This column was written directly after the events of the Bears regular season game with the Commanders. I delayed posting this because I wanted to say something profound. But in Bears football, there is no profound lesson to be learned.
This column has a sort of sick irony to it. After this game, the Bears would proceed to go on one of the most heart retching losing streaks of all time. I feel bad for my past self.
He didn’t know what was coming. But he probably should have.
Let me tell you a story. The date is January 6th, 2019, and the Bears are playing the Eagles in the NFC Wild Card game. The game is coming down to the wire, and with the help of a great kickoff return, quarterback Mitch Trubisky has led the team into field goal range.
All the Bears need is three points, and they would have a date with the Saints next week. Just one field goal, and the Bears would win their first playoff game since 2011. Codey Parkey lines up for the kick, and it’s a strike down the middle.
But wait. The Eagles call a timeout before the play, and Parkey is forced to kick again. He once again lines up for the kick, and Chicago waits with bated breath. He strikes the ball, and it’s sent careening towards the left.
In tortuous slow-motion, the ball hits the left upright and bounces off the crossbar into the Soldier Field dirt. Instead of a triumphant return to relevancy, the Bears began a long, winding march towards the worst record in the NFL in 2023. The 2018 season was pure magic, but the Bears found a way to make it all futile in mere seconds.
My heart was ripped out, and it was the Bears’ fault. Over the subsequent years, it was a feeling I grew somewhat used to. They would continue to lose in increasingly ridiculous ways, and I thought I had seen it all.
The date is October 27th, 2024, and the Bears are playing the Commanders in a pivotal regular season game. It’s a duel between the top two quarterbacks drafted, and a test for both teams. The winner would be in a great spot for a playoff berth and would cement their position as a contender.
The Bears can’t get anything going offensively and rely on heroic play from the defense just to stay somewhat competitive. This is the way that the Bears play football, and it is terribly frustrating. The defense miraculously holds on for dear life, and every stop gives one hope that the offense might finally take advantage.
Of course, they don’t. The Bears offense always finds some way to ruin every opportunity they get. In this game, they are failing in every possible way.
False starts, errant throws and awful offensive line play lead the Bears to a total of zero points in the first half. By some miracle, they are only down by nine.
The second half progresses the same way. The Bears are holding on for dear life, and once again they have the ball on offense. This time, however, they actually take advantage.
A massive D’Andre Swift run cuts the Bears deficit to 12-7. They are alive. Another stop and the Bears could take the lead.
They get the stop. The offense marches down to the 1-yard line, and the Bears seem destined to take the lead. On a crucial goal line play, the Bears bewilderingly call upon Doug Kramer, an offensive lineman.
In a disastrous sequence, the handoff is botched, and the Commanders are given the ball. The Bears need their defense to hold in the worst of ways. They do.
The Bears get the ball back with less than five minutes on the clock. In a surprisingly successful drive, the Bears get back to the one-yard line. This time, they punch it in with Roschon Johnson, an actual NFL running back.
They go for two and get it. Despite playing horrible, sloppy, frustrating football, the Bears are winning by three. All of Chicago looks on with tentative jubilation.
With less than thirty seconds on the clock, victory looks all but assured. The Bears just have to make one more stop with a defense that has looked excellent all day.
The Commanders can get very little going. After a few short completions, they make it to midfield for a hail mary attempt. At this point, the game should be signed, sealed, delivered.
Commanders quarterback Jayden Daniels drops back. He evades pressure, scrambling to find some room to throw. After running around for what seems like an eternity, he steps up and heaves the ball 60 yards downfield.
The ball, once again, travels in slow motion. It finally enters the TV screen, and it looks short of the goal line. A massive pile jumps for the ball, and it’s sent flying backwards. In this moment, the Bears’ fate is sent fluttering into the whims of God and physics.
With a potential statement victory hanging in the balance, the ball continues its trajectory straight into the hands of Commanders wide receiver Noah Brown.
Game over. Bears lose. My heart, battered down by many seasons of painful mediocrity, is ripped out once again.
Football is a game of inches in a very literal sense. In my time as a football fan, I have witnessed the ball go up, down, sideways and backwards. Very rarely does it go the Bears way.
But I keep coming back. Maybe next week, next season, next regime, will finally capture the magic that made me enamored with this team so many years ago.
So, break my heart, Chicago Bears, but don’t expect me to love you any less.