The '85 Bears: We Were the Greatest

by Ditka, Mike

  We would have home-field advantage all through the playoffs, and we were going to start off against the winner of the 49ers-Giants wild-card game. We had two weeks to kill.

  We needed to get shuffling.

  GAME 11

  Chicago 44, Dallas 0

  Bears Destroy Dallas

  Mike Ditka played for Dallas for four years and coached there under Tom Landry for nine more. But perhaps no game had more meaning for him than the Bears’ lopsided victory in Game 11. In Ditka’s first regular-season visit to Texas Stadium since his coaching stint ended, his Bears handed the Cowboys their worst defeat in franchise history and their first shutout in 15 years.

  How dominant was the Bears’ defense? Midway through the fourth quarter of a 44-point uprising, the Bears had scored only one offensive touchdown. Richard Dent and Mike Richardson returned first-half interceptions for touchdowns, and punter Maury Buford continually pinned the Cowboys in uncomfortable positions.

  The result: Dallas never penetrated beyond the Bears’ 38-yard line. In fact, five of the Cowboys’ first six running plays failed to achieve the line of scrimmage.

  Early in the second quarter, linebacker Otis Wilson collared Danny White on a blitz. The quarterback was knocked out when he hit the turf. White returned to start the second half, but Wilson knocked him out again. While White sat, the Bears tormented backup Gary Hogeboom into three interceptions.

  Meanwhile, the offense put 378 total yards on the board and controlled the ball for 35:18, all with Jim McMahon sitting out again with a sore shoulder. Steve Fuller threw for 164 yards and kept a steady hand on the offensive throttle.

  Otis Wilson swivels the head of the Cowboys’ Danny White during a third-quarter sack, knocking White from the game.

  Late in the first half, Ditka sent William Perry into the offensive lineup. On first down from the 2, Perry took a handoff to the 1-yard line. Fuller plunged in on the next play, and it was 24–0 with nearly three minutes left until halftime. The rout was so complete that Ditka rested Fuller for the last 10 minutes in favor of rookie Mike Tomczak.

  Willie Gault catches a pass in front of Cowboys defender Ron Fellows.

  Kevin Butler kicked three field goals. His first was a career-long 44 yards. Then he bested that with a 46-yarder. Walter Payton gained 100 yards for the sixth game in a row, one short of the NFL record. He finished with 132 rushing yards on 22 carries.

  The Bears’ 11–0 start was the NFL’s best since 1972 and allowed them to clinch the NFC Central with five weeks remaining. But Ditka’s best memory had to be the sight of fair-weather Dallas fans streaming toward the exits after three quarters, their team hopelessly behind.

  Chicago 44, Dallas 0

  NOV. 17, 1985, AT TEXAS STADIUM

  BOTTOM LINE

  Coach’s roots make blowout win special

  KEY PLAY

  Hampton’s force of a Danny White interception. The defensive end cart wheeled his blocker, jumped into White’s face, and batted the ball, which Richard Dent grabbed for the one-yard touchdown that started the rout.

  KEY STAT

  The Bears intercepted three passes in the first half.

  Even an assist from William Perry can’t quite lift Walter Payton into the end zone.

  Remembering ’85

  KEITH VAN HORNE

  No. 78, offensive tackle

  “That year was the highlight of my football career and the low point of my personal life. My dad passed away on the 28th of December. The fact that we still had to play was probably a good thing for me because I could just focus on that, because I was in another world. The last years of his life, we kind of got close and took it to a different level.”

  “That generation, I think you know what I’m talking about, kept things in. But it got to the point when I went to college that that started changing. I was on my own. I had some independence, could say yes or no to any advice he might give me. But you start realizing how smart your parents are because you start experiencing things they talked to you about when you thought they don’t know what they’re talking about, and then you find out, well, I guess they actually did. Once the game was over, I went right to the locker room and started grieving. It was a huge relief to get it over with.

  I miss him still. He was a good man.”

  “Here’s the second part: Andy Frederick, who was our backup at tackle, got hurt in pregame warmups, so Jimbo Covert and I looked at each other and said, ‘Oh, God.We don’t have anyone to replace us.’ I had to play the whole game.”

  “Shame on us. I think Dan Hampton said that—shame on us for not going back—and he’s right.”

  “Our defense developed into probably the best defense that ever played. Certainly in the top two or three ever. It was fun watching them. You could see the fear in the eyes of opposing offenses, the quarterbacks especially.”

  “People talk about our defense all the time, and rightfully so. But we led the league in time of possession, led the league in scoring, led the league in rushing. So we were able to do some stuff, too.”

  “Part of the reason we were able to run the ball so well is we had to practice against those guys. And our practices were not like I think they practice today. We had Ditka, so we were out there hitting each other.”

  “Jim McMahon knew football. He could come out and audible or change the play that was sent in if he didn’t like it, which didn’t always go over so well with Ditka. But I think Jim had a better grasp of it than [offensive coordinator] Ed Hughes and Mike Ditka, let me tell you.”

  “Up in Green Bay when [William Perry] went in, he ran right over me and just nailed me in the back. I scored as well.”

  “Walter was the real deal. He was the workhorse. I’ve been very blessed, very honored. I

  blocked for Charlie White and Marcus Allen in college. They both won a Heisman Trophy. Then I got to come to Chicago and got to block for the greatest all-around running back that ever played, in my opinion.”

  “I’m proud and honored to be a part of Chicago history.”

  chapter XIII

  Headband Craziness, a Yuppie Who Likes to Hurt People, the Elephant in the Snow

  As the New York Giants wild-card game against the defending Super Bowl champion San Francisco 49ers was ending, fans at the Meadowlands in East Rutherford, New Jersey, began chanting, “We want the Bears! We want the Bears!” The Giants had been impressive in smacking the 49ers 17–3. But the fact that so many of the 76,000 howling fans actually wanted a piece of the 15–1 Bears showed a certain audacity that could only come from the safety of a bleacher seat and a throat warmed by a flask of booze.

  The Bears had gone to the Atlanta Falcons training camp in Suwanee, Georgia, to practice for the first round.

  Ditka had wanted to set up camp at the University of Illinois in Champaign, but the plastic bubble that was needed to cover the field couldn’t be erected in time. No matter. It was just geography. The Bears hadn’t changed from what they were. They may have lost to the Dolphins and had internal squabbling that was embarrassing and unprofessional, but they hadn’t died. They had been nicked, frustrated, lowered half a notch, and they were angry.

  Mike Singletary had been chosen NFL Defensive Player of the Year. Ditka was soon to be named NFL Coach of the Year. The Bears were being given early credit for the machine they had become, yet they had an edge that was sharp and unyielding. And Jim McMahon—of course—was as surly as ever. He greeted the press at the Bears’ new site by telling assembled members they basically disgusted him and asking where they were spending New Year’s Eve, so he could avoid that spot. He then added that all of them were “worried about what everybody thinks. I can give a shit about what everybody thinks.”

  Gary Fencik Remembers ’85

  The Playoff Game Against the Giants

  “It was a really cold and windy day with bright sun. We knew points were going to be hard to come by, and the Giants had a very good team with Phil Simms, running back Joe Morris, Lawrence Tay
lor.

  “All week Buddy gave us a great game plan. He said, ‘To stop the Giants we have to tackle really well. We have to stop number 20.’ That was Morris. ‘That guy has 21 touchdowns, compared to Walter Payton who has nine but is only the best player in the history of the NFL? We take number 20 away and we’ll whip their asses! They may have the No. 2 defense in the league, but we’re No. 1. Take no prisoners!’

  “We were fired up, but the play of the special teams turned it around. Because we knew it would be so hard to score, when Shaun recovered that blown punt for a touchdown, it just seemed like a huge advantage. You can shank a punt or get one blocked or nearly miss one. But to whiff like that? Amazing.”

  On a cheerier note, Richard Meyer, president of Red Label Records, which had produced the 23-minute “Super Bowl Shuffle” video shot at the Park West Theater in Chicago, announced that the tape had already shipped “triple platinum,” and that 550,000 separate audio cassettes had been distributed. Another million of the things—videos and tapes—were soon to come. The rap, with the Bears performers in full uniforms, but without helmets and shoulder pads, had shocked everyone by becoming a national hit. Apparently lyrics such as Otis Wilson’s “The girls all love me, for my body and my mind,” had captivated sports fans throughout the land. Or perhaps it was the refrain—“We’re not here to cause no trouble, we’re just doin’ the Super Bowl Shuffle!”—replete with Fridge’s gap-toothed smile and Steve Fuller’s pitiful boogeying—that got people excited.

  In truth, Fuller had a reason for his ineptitude. The players had filmed the dance the day after the Miami loss (talk about chutzpa), and he was still injured. Aficionados of this kind of thing can study the video closely and notice the bandage still on the hobbling Fuller’s foot and ankle. McMahon—“I’m the punky QB”—and Payton had been mixed into the group electronically, since they had done their versions later than the other players. Payton’s was done the next day at the Park West, but McMahon’s was shot using a blue screen inside a Halas Hall racquetball court. The proceeds of the venture were to be split with the players and various charities—but the accounting, the artists would find out, would be a mess for years.

  Not so with game preparation. “Tempers have flared,” said Ditka with satisfaction. “Guys are on edge.” That was what he wanted, what he felt was needed to complete this journey.

  We practiced anywhere during that season. It didn’t matter. We had the one grass field behind the offices there in Lake Forest, but the college team would play its games there on Saturdays, and sometimes the field was torn to crap. When it rained or there was lightning, sometimes we’d go into the college gym and run our stuff in sneakers.

  But as it got later in the season and the field got more torn up and then frozen solid and we couldn’t really accomplish much in a gym, we would go down to South Park, which was about half a mile or so from Halas Hall. It wasn’t the location for that cartoon or whatever the hell it is on TV. It was just a neighborhood park. It had tennis courts and jungle gyms and moms walking their babies and dogs sniffing around and all that stuff. But it had a lot of grass, and we could at least run our plays. To get there you had to wind around through the neighborhood and make sure you didn’t make a wrong turn and end up in Lake Michigan or Iowa. Guys would commandeer golf carts to get there, or a bunch would jump in the back of the equipment truck and ride along with their legs hanging out. Most everybody else swiped a bike from somewhere or just walked. I guess we should have used the sidewalks, but it was a sleepy suburban neighborhood, so the mighty Chicago Bears would come straggling down the middle of these neighborhood roads, carrying helmets, laughing and goofing around, headed to work.

  “We’re not here to cause no trouble, we’re just doin’ the Super Bowl Shuffle!”

  Kids would come around, and mailmen would honk to get through. It was a sight. Of course, if the McCaskeys had spent a little more money on a bigger place, we wouldn’t have had to make our trek. But the Halas Hall facility had been a decent improvement over other NFL sites when it was built in the 1970s, so you couldn’t really complain. We played our games at Soldier Field on artificial turf, though, and what we got eventually for practice purposes was a patch of turf about 10 feet by 10 feet on the sideline of our grass field. That really helped. Whoo boy.

  But if you’re on a mission, what difference does any of it make? It’s in your hearts and your heads.

  Now it was January, though, and everything in Chicago was frozen like cement. South Park might as well have been a skating rink.

  So we went down to Suwanee and practiced before the Giants game, just to keep from freezing to death. That was fine. Most of the work was done, you see. A team defines itself as a season goes on. You have preseason to get in shape and find the right players, and then you get the offense and defense you want, and then you work to make it come together during the regular season. But you don’t suddenly become something you’re not. The leopard ain’t changing its spots. So you tweak and fine-tune.

  Buddy and I were okay again. But the tension, I suppose, would never go away entirely. He was a very stubborn, proud man. And so am I. And he wanted to be a head coach. And why not? So be it. The ending could be what all of us wanted.

  One guy who was making some noise was Dennis McKinnon. He wasn’t real happy about how little he was being used lately. I loved Dennis, and maybe it’s because he was a feisty s.o.b. He didn’t weigh much, he was like a slender point guard in basketball, but he would block your ass off downfield or anywhere. Just ask Lawrence Taylor. And he had very soft hands and a knack for getting open and making big plays.

  The thing was he’d had arthroscopic knee surgery in early July, and the fact he was back and playing at all was amazing. Football’s a tough game, and feelings get hurt. Dennis had seven touchdown catches in the first seven weeks of the season, but in the last seven games he had only seven catches, period, and no TDs. Did that mean he hadn’t been a huge part of our team, or wasn’t still a huge part? No. But he had to shut up and play, like everybody else. Teamwork. Teamwork. Look, just a few days after my DUI arrest, I had my 46th birthday, and guess what somebody gave me? A “Get Out of Jail Free” card. So I laughed about it. It was funny. Embarrassing, but funny. Come on, Dennis. Only three more weeks.

  Another guy who had been a tremendous blessing to our team was tight end Tim Wright-man. Everybody always said the Bears couldn’t find a tight end ever since old No. 89 moved on, but Tim did a great job for us. He had a big touchdown catch for us in the Jets game, and he had a streak of at least one catch in eight games, the longest for any receiver on our team. He and Emery Moorehead split a lot of time at tight end, and God knows I loved Emery to death. The stuff he gave us was so much more than a coach would ever count on, and when you get it—you just smile.

  Emery was the starter in 14 of our 16 games, and he had been a nobody, just a sixth-round pick by the Giants back in 1977. We got him for nothing, and all he did for us was everything we asked. See, everybody knows about the stars. They glorify the big names. That’s all the stupid media does. But players like Moorehead and Wrightman and McKinnon are the foundation of any team. What are you going to do without them? Lose.

  We go back to Chicago for the game, and the city is really cranked up. The lions in front of the Art Institute have Bears helmets on, and all you hear every second of the day is that “Super Bowl Shuffle” thing going on and on. Me, I would rather hear some Sinatra or Nat King Cole, but what the hell. The Fridge rapping, “I’m no dumb cookie,” is entertaining, I suppose.

  At Soldier Field it’s cold and windy, like you’d expect on a January day. People who don’t know about the Midwest and the Great Lakes may not have a clue about wind coming in off Lake Michigan or the wind swirling around in places like Cleveland or Buffalo off Lake Erie. In Chicago, Soldier Field is right next to the lake, and the cold wind will come in and do whatever it wants. Sometimes you’ll see flags blowing in all four directions. So kickers and quarterbacks bet
ter be prepared for it.

  Early in the game we back the Giants up toward their own goal at the north end, and it’s fourth down. The wind is gusting, and it’s something like 14 below zero windchill, but, hell, this is Chicago in the winter, in the playoffs. Get your skirts off. Focus. Forget the damn cold. The snap comes back for Sean Landetta, their punter, and we’ve got a punt block rush on from the left side with Shaun Gayle and Dennis Gentry. They pick up the rushers, but Landetta is worried or hurried or something, and he goes to punt the ball, and he swings his leg as hard as he can and misses it. He misses the freaking ball. Maybe he gets a tiny piece of it, but the wind just moves the ball to the side, and it looked like Charlie Brown trying to kick the ball after Lucy yanks it away.

  Gayle picks up the thing at the 5 and runs it in for a touchdown. We’re ahead 7–0, and on this day that’s all we’re going to need. Our defense is back in its full attack mode. The Giants will rush for a total of 32 yards. And Richard Dent himself will have three and a half sacks for minus-38 yards. Do the math on that one. McMahon is wearing gloves, which is something I’m not sure I’ve seen a lot of quarterbacks do, but he throws two touchdown passes to McKinnon. See, I told Dennis to hang in there. The funny thing is, Mac is throwing better spirals than ever. Usually he threw a ball that wobbled around like a ruptured duck, but these were almost the way a pro quarterback was supposed to throw.