Like most Chicagoans who entertain an interest in the city’s sporting events, last Sunday morning we rolled out of bed, turned on the television, and watched the end of the Chicago Marathon. We stayed near the television, because the marathon course no longer runs through our north-side neighborhood. It used to be we’d wake up, throw on some typically loose and scruffy Sunday-morning clothes, and walk down to the corner, where we’d wait for the leading runners to pass. There was something about that experience that felt, well, like a marathon; there’s no other way to describe it. Just as the sound of vendors hawking scorecards is an essential part of a baseball game, and just as screaming through the national anthem is an essential part of a hockey game at the Chicago Stadium, gathering at the corner with other neighbors became what the experience of watching a marathon was about.
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Finally, however, another, slower police car with its flashing lights would come into view, and behind it the first runner, ushered in stately and businesslike–even for all his huffing and puffing–by the clapping that led him slowly down the street. Later, when the great mass of runners came plodding along, the crowds along the streets would disperse and the traffic would back up as people tried to get somewhere, having forgotten the marathon just as some people forget the time change (strange how those events always seemed to conjoin). Throughout the day, we’d hear complaints here and there about how difficult it was to get from place to place, but we never paid them much mind. Here these people were, running more than 26 miles, and some fellow sitting in a car was upset because they were in his way.
The Chicago Marathon is reported to be in dire straits, with the altered course, changed to lessen its impact on the city, just one symptom of its diminishing stature. There’s been criticism of the organizers, who are said to have no feel for dealing with runners or their agents, and criticism of the main sponsor, Old Style, which isn’t ponying up enough money to lure today’s professional amateurs to the city. At this point, it’s quite conceivable that the marathon could perish if no new sponsor is found. If any single race was capable of saving a marathon, though, it had to be last Sunday’s.
On offense, the guards again led the way, with Mark Bortz having an especially fine game. He and Tom Thayer are both–it can be said now, at mid-season–having career years, but Bortz is playing at just an exceptional level. He led the way on Neal Anderson’s second touchdown run, a sweep to the left that was executed so well that Anderson went in untouched. And fullback Brad Muster had a career-high 99 yards on the day, much of it coming on a play that has become one of the Bears’ new favorites. It’s a quick-opening fake draw trap in which both Bortz and Thayer pull out and cross behind the center. The defensive line and linebackers, taught to follow the offensive linemen, are left utterly confused. Right tackle Keith Van Horne crosses in front of the center, taking out anyone in the area, and from within this organized confusion erupts Muster with a full head of steam, hot off the handoff. It’s a wonderful play, and it worked time and again against the 3-4 defense of the Phoenix Cardinals.
