The Bears are off to yet another 2-0 start. They are not entering a new golden age but are, rather, living out their golden years. The distinction is important to any valid appreciation of the 1991 Chicago Bears. This is not a great team; it isn’t even on the threshold of greatness. It is a team out on the back porch of greatness, rocking away, living out its years in a suitable manner: meaning that every now and then it’s time to get up and go out and do some work, but it’s done swiftly and efficiently and with an eye toward returning to a sitting posture as soon as possible. The 1991 Bears would fare no better against their 1985 counterparts than, say, the 1985 Dallas Cowboys did. There are enough similarities between the two sets of Bears, however, to make this year’s team worth watching, its small victories and humble ambitions somehow ennobled.
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In the wake of the abrupt departures of Buddy Ryan, Otis Wilson, Wilber Marshall, and McMahon, Ditka somehow discovered loyalty when it came to Dan Hampton, Jimbo Covert, William “the Refrigerator” Perry (never more than this season), Steve McMichael, and Mike Singletary. “Yeah,” the cynic might argue, “but those were/are all great players.” It’s true, they could still play, they still had things to offer the team, but think twice about Hampton last year or Perry this year before turning cynic against Ditka. He’s developed loyalty for his older stars at the same time he’s been able to work newer players into the lineup; of course, it remains important to both him and us that he keeps winning. The Bears, after all, aren’t the Cubs.
They continue to play a cautious game. Anyone bothered by that will not much enjoy the Bears’ golden years. The defense is not the fearsome group it once was, but it’s strong enough to remain the strategic core of the team. All the Bears’ plans are based, first and foremost, on stopping the other team and exploiting its mistakes. I, myself, have a tendency to criticize Harbaugh for being too eager to run. He still has this air about him of the big man on campus, all too ready to take the game in his own hands and run for glory and pay dirt. When one thinks, however, that a big, strapping (slightly stupid) boy like that is a lot less likely to give up the ball if he’s running with it rather than throwing it, it begins to make some sense. And the defense does continue to hold up its end of the bargain–against weaker opposition, anyway. (This Sunday, the Bears play the defending champions, the New York Giants.)
