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The winners of 1986’s Super Bowl XX retain an unbreakable hold on the city’s sports consciousness because they were every inch the Monsters of the Midway. They were ferocious, outspoken, larger than life; they took the irascible qualities the franchise has always embodied and exaggerated them. Owner-coach George Halas built a series of combative teams known for tough players who took no prisoners, from Bronko Nagurski—a name that still screams not just leather-helmet football but what Nelson Algren lovingly referred to as Chicago bohunk—on through Doug Atkins, Mike Ditka, and Dick Butkus. The Bears won the 1940 NFL title against the Washington Redskins 73-0, and on the rare occasions they were upstaged with a title on the line it took artifice—such as the 1934 Giants switching to sneakers on the frozen field of the Polo Grounds—to do it. Even in the lean years, such as the Abe Gibron era in the 70s in which Butkus retired, the Bears were proud denizens of the NFL’s “Black and Blue Division.” The ’85 Bears were built in Ditka’s image, and for all his legendary conflicts with Halas, Ditka was very much Halas’s heir—the two men battled so much because they were so much alike.
I dusted off my videotape of Super Bowl XX last weekend and was again amazed at just how brash and oversize and, yes, just plain great those Bears were. They rubbed their opponents’ noses in how good they were. There was quarterback Jim McMahon with his headbands for the Juvenile Diabetes Foundation and POW-MIAs—worn in defiance of a league edict—and another for sponsor Adidas worn coquettishly around his neck; add the gloves he sported indoors at New Orleans’s Superdome and he had the look of someone dressed up to pose for Manet. There was game MVP Richard Dent forcing two fumbles in the first half—at one point prying the ball from Craig James’s hands—and Dan Hampton rising to brandish one of the fumbled balls in what has become an iconic image from the game. The Bears’ defense pounded New England Patriots’ quarterback Tony Eason into early submission, and only because the scrubs allowed a late touchdown was the final 46-10. The Bears didn’t just use defensive tackle William Perry as a running back—they had him attempt an option pass the first time they got down close to the goal line. Considering the score was tied at 3 at the time, that was brazen.
During the hype of the last two weeks, the Bears were matched in class by the Colts under Tony Dungy. Like Smith, who was his assistant when he coached the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Dungy is soft-spoken and diplomatic. The ’85 Bears reflected a big, brutal, combative era in sports. These Bears—and the Colts—say something different about today’s sports environment. Both teams play a more precise, more sportsmanlike kind of football, and Chicago fans are suspicious of it. These Bears aren’t one of those Chicago teams that don’t even have to win to be celebrated. But me, I’m taking them. v
