of winter break. It was during our freshmen year in college that we began our tradition of spending the night at Ric’s. His parents go out of town every year and leave us the house, which is damn nice of them. We almost blew the whole deal in Year One when we blew out a speaker, stained their coffee table, and nearly broke Ric’s sister’s bed, but they’re plety relaxed people, and they rolled the dice with the old “What the hell” for Year Two. Since then we’ve been pretty careful about keeping the stereo volume down.

For five straight years we’ve rung in the New Year at Ric’s, and so it was with great delight when I checked my email today and found a letter from Ric addressed to myself, Luke, Rota, Josh, Sven, and Ben concerning Ric’s plans for a party playlist. Gotta love planning New Years music a month in advance.

I’ve just gotten home from Buffalo Wild Wings, where Meghan and I watched the Bears beat Green Bay 19-7 at Soldier Field. It was their first win at home against the Pack since ’93, and it broke a streak of 26 straight Bears-Packers games in which Brett Favre threw for a touchdown. Though the score is impressive, this was not the full-on dominantion we saw against Carolina, or even last week against Tampa Bay. The Bears allowed a season-high 198 yards in the first half. They got great field position but did nothing with it. The offense could scrape together but four Robbie Gould field goals, only two of those the result of a offensive drive. The other two were products of a Rashied Davis punt return and a Charles Tillman interception, the pick coming at the end of the first half, Brett[1] throwing a lazy jump ball towards the endzone. The ball got caught in the wind, floated left, and was easily plucked by Peanut, who hopped out of the endzone and returned it 95 yards to set up the field goal that gave the Bears a 9-7 lead heading into the locker room.

In the second half, the Orton/Berrian/Adrian Peterson-led Bears produced an 11 play, 63-yard drive. The drive produced a field goal. They forced and recovered fumbles on consecutive Green Bay possessions in the fourth, but punted after both. Then, on the third straight Packers possession, the Bears put pressure on Favre on third down. Brett did his little body going backwards/arm going forwards pass, a pass that zipped towards his receiver…not yet looking. Vasher jumped the rout, made the pick, and took the ball 45 yards for a touchdown.

Green Bay drove the field on their final drive but could not score. Time ran out. Bears 19, Packers 7. A good score, but not one indicative of the game we’d watched. To see what kind of game the Bears played compared to the past two weeks, just look at the final play of each. The Bears finished off both the Panthers and the Buccaneers with game-ending sacks on fourth down, both from Ogunleye. This game ended with the Packers picking up a fourth and long, but having the game clock run out. We didn’t snuff them out on their final drive; the game ended of, shall we say, natural causes.

So while the result is the same, the feeling is different, and while it is always super sweet to beat the Packers, and while the Vasher TD was an entertaining capper to an otherwise lackluster performance, I am a realistic Bears fan who is always looking at the big picture. This eight-game win streak has been amazing, but more important than the wins is the week-to-week improvement. Any team can luck out a win here or there; nobody can luck out a Super Bowl victory, and since that is the ultimate goal in competition, a true fan is always looking for signs that indicate their team’s chances to win a championship. The past two weeks were clear markers of a team on the rise; this game was a bit murkier. There were a lot of negatives this week—we had zero offensive production …the passing game, which has been competent for most of the season, was absolute garbage—and while I am enthused that we were able to find a way to win even when we weren’t playing our best football, and while my excitement levels went through the roof in the “living in the moment” area, this game did not leave me entirely satisfied in the “big picture” area.

As soon as I answered the phone and heard my dad’s question, I could tell that he was feeling exactly as I was. The win is great, but what did it tell us about our team? I’m not sure, and so for that reason I was not over the top in the “big picture” department.

But something else was bothering me as well, something that I’ve never felt as a sports fan, a feeling that, as soon as I properly identified it, frightened and shamed me.

When the Bulls won their first championship in 1991, it was a culmination of the journey they had embarked on over the previous three years. They finally got over the Piston hump in ’91, Michael finally proved he could make his teammates better, Scottie came of age, and the team made The Leap from very good to CHAMPION.

When the Bears won the Super Bowl in 1985, they were capping off a three-year ascent that began with the 1983 draft. That draft planted the seeds. In 1984 they climbed the ranks of the NFC, going all the way to the NFC title game where they lost to the eventual Super Bowl champion 49ers. And in 1985, they put it all together and won the Super Bowl.

In my twenty-four years as a Chicago sports fan, I have experienced the thrill of eight championships on some level or another—as a wee pup in ’85 with the Bears, six for the Bulls in my teenaged years, and this year with the White Sox as a borderline participant. I’ve seen Northwestern go to (and lose) the Rose Bowl, the Blackhawks go to (and lose) the Stanley Cup, Illinois go to (and lose) the national title game in hoops, and the Cubs and the Sox each go to (and lose) the LCS, two apiece. The majority of my joy in watching Chicago sports during my life has stemmed from the players and the teams, not the championships.

On the other hand, the Florida Marlins have won two World Series in their thirteen years of existence. Both of those teams were surprises, as they were not successful in the years leading up to their championships. And both of those teams were one-and-dones, as the Florida management decided that they could no longer afford the players who had brought them a championship, or that they just didn’t want to, or something. Within two years of the ’97 title, the team had shipped out Gary Sheffield, Moises Alou, Kevin Brown, Edgar Renteria, Bobby Bo, Charles Johnson, Al Leiter, and Rob Nenn. After the ’03 title, the team let Pudge Rodriguez leave via free agency and traded Derrick Lee to the Cubs. They replaced those two players with Paul Lo Duca and Carlos Delgado, but over the past month they have shipped both of them out along with ’03 title winners Josh Beckett, Luis Castillo, Mike Lowell, and A.J. Burnett.

So Florida Marlins fans have been given two World Series titles without having one single player that they can hang their hats on as a classic Florida Marlin. Maybe Jeff Conine. Maybe. In that same time span of 1997-2003, the title-less Chicago baseball fans were able to watch Ryne Sandberg, Frank Thomas, Mark Grace, Sammy Sosa, Magglio Ordonez, and Paul Konerko.

Championships are nice, but what moves me as a sports fan are the lifetime players, the memorable teams, the guys who I will one day tell my kids about. Maybe that’s just a Chicago sports defense mechanism, but I doubt it.

Which brings us back to the 2005 Chicago Bears, a team with more swagger and legit talent than the 2001 team, and as the wins keep coming, and our defense continues to play well, I began to wonder more and more if the Bears can win a Super Bowl this year. And as I wonder that, a part of me is feeling nervous, as if winning a Super Bowl this year out of nowhere will somehow lessen my overall enjoyment. Can I enjoy a championship without the buildup? Without the playoff losses and growing pains?

Well, the White Sox just won a World Series in that way, and nobody seemed to care. They hadn’t been to the playoffs since 2000, the year that they won the most games in the American League and were promptly swept by the M’s. The team that won this year was devoid of Mags, Carlos Lee, and Frank (more or less), three of the biggest stars on that 2000 team, and three guys who were all significant contributors up until this season. A.J., Iguchi, Uribe, Pods, Jermaine, Contreras, Garcia, Jenks, and Dustin Hermansen were all acquired either this season or in 2004, and long-time prospects Aaron Rowand, Joe Crede, and Jon Garland hit their potential this season. So this really was a surprise team, and everybody enjoyed them. I never got the feeling that the championship was in any way cheapened by their sudden rise.

But then again, 162 games is plenty of time to grow fond of new guys, and the length of a baseball season has always negated any possibility of a fluke-championship. This is not the case in football, where a team can come out of nowhere to win a Super Bowl as the ’99 Rams, 2000 Ravens, and ’01 Patriots all did. There is a part of me that is truly afraid of the Bears winning a Super Bowl this season…

But wait! Isn’t that fear unfounded? Even if they were to win a Super Bowl this year, the Bears would not dish out their players. We’re not going to have a Marlins fire sale. We’re not over our heads in salary, and we’re not vying for a new stadium deal. On top of that, isn’t our situation similar to the 2005 White Sox? The Sox missed the playoffs in 2001, 2002, 2003, and 2004, but since that 2000 season they have had a team on paper that could compete for a championship. I always felt that the Bears’ 1999 and 2000 drafts would be the foundations to championships, and when they went to the postseason in 2001, I felt vindicated. We were brutal in ’02, ’03, and ’04, but wasn’t that due to silly front office meddling? Isn’t this 2005 team rooted in the same base as the 2001 team? The defensive leaders of this year—Urlacher, Mike Brown, Azumah, and even Michael Green—were all members of the 2001 team, as was Olin Kreutz, our best offensive player since 2001. Maybe this team really is more of a culmination of those earlier drafts and the earlier success than we all like to think. Or maybe it’s the 2003 draft—the one that brought Briggs, Tillman, Ian Scott, Wade, Gage, Todd Johnson, Rex, and Michael Haynes—that is the foundation to this team, and this year will be our 1984, with a Super Bowl champion coming next year.

No matter what happens, I am sure of one thing: when you build your sports fan identity on the lessons of losing, winning blows your mind and gets you thinking thoughts you could have never imagined. More than winning, and certainly more than losing, sports fans want to be given life. We want the full spectrum, the full story, the ups that feel better because they were born of the downs. The ’85 Bears, the ’91 Bulls, they gave us championships, but more than that, they gave us life and everything that life entails. They were full experiences, and with this Bears team there is a small part of me that fears missing out.

After much analysis, I still don’t know entirely what all of this means, but maybe my answer can be found simply in my emotions during the Packers game.

The Colts were playing Tennessee yesterday on CBS, which meant FOX did not carry an afternoon game in Indy. So Meghan and I headed over to Buffalo Wild Wings to watch the game, which frightened me since all three of the Bears’ losses this season had come when I was watching the games at sports bars. The place was packed, and Meg and I ended up sharing a table with two other Bears fans.

When meeting Chicago fans outside of Chicago, the first question I always ask is, “Where are you from?” The person usually says “Chicago” or one of the suburbs, but sometimes they are from someplace else in the country, and when this is the case the immediately add in, “…but my family is from Chicago.”

So it was with great surprise that when I asked the first of these two fans—a guy a little bit older than us named Mel—where he was from, he responded “Puerto Rico,” and nothing else.

“Really?” I said, wondering what the rest of the story was. “Is your family from Chicago?”

“Good to meet you,” Rob said, sitting down as he shook our hands. “Rob.”

The game had a slow pace to it to start, which was fine since I was suffering from unspeakable levels of nervousness and twisted excitement. We backed the Packers up inside their fifteen on their first drive, forcing them to punt. It was an ugmo, and the Bears took the ball inside Green Bay’s thirty. But on the very first play, Orton’s pass bounced off of Desmond Clark’s hands, flew up into the air and was intercepted. We stuffed Green Bay again, and again they dropped a short punt to us, and again we punted back to them.

“Watching the Bears is like a manic depressive’s worst nightmare,” Rob said, laughing. “But I like our strategy. The Packers punt to our thirty, we punt to their twenty, they punt to our forty, we punt to their ten…if we keep going like this we’ll be in field goal range in no time.”

“We’re not getting pressure on Favre like we did against Carolina and Tampa Bay,” I said. “They’re playing loose.” (A clear sign that Rob is much more relaxed than I am: he’s making jokes, and I’m already dipping into the Serious Analysis jar.)

“We were at the Carolina game two weeks ago,” Mel said. “It was awesome. The Panthers fans were all talking shit before the game,” he said, laughing. “They were pretty quiet on the way out.”

“My first game was last year when we got blown out by the Colts,” Meghan said.

“Yeah. And then I got him tickets to the Bears-Packers game in January for his birthday, and we went to that. Also a loss.”

“Yeah. But we went to the Baltimore game this year, so I finally saw a win.”

“Yeah,” said Rob, “Bears games are tough. Just watching them is difficult. It’s like going out and getting really trashed. You wake up the next day, you’re sore and sick, and you say ‘OK, that’s it. I’m never drinking again.’ Then your buddy calls you the next weekend…”

The game was still scoreless at the end of the first quarter, and in the middle of the second, around the time that my burger was arriving, the Bears put up a field goal. They stuffed the Packers and got the ball back, but Green Bay sacked Orton on consecutive plays, forcing and recovering a fumble on the second. This was awful, naturally, but I was cheered when Meghan dropped a gem of a comment after the Packers recovered Orton’s fumble:

MEG: “Orton keeps on getting caught in the pocket. He needs to move around more.”

ME: “Hey! That’s right! He does need to move around more. Nice job Meg!”

Rob and Mel also commented on Meghan’s astute observation. We were all very excited.

Unfortunately, the Packers did have the ball at this point, and Favre drove them 60 yards for a score, a short run by Samkon Gado. 7-3, Green Bay.

Now it was 7-6 Packers, late in the first half, and Favre was leading them back down the field and back towards the endzone. Here we go again was the general mood at the table. We’d all seen this look from Favre plenty of times. He’s like Clint in the Mexican standoff scene from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: confident to the point that you suspect he knows something you don’t.

I didn’t say anything. I was watching for trends, looking for the Big Picture. We weren’t attacking Favre the way we’d attacked Delhomme and Simms. This worried me. We had to get at Favre, to knock him on his ass. We couldn’t be afraid of him anymore.

They ran a reverse to the left, and Favre was out in front as the lead blocker. He threw his body in front of Vasher, sending them both to the ground. Then, getting up, he slapped Vasher on the ass.

It was the kind of sequence, the play and the gesture, that makes Brett Favre impossible to dislike.

It’s the way he engages the opposition, the way that he sparks the players on the other team to play their best. It’s the way that he fosters an atmosphere of respect, respect for the opposition, and respect for competition, for competing as hard and as true as you can, because that’s the only way to play.

But still, this is Brett Favre, quarterback for the Green Bay Packers, and as much as I respect the guy, he’s still the quarterback of the other team. Brett was leading the Pack right down the field, and we were letting him do it. If this guy was playing his final season, then that meant that he was playing his final game at Soldier Field, and I didn’t want the Bears going down without proving that after thirteen years, the tables were finally turned.

“Here it comes,” said Mel, smiling oddly. “Our defense is getting a turnover right here, and we’re gonna take it back for a touchdown.”

The Bears crowded the line, put a nice rush on Favre, and as he was falling back he lofted a pass towards the endzone. It faded to the left, like a wounded duck or Judge Smails’ slice into the woods, and Peanut jumped up and snatched it.

Tillman brought the ball out of the endzone, and as our table and the table of Bears fans behind us began clapping and yelling and cheering, all of us on our feet, Tillman galloped 95 yards before being taken down at the eight-yard line with six seconds left. Robbie Gould came out, nailed a field goal, and the Bears went into the locker room with a 9-7 lead.

“Quick,” Meghan said to Mel, “go buy me a Lottery ticket. Whatever numbers you think are good.”

The teams started slowly in the second half, but the Bears were growing more confident on defense. Attack-attack-attack. You have to attack. The third quarter was scoreless, but it took a toll on Favre, who was being knocked down repeatedly by the Bears’ defense. Alright now. Get at this guy. Don’t be afraid. The Bears got another field goal in the fourth quarter…12-7…but we were still only hanging on. We were getting to Favre though, which made me happy; late in the third, Mike Brown crushed number 4 for a sack on a blitz, and Favre was left wincing, holding his right hand. Green Bay’s backup quarterback Aaron Rodgers began warming up, but I knew better.

“No way he comes out,” I said. “I don’t care if every bone in that man’s hand is broken. If the skin is still in tact—I don’t care if his hand is like broken egg shells inside of a glove—if the skin is attached from the elbow to the tips of the fingers, Brett Favre will figure out a way to throw the football.”[2]

Favre stayed in the game, and not only did we continue hitting him, but now we were forcing turnovers. Tommie Harris struck first, sacking Favre and forcing a fumble that Lance Briggs recovered. Tillman came unblocked on a corner blitz on Green Bay’s next possession—“Great blitz!” Meghan exclaimed—and knocked the piss out of Favre from the blind side, forcing a fumble that Ogunleye fell on. Still the Bears were unable to produce on offense, and so back the ball went to Green Bay on yet another Brad Maynard punt.

Yes, we were beating the Packers. Yes, it looked as if our defense was growing stronger as the game went on; they had certainly regained the dominant form that led us to victories during the past two weeks. And yes, I was enjoying the game. A win is a win is a win, and a win over Green Bay is the best win of all. And yet throughout, I felt like something was missing. I was nervous that we were going to win without earning a win, I was nervous that we were going to win without making a statement, and there was still the possibility that we wouldn’t win at all, that Brett would rally the troops and somehow lead the Packers to a 15-12 win.[3] Again, I didn’t want to lose to the Packers, but even more than that, I didn’t want to beat them accidentally.

After the second fumble, the Bears again failed to move the ball, and so it went back to the Packers for yet another shot at the endzone. On first down, we played them loose on the line. On second, we did the same. Come on guys! Get at him! Do it like you’ve been doing it! Don’t be intimidated. On third down, the Bears stacked the line and showed blitz. I exploded.

“Alright! We’re gonna get one right here! We’re getting another turnover RIGHT HERE! Come on guys!”

Favre back to throw…pressure on him…bad throw…Vasher jumping the route…HE GOT IT! Vasher’s gonna score! Go! Go! Go! Go! Holy hell! Touchdown Bears! Touchdown Bears! Touchdown Bears!

We were all screaming like that, high-fiving each other. Meghan and I high-fived each other, and then hugged, and then high-fived Rob and Mel, and I just continued screaming as my phone rang, and without looking I picked it up, yelling.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Touchdown! Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I was yelling and barking, exorcising the spirits Otis Wilson and Dave Duerson and Richard Dent. And then… “Who is this?”

I was still out of breath, and my throat, which hadn’t yet fully recovered from the Tillman interception, was now completely shot and scratchy. The Bears now led 19-7, but there were two minutes left, which meant that while the odds of a Green Bay comeback were remote, it was still entirely possible. I’d seen it done—TD, onside kick, TD—many a time.

Let’s get a stop! Let’s not just ‘not lose.’ Let’s win this game. Come on guys, put it away. Brett was leading the Packers down the field, but the clock was running. It looked like the Bears would win, but I didn’t just want a win; I wanted to snuff them out, like we had against Baltimore, Carolina, and Tampa Bay.

Instead of a Last Stand, a Beat Down, a Snuff ‘em Out and Send ‘em Home, the Packers drove the field and managed to move the ball inside our ten. Their final play of the game was an 11-yard pass to Tony Fisher that picked up a first down. Then the clock hit ‘zero,’ and that was it. The game was ours.

We didn’t look great, and we didn’t end the game with an emphatic stuff. And yet, within the confines of the game, I felt great. I left Buffalo Wild Wings smiling and in good spirits. We beat Green Bay. For sixty minutes, we were the better team. It wasn’t our greatest performance, but it wasn’t luck, either. It was just a win, a win in which the team that made the most big plays won, and to my surprise, I loved every minute of it. Separate from the Big Picture, separate from Orton’s poor play, separate from Green Bay’s final drive, separate from anything that the hard-bitten, tough-loving, analytical Jack M. Silverstein may have been thinking, I enjoyed the game. Loved every minute of it. Loved the feeling of watching my team play. Loved the feeling of watching my team win. For sixty minutes, the Bears made me feel good.

And if we win the Super Bowl this year, fall apart in 2006, and never compete again with this team, you know what?

GO TO NEXT SECTION: December 7-December 13

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[1] When a guy on the other team has earned first name status, and it’s not simply due to a super unique one like Nomar or Kobe…that’s respect.

[2] There’s no denying it: that was very John Madden of me.

[3] If the Packers had scored a touchdown this late in the game while losing 12-7, they would have gone for two. Being the frightened Bears fan that I am, I figured they’d make it.