I was eight years old the last time this happened. It was January 26, 1986 and my grandparents had the entire family over for the game. We sat in their living room, a bunch of us crowding the couch, a few on the edge of the end table, and the rest on the floor, munching away on cookies grandma had made in the shape of football players...blue and orange frosting only. We watched one of the greatest and most entertaining teams in the history of football dismantle an overmatched Patriots team clad in bright red. My grandfather sat in his crusty lazy boy, wash rags under his elbows in place of long forgotten arm rest covers, leading the cheers.
"Super Bowl, Super Bears," he roared in a voice much too deep for his squat, graying frame.
"Super Bowl, Super Bears." And we all cheered along.
The 46-10 drubbing of the Patriots in Super Bowl XX was the highlight of the decade for every Chicago sports fan. Subsequent Bears teams -with the same basic players and coaches - failed to live up to expectations and we stumbled into the 90s with a sour feeling in our collective gut. Even through six Bulls championships and a recent White Sox title, the city of Chicago still pined for the days of McMahon, Singletary, Payton, and, of course, the almighty Ditka. We leaned on the memory of that season like a crutch whenever the Bears teams of the '90s became too much to handle. And up until a few days ago, I honestly wondered if I would see the Bears in the Super Bowl before I turned 40 (I'm 29).
Then it happened.
On a snowy Sunday afternoon in Soldier Field, amidst periodic snowfall and stinging winds, the Chicago Bears defeated the New Orleans Saints 39-14 in the NFC Championship Game. I watched the game with my wife in my apartment on the north side of Chicago. I collapsed from exhaustion on my couch as the final whistle blew, staring at the ceiling in disbelief. The Bears had just advanced to the Super Bowl and I laid in wait for the moment when someone would wake me from my dream. But as the minutes ticked it became obvious that I really was awake and that in two weeks I would be watching the Bears, my favorite of favorite teams, play in the Super Bowl for only the second time in my life.
And so I chanted, "Super Bowl, Super Bears," over and over, "Super Bowl, Super Bears," my fists pumping alternately in front of me, "Super Bowl, Super Bears," and in a small town three hours outside of Chicago, I was sure grandpa was doing the same thing.
Lovie Smith showed up three years ago, usurping the failed regime of Dick Jauron. He stated his first goal was to beat the Packers and his second was to win a Super Bowl. He accomplished the former in his first year with a new look defense that shut down Brett Favre. The cover-2 D continued to dominate the following season, helping lead the team to their first playoff berth in four years. It was a home game against the Carolina Panthers and Steve Smith ripped through the vaunted defense en route to a 28-21 upset. A home loss to a wild card team: Lovie vowed it wouldn't happen again.
As the Bears prepared for their home playoff game this year against Seattle, I wallowed in nervousness at the thought of another one-and-done playoff run. And damn if it almost didn't happen that way. The Bears gave up a lead in the 4th quarter to the Seahawks and my heart sunk. But two Robbie Gould field goals later, one the game-winner in overtime, and my worries were put off for another week.
Then came the Saints.
"Who dat? Who dat? Who dat say they gonna beat them Saints?"
The Bears, that's who dat. Chicago came roaring out of the gates against New Orleans, piling up 16 straight points in the first half. Two fumbles by the Saints gave the Bears great field position throughout the first two quarters, and a stifling defense held the explosive Saints offense to only 7 points. The second half started out ugly, with Reggie Bush's catch-and-run TD the low point. But just before the rookie needlessly dove into the end zone he pointed mockingly at a trailing Brian Urlacher. Like waking a sleeping giant, Bush's finger point served as the howling alarm that woke up the Bears defense. The Saints never scored again.
Not that they didn't have their chances. After a three-and-out on the Bears' next offensive series, the New Orleans offense drove into Bears territory before being forced into a field goal attempt. The Saints brought out their long field goal kicker, Billy Cundiff, whose kick couldn't traverse the cold winds and fell a yard short of the goal post. That was the closest they would come to scoring for the rest of the game.
After an awful intentional grounding penalty on Saints quarterback Drew Brees - where New Orleans was charged with a safety, making the score 18-14 - the Chicago offense decided that enough was enough and Rex Grossman, who had played poorly up until that point, began moving the ball with ease. He completed three stright passes and the Bears were soon in Saints territory. Then, on 1st and 10 at the New Orleans 33-yard line, Rex showed the skills that have kept him his job all season. As Hollis Thomas came storming through the middle of the Bears' offensive line with his mind set on drilling Grossman into the turf, Rex let fly a pass he'd thrown hundreds of times during the season. It was a deep pass to his left that floated high in the air while Bernard Berrian and 11-year veteran Fred Thomas jockied for position 30 yards down the field. The tight spiral came down like a gift into the waiting hands of a falling Berrian. It was one of the greatest catches I have ever seen. Touchdown.
As he rolled into the endzone to put the game away, I thought of my grandparents and how happy they must've been to see the Bears in the Super Bowl again. I thought of all the Chicago fans who have waited over two decades for this moment and of all the fans who wallowed through the bad years hoping that one day they'd see their team reach the biggest stage in all of sports. I felt a joy unlike any I'd felt before and I reveled in the mini-shock of pleasure my body was going through.
For the rest of that day and the one following, I walked around in a haze of excitement and happiness. You just couldn't get the smile off my face. And then a more sinister thought crept through the cloud of emotion my head had been swimming in. I thought of all the doubters who said the Bears didn't have a chance; of all the pundits and supposed "fans" who barbecued Rex throughout the season; I thought of the eight ESPN football "experts" who picked the Bears to lose that game; and for a second I felt sick.
"What if they lose the Super Bowl?" I thought.
The idea hadn't even occured to me before then and I tremored slightly at the pictures it pressed in my brain: of a dejected Lovie Smith hugging the victorious Tony Dungy at midfield; of Peyton Manning holding up the Championship trophy; of Brian Urlacher leaving the field with his chin touching his chest. It made me scared, nervous, and angry. And I realized that our NFC Champions have only one choice: win the damn game!
I've waited 21 years for this Bears, it better be worth it.
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