The '85 Bears: We Were the Greatest

by Ditka, Mike

  The problem was Buddy saw this as a slap in the face. That wasn’t how I meant it. It just made us a better football team, I thought. Okay, and it was fun. I guarantee you goal-line practices became a lot more fun with Fridge back there. And I started thinking of other things to do with him. Back then, remember, a huge player was like 275 pounds. Three-fourteen? Three-thirty? It was crazy.

  So now we are all the rage. We are the sideshow. It had been building, and the Minnesota game got everybody’s attention, and McMahon and Payton and Singletary were pretty well known. But this was big. In four days we’re going to be on the cover of Sports Illustrated. Well, McMahon was on it, throwing a pass over a San Francisco player, above the headline, “BEARS ON THE PROWL: Jim McMahon Leads Undefeated Chicago Past the 49ers.”

  “A lot of people thought it was nuts when I was hired to coach the team. But when Mr. Halas hired me, he didn’t hire me for Xs and Os. He hired me because I was a Bear.”

  —Ditka

  I felt pretty good. I felt I had redeemed our team from the embarrassment of the year before. Well, they had done it. I am certain we had more talent than anybody. But talent doesn’t always win. The sideshow stuff didn’t affect me, it wasn’t important to me. I wanted to be proud of being a coach for this team and city I loved. You only get a few opportunities in life, that’s it, and you better grab them.

  A lot of people thought it was nuts when I was hired to coach the team. But when Mr. Halas hired me, he didn’t hire me for Xs and Os. He hired me because I was a Bear. His own family didn’t have anybody like me in it. They weren’t football people. The McCaskeys didn’t play. I think Halas hired me because he had a gut instinct, and he followed it. When I first arrived, he asked me what I wanted to do for my staff, if I had people in mind.

  “I have a few,” I said.

  Then he said, “I would really like you to keep the defensive coaches.”

  “Why?” I said.

  “Because that’s a very strong part of our football team. Buddy Ryan came here in 1978, and the players like him and they play hard for him.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I have no problem at all with that.”

  I meant it.

  I only brought in a couple of coaches, mainly Ed Hughes, whom I’d been with for a few years in Dallas, to be offensive coordinator. Buddy was a hell of a coach. But I know he thought he should have been named head coach. There was nothing I could do about that. You have to understand that when I first got there, the Bears defense was much, much better than the offense. We had to build the offense little by little, put the pieces of the puzzle in place. But it was hard to do when we were practicing against those guys and they were going full speed and we couldn’t accomplish anything. They were better than us, cut and dried. Understand? So what? Buddy and I would have the argument constantly, over and over and over. We don’t play the Bears, Buddy. I don’t see them on our schedule. Do you? Where? We have to play the other team’s defense, not ours! The attitude and respect changed after Covert body-slammed McMichael. And after Fridge played against San Francisco, too. But still I had to tell Buddy to put William in on defense. I mean, this guy was a good athlete. He didn’t deserve the rap of being just a fat guy, and he sure as hell wasn’t lazy.

  I wanted Buddy to know we could not win if we had different goals. The only goal should be the whole team’s success. But I saw him get caught up in stats and sacks and stuff like that. I mean, why were we blitzing when we’re up 21 points? Because we’re the No. 1-rated defense and we want more sacks. So I was going to use one of his defensive players when I wanted to.

  And I felt good and celebrated just a bit after our win. We got on the plane, and I started drinking wine with Jerry Vainisi. I mean, it wasn’t like we were crazy celebrating. I was just relishing the little bit we’d accomplished. It’s a long flight from California, and the wine kept coming. We felt good and we were dissecting the game, enjoying the glow. When we got to O’Hare early in the morning, everybody went scrambling for their cars. I got in mine and took off and headed north on I-294.

  All of a sudden I see a police light turn on, and the next thing I know, I pull over and the guy is giving me a ticket for driving under the influence. I was wrong, and driving after drinking is a terrible thing. But the guy was a prick. I was 100 percent wrong, I admit that. But here I am on the side of the highway, and players are flying past in their cars and they’re looking at their coach getting arrested. I think a player or two stopped, and I told them to keep on going. I didn’t think I was drunk. My judgment was good, but maybe it wasn’t perfect. I argue with that cop, call him everything I can think of. Everything in the book. It’s not a good scene.

  I did everything I was supposed to do, though I didn’t take a breathalyzer, because I didn’t want to. Tom Landry called me during the week, and I appreciated that. We talked all the time, anyway, but he just called to give me support. He told the press I was a “good man,” and that was nice.

  I came in and gave a talk to the players on Monday, apologizing to them, to the organization, for my behavior. They needed to forgive me, and I didn’t need my authority undercut. And we sure didn’t need any more distractions on our road to the postseason. So I wanted to get this all behind me.

  Gary Fencik Remembers ’85

  William Perry and the Makeup of the ’85 Team

  “Fridge was a big story, so to speak—don’t get me wrong. But most rookies don’t make big contributions on veteran NFL teams. The bigger story, at least at the start, was Todd Bell and Al Harris not coming back. I mean that was huge. They had been so good in 1984. We’re thinking: We can go to the Super Bowl without Todd, our All Pro strong safety, and without Al, our No.1 pick and outside linebacker? How can we even make it to the Super Bowl, let alone win it?

  “We all knew we had one shot to win, and we wanted all hands on deck. This was just really bad news. But you know what? Dave Duerson stepped in for Todd and made the Pro Bowl, and Wilber Marshall filled in for Al, and he did a terrific job and he made the Pro Bowl three times after that. Give Buddy and Mike credit. It really was we’re gonna play with who we have and nobody will get in our way.

  “But when I think of William Perry that year, the first thing I always think of is he was just such a good-natured guy. He could have been a jerk, a first-round pick and all, but he wasn’t and the team really embraced him. All the hoopla, all the stuff about not being used that much at first on defense and then doing all that stuff on offense, it didn’t seem to faze him. He was a genuinely nice, and, of course, very athletic guy. We played basketball sometimes, and did you ever see him jam? It was remarkable the spring he had.

  “He just fit in with everybody so well. And then to see him carry the ball or whatever Ditka would have him do? When there was a goal line drive by our offense in a game, the defense usually wouldn’t be watching. We’d be getting ready to go back in, getting prepared as a unit. I can guarantee you when Fridge was in the backfield, everybody was watching.”

  Some press guy told Darryl Rogers, the Detroit Lions head coach, what I’d done, and Darryl said, “I guess I’d probably do that, too.”

  Darryl doesn’t drink. And the press guy reminded him he didn’t drink, in case he’d forgotten.

  “But I would if we were 6–0,” said Darryl.

  Yes, we were still undefeated. And it was Packer week. And nobody who calls himself a Chicago Bear can relax during Packer week. I know I didn’t.

  GAME 7

  Chicago 23, Green Bay 7

  Refrigerator in the Living Room

  What had begun as an in-your-face gesture from Mike Ditka to Bill Walsh in Game 6 reached international proportions eight days later when William Perry, in front of a Monday Night Football audience, obliterated a Green Bay linebacker while blocking on two Walter Payton touchdowns and scored one of his own.

  The Bears again trailed initially as Green Bay scored on a 27-yard pass from Lynn Dickey to James Lofton. But in the second quarter, the Bears explode
d on the Packers, scoring 21 of the more memorable points in an absolutely memorable year.

  With a first-and-goal situation at the Green Bay 2-yard line, Perry ran onto the field and lined up behind right tackle Keith Van Horne, with Payton behind Jim McMahon in the backfield. Perry then led Payton into the hole and met Green Bay linebacker George Cumby, who was at a 100-pound disadvantage. Perry bent Cumby backward, and Payton scored easily.

  Several minutes later the Bears drove to the Green Bay 1-yard line, and Ditka again sent in Perry. But this time Perry was not blocking for Payton. Instead McMahon handed the ball to Perry, who rumbled into the end zone and then spiked the ball.

  He was not finished. The Bears pushed the Packers backward one more time in the second quarter and again stood at the Green Bay 1. Ditka motioned to Perry, and the big rookie lumbered onto the field for a third time. Perry lined up behind the left guard and tackle and again found Cumby in the way, but not for long. Another crunching hit and Payton eased in for his second touchdown and one of his 112 rushing yards.

  After William Perry’s crushing block, Walter Payton flies over the goal line in the second quarter.

  Randy Scott, who led the ’85 Packers in tackles, separates Emery Moorehead from a second-quarter pass.

  That was the end of the scoring by either offense, though Otis Wilson added the game’s final points with a sack of backup quarterback Jim Zorn in the fourth quarter. The Bears fumbled seven times, losing four, but still outgained Green Bay 342-319. They held the Packers to 96 rushing yards while pounding the Packers for 175 of their own. McMahon completed only 12 of 26 passes for 144 yards, but the Bears intercepted four Green Bay passes to take away any offensive consistency from their guests.

  But the night had belonged to Perry.

  Chicago 23, Green Bay 7

  OCT. 21, 1985, AT SOLDIER FIELD

  BOTTOM LINE

  Perry phenomenon too much for Packers

  KEY PLAY

  William Perry’s one-yard plunge in the second quarter, breaking a 7–7 tie. He also twice opened gargantuan holes for Walter Payton to score.

  KEY STAT

  The Bears intercepted Green Bay quarterbacks Lynn Dickey and Randy Wright four times and knocked both out of the game.

  William “Refrigerator” Perry (72) helps an unidentified teammate to his feet in the second quarter of the Monday night game in Chicago on October 21, 1985.

  Remembering ’85

  EMERY MOOREHEAD

  No. 87, tight end

  “Our team, everybody knew we were going to the Super Bowl. After we lost to the 49ers the year before in the NFC Championship, Mike Ditka made a point of saying, ‘Remember this. We’re going to be back.’ [Dan] Hampton I remember saying, ‘We’re going to win the damn thing next year.’ Everybody came back with a purpose.”

  “I remember being in the locker room and everybody being ecstatic. But it was a situation where we knew we were going to win. We expected to win. We really did.”

  “Ditka, I think, was a pretty good coach. He was a great motivator. Not a great tactician, but certainly a great motivator of men. He got the best out of everybody.”

  “We led the league in rushing. We led the league in time of possession. We were underrated as an offense because the defense was just phenomenal.”

  “Walter Payton was an iron man out there. He played with pain. Throwing up in the huddle. The guy loved to play football and loved to play every down.”

  “Our line, we always had a lot of good surges, trying to get out of the Fridge’s way.”

  “Bears fans, most of them still think you play. It’s crazy. They think you’re still 30 years old or whatever. The comment most often is ‘You should be playing’ and ‘They haven’t had a tight end since you left.’”

  “Having been born and raised in Evanston, I certainly could appreciate it a little bit more than some of the other players winning the Super Bowl and how long it had been since the city had won a championship. My father was a garbage man for Evanston. My mother worked at the post office for years. Just a typical family from Evanston. Blue-collar family that worked. Every kid wanted to be Dick Butkus and Gale Sayers.”

  “Myself, always being a die-hard Cubs fan, Ernie Banks was No. 1 over everything. I was at a dinner, and Ernie was in the back telling stories and signing autographs. I waited until everybody had talked to him, and then I went up and introduced myself. It was like I was a little kid again. I was in my 30s.”

  chapter IX

  Hit Lists in Cheeseland, the Marvelous Mudslide, Halfway Home

  The Green Bay Packers and Bears have played, as of this writing, 179 times. The two teams are separated by about 175 miles, many different heroes, villains, successes, failures, and—as Wisconsinites will quickly remind those from down south—the Illinois state line. That border, their T-shirts will tell you, is the difference between “a Cheesehead and a--head.” Being in the NFC Central and vying for the same title year after year since George Halas and Curly Lambeau were young men have made the battles between Green Bay and Chicago especially spirited. If that’s the word. Hate comes to mind. Or at least it did when Ditka’s teams played.

  “I never really disliked anybody up there. Respect is important, more than hatred.”

  —Ditka on Green Bay

  The Bears of 1985 were already a major success. They were undefeated, of course. But now they were becoming more of an attraction, a media fascination, R-rated variety show, so to speak. They were something new in the sports field, entertainment in and of themselves, complete and self-contained. All they needed was the random foe. Ditka would never put it that way. He worried as he coached. But this first Packers game of the season was in Chicago, on the shores of Lake Michigan, at artificial-turf-clad Soldier Field, and that soothed him some. It was a homecoming of sorts, because the Bears had been on the road the last two games. And it was the team’s first foray of the season into the fiery-hot glare of ABC’s monumentally rated Monday Night Football. The scene was set for something dramatic—or at least melodramatic—to happen. Ditka would never let folks down.

  Now, you have to understand I don’t hate the Packers. The Old Man had tried to instill that in me, the hatred—he tried to drum it in to me. But I never hated the Packers. I never wanted to kill them or see them as mortal enemies. I respected those players, because I knew that they were part of a great organization, one of the best, as far as I’m concerned. At least under Lombardi they sure were. I never really disliked anybody up there. Respect is important, more than hatred. I never even disliked the Green Bay fans. They always treated me pretty well, even with all of the booing. They could get on me at Lambeau Field pretty damn good, but this game was at Soldier Field, our home.

  If there was an issue at all, it was that we wanted to go all the way this year, and Green Bay was a roadblock in our path. Also, their coach was Forrest Gregg, a guy I’d played against when he was with the Packers and I was with the Bears, and I knew him pretty well.

  I liked Forrest Gregg. I mean I never disliked him. Didn’t hate him. But the year before, in the preseason, we were playing them up in Milwaukee at the Shriner’s Game thing, and they were going to win the game—I mean, it’s just August and we’re looking at different players—and he did some stuff at the end of the game I didn’t appreciate. The game was over, for all intents and purposes, and they were trying to score or something—why I don’t know—and I told the press afterward that it was stupid, that he was stupid, that all that could happen was somebody would get hurt doing this stupid crap.

  I know I was wrong to say anything. It was football. But he got pissed off at me, and then I got pissed off at him, and it lingered through all of 1984. But this game was important. Just to win, the hell with Forrest Gregg. Here was the thing. During the week I actually put in plays for William Perry at fullback, plays we practiced. I had already used him as a runner to kill the clock, and the world went nuts. Let’s see how the world liked having him block, too. And, h
mm, what about this mammoth guy, the guy Hampton had nicknamed “Biscuit”—because he was a biscuit over 350 in training camp—actually scoring? Fridge, the touchdown-maker. I liked the concept.

  We started out like crap, fumbling three times, and the Packers took the lead 7–0. It was the second quarter and we finally started to move, getting down to the Green Bay 2-yard line. I yelled, “William, get in there!” Out Perry rumbles, and the Monday Night crowd goes bananas. He lined up over right tackle and made the lead block for Walter. He hit Packers linebacker George Cumby and he just, I don’t know, absorbed the poor guy. Cumby weighed 90 pounds less than Fridge, and he took him on high and, my God, I thought they’d end up in Michigan. Walter scored like it was nothing, like he was eating an apple at a picnic.

  Not long after that we got down to the goal line again, and I signaled for Fridge to get out there. He went out and lined up behind right tackle, as usual. But this time Jim handed him the ball. Fridge charged into the blockers and dove across the goal line like I guess he’d seen Walter do before. I thought the end zone would tilt. I mean this guy has a 22-inch neck, wears a size 58 coat. He could bench 465. Ray Sons wrote after the game in the Sun-Times that it was “the best use of fat since the invention of bacon.”

  Now the crowd is truly nuts. I can tell the difference in the sound. Perry has turned the game around, and football fans everywhere are watching and enjoying this. Call it a sideshow. I called it beating their ass. Think about it. How would you stop a man that size coming directly at you?