Robbie Gould

Robbie Gould announced his retirement recently. To all but the most ardent NFL fans, that name likely means very little. But to those who follow the sport, Gould was one of the best place-kickers ever to play the game.

His talent might have been a little hard to see at first, being that Gould went un-drafted after a distinguished career with the Penn State Nittany Lions. Even moreso after being waived—twice—after two pre-camp visits with the New England Patriots and Baltimore Ravens.

In what must rank as the most cerebral insight ever experienced by Bears management, Gould was first located working for a construction company in Pennsylvania. He was then invited to a work-out at Halas Hall and subsequently signed to a contract shortly into the 2005 season.

If it even needs to be said, the Bears don't do things like that. Over the hill linemen? Sure. Inconsequential wide receivers? Of course. Dubious quarterbacks? In a heartbeat.

Hall of Fame quality place-kickers? Nope.

That low-profile introduction may have been a godsend, as no one outside of northeastern Illinois was paying much attention. But within eighteen months Gould was kicking in a Super Bowl and being named as a first-team All-Pro.

Yeah, he was pretty good. And he stayed that way for a long time. Long enough to retire as the tenth highest scoring player in NFL history. Given the Football Hall of Fame's reluctance to admit special teams performers, it may be a while before we see him inducted.

But that's on them. Not us.

After an awkward dismissal from the Bears on the eve of the 2016 season (supposedly, then-GM Ryan Pace felt the Bears' kicker was getting old and expensive), Gould signed with the New York Giants for a season. He then moved on to the San Francisco 49ers.

And on December 3, 2017 he had what must've been one of the greatest games of his life. Against the Bears—in Chicago—Gould kicked five field goals in a 15 – 14 49ers victory. (God how I'd love to kick five field goals against a former employer!)

And the equally-expensive kickers Pace replaced Gould with? Connor Barth—followed by Cody Parkey. Anyone still wondering why Pace no longer works as an NFL GM?

With a franchise more-appreciative of his singular talents, Gould went on to kick in two more Super Bowls. What's more, he did it without a posse. He did it without complaining how disrespected he was by his salary. He did it without telling every camera in the locker room how good he was.

As a former NBA point guard once observed, if you're as good as you say you are, you don't need to remind people of it every day.

Gould merely focused on his job and devoted himself to the performance of that job to a very high order. And despite the low-key demeanor, people noticed. At a time when the Bears were trying to mask their on-field mediocrity, team execs made it a point to talk about quality individuals filling quality rosters.

But when the cameras were turned off, the Bears unceremoniously dumped two of the best examples (running back Matt Forte was the other) they could ever hope to find. Which made me doubly happy for that 49ers-Bears game in 2017.

You might consider me a Bears fan after reading this post. Truth is, I realized the absolute state of their fecklessness before puberty even hit and abandoned them for the Dallas Cowboys. Which makes my regard for Robbie Gould still-more remarkable. 

Amid what were mostly unfavorable circumstances, Gould went about his work as if every game were a Super Bowl; as if nothing less than his best would suffice. He never told anyone about it. He just did it. Teammates noticed. Word got out. While physically-diminutive by NFL standards, Gould's reputation morphed into a Julius Peppers-sized giant.

He. Got. It. Done.

I forget who said 'Revenge is a dish best served cold', but know you were never cooler than you were with San Francisco, Mr. Gould. Congratulations.

 

This and That

On April 24, 2023, the Green Bay Packers announced the trade of quarterback Aaron Rodgers to the New York Jets. Given the reaction by Bear fans, it was as if their team had just won the first springtime Super Bowl in NFL history.

Of course, considering how little they have to cheer, it could almost be tolerated—if not quite understood.

Yes, Rodgers went 25-5 against the Bears over his career, rendering his infamous “I own you!” comment a fair catch with both feet firmly in bounds. But it must be pointed out he had nothing to do with the parade of mediocrity that has emanated from Halas Hall for the last three decades.

That, my friends, is the exclusive property of the McCaskey family.

And while Bear fans merrily predict an MVP for Justin Fields and a divisional title for the team, the sober among us take care to point out that while the team has improved in many important areas, it has not in others.

Take, for example, the offensive line. Aside from first-round draft choice Darnell Wright, the line is essentially unchanged. Also unchanged is the fact that the majority of projected starters have spent the balance of training camp injured.

Foremost among those are injury-prone 2021 second-round pick Tevin Jenkins and 2023 first-rounder Wright.

I know no one chooses to be injured, but I'm wondering how the Bears continually select such delicate specimens at what might be the game's most physically-demanding position. And did I mention that in terms of O-line injuries, this is a sequel to last year's camp?

The Bears regularly pay lip service to the idea they are eager to see Fields develop into a full-fledged NFL quarterback. And yet by placing him behind one of the worst offensive lines in the league, how can this ever happen?

Fields was the most-sacked quarterback in the NFL last year. And for someone as mobile as Fields, that speaks volumes.

But in the same breath, critics point out he holds on to the ball too long. Hmmm. Playing behind an NCAA division II offensive line, with a modestly-productive tight end and a number-one wide receiver who would rank third on most NFL depth charts, is that sack total really due to the fact he holds on to the ball too long?

Or that there is no one to throw to?

The Bears appear to have addressed the WR question with the signing of D.J. Moore, who by all accounts is an NFL-quality wideout. But he better get open in a hurry, because Fields is still operating behind an O-line made of Kleenex.

Sorry Bears' fans, but I'll consider their season a success if they can just double last year's win total.

Much has been made of Aaron Rodgers' move to New York City. I'll admit the Jets have some promise, with a young, talented defense and an offense made more than functional with the addition of Rodgers, Dalvin Cook and a couple of ex-Packer receivers.

But before we anoint them World Champions, I think we need to consider a few things.

Yes, Rodgers' Packers dominated the NFC Central. But the AFC East is not the NFC Central—especially as currently configured. Put another way, the Jets are not going to run over the Buffalo Bills, Miami Dolphins and New England Patriots the way the Packers once did the Bears, Minnesota Vikings and Detroit Lions.

Point two: Rodgers has extracted more mileage from glittering regular season play than any quarterback I can think of. I mean, between Labor Day and New Year's he's one of the best ever to play the game. No doubt about that.

But despite going to the post-season in eleven of Rodgers' fifteen season as a starter, the Packers played in but a single Super Bowl. That's half the number Eli Manning enjoyed with the New York Giants. And equal to the number Nick Foles availed himself of with the Philadelphia Eagles.

It gets worse.

There's the Packers' 5-9 post-season record since that lone Super Bowl. (Which includes going 0 for 4 in conference championship games.) At the risk of being charged with arson, I will add that just six of those post-season games were played outside of Green Bay, and that the Pack won just one of them.

Iron-willed champion? Only between September and January, kids.

The prima donna-slash-attention-whore will face an ocean of distractions in New York City. At the same time, he'll be graduating—at the age of thirty-nine—from a sandbox to a shark tank in terms of division and conference play.

By December he'll be dreaming of those days in Soldier Field when he could claim “I own you!”

One of the all-time greats?

I'm thinking only with an asterisk.

Happy?

I call them Justinites. Have since spring. They're the folk who have alternately clamored, begged, whined and demanded that Justin Fields start as quarterback for the Chicago Bears since the day he was drafted.

They are the folk who ran roughshod over the considered acquisition of respected veteran quarterback Andy Dalton, treating him like sewage in the process.

What they lack in things like perspective and understanding they make up for in volume and persistence. Without a shred of evidence to back their perspective, they relentlessly push their witless agenda.

They remind me of the folk who back a certain ex-president: noisy and stupid.

This shouldn't be construed as a rip in any way, shape or form of Justin Fields. Hell, I feel sorry for the guy. He's a young man forced to shoulder the unconsidered expectations of a delusional and desperate fanbase thirsting for a messiah.

And Fields is their mirage. A mirage of NFL contention and Super Bowl trophies.

Amidst their delusions, the Justinites ignore the realities of the unproven coach. The pathetic offensive line. And this weird sense of voodoo that hovers over the team and prevents them from ever enjoying a functional offense.

Building a football team is tough. I get it. Whereas other major sports field teams ranging from five to nine players, football has eleven—just on offense. There's another eleven on defense. Plus kickers. And holders. And punt returners and kick-off returners and special teams and....

That's a lot of personnel to assemble. And manage. Contracts to juggle. And beyond that, one has to make sure they're fairly compatible, healthy and, of course, talented. What's more, ideally the offense and the defense are being constructed simultaneously.

Whew. Can I take a break now?

Via Dalton's banged-up knee, the Justinites got their wish yesterday. Their savior would start an NFL game. Can we just skip the rest of the season and anoint the Bears as Super Bowl champions please?

There were just a few problems. The offensive line still sucked. (You saw Myles Garrett and Jadeveon Clowney objectify the Bears' line and turn them into turnstiles, right?)

And Matt Nagy was still calling plays. Hired as an offensive whiz kid, he continually bungled the play-calling and failed to make any useful adjustments, piloting this creaking, wheezing car into a swamp of ineptness.

Overlooked in the carnage is that young Fields, effectively playing behind a sheet of Kleenex, wasn't injured in any of the nine sacks he endured.

(It's a minor miracle, really.)

He may one day be a fine NFL quarterback. Fine as in Ryan Tannehill or fine as in Patrick Mahomes. No one knows for sure.

What is known is that the Bears aren't getting any better. Yeah, they've had some bad luck. But gifted with a fourth season as coach, it's becoming increasingly clear Nagy is merely the Bears' latest example of the Peter Principle.

And you Justinites? A quarterback does not a team make. 

 

America's Hottest New Party Game: Pin the Quarterback on the Bear

Depending on your definition, professional sports may exist solely to entertain you. Wins? Losses? A three-dimensional, living testament to persistence and an inspirational example of dedication and desire?

Not so much. Provided you're able to momentarily forget about the treadmill to oblivion that is your job, call it mission accomplished. And on that front, the Chicago Bears are wildly successful.

The spectacular mismanagement that has put the Bears in their current position is technically unimportant. What matters is that it's entertaining!

Just listen as Bears fans clutch hope to their breast while a succession of sugar plum fairies dances across their collective imagination: Deshaun Watson. Matthew Stafford. Carson Wentz. And most recently, Russell Wilson.

None of them had (or has) a snowball's chance in Phoenix of ever appearing in a Bears uniform, but that has never stood (or stands) in the way of a good fantasy (aided and abetted by the local media).

But the ugly reality is that the Bears are crippled. They have no cap space. No storehouse of superfluous first-round picks. GM Ryan Pace and head coach Matt Nagy might be the only ones to realize it, but the stay of execution issued by chairman George McCaskey last winter isn't as gracious as it appears.

They have a single offseason to find a ready, willing and able quarterback, revamp an offensive line that—on its very best day—is mediocre and import some wide receivers worthy of the name, all while soothing the ruffled feathers of their presumptive franchise-tag nominee, Allen Robinson.

It's a tall order. Especially for two guys whose success could best be called sporadic.

But Stafford is a Los Angeles Ram. Wentz is an Indianapolis Colt. The Houston Texans have shown no sign of granting the frustrated Watson his wish and if it even needs to be said, Wilson is a very long way from being an ex-Seattle Seahawk.

Only the fans and media tied to the local franchise would be desperate-enough to even entertain the idea.

And if you're Andy Dalton, Ryan Fitzpatrick, Sam Darnold, Cam Newton, Jameis Winston or Marcus Mariota, why would you want to play for the Bears, anyway?

The print media has generated acres of coverage. The electronic media has consumed enough electricity to power a small nation for months. And it should be noted that out of that coverage have come two very salient observations.

One: given their decades-long inability to draft and develop a franchise quarterback, do the Bears have any idea how to properly assess candidates at the position?

And two: is a front office who equates collaboration with an end-of-the-rainbow destination instead of a required component in a functioning executive suite even qualified to lead a professional sports franchise? Much less a mom and pop grocery?

Not from here.

Ahh, but I'm just rabble. A bit player in the nameless and faceless throng. A cell in the teeming great unwashed. Or, to paraphrase Teddy Roosevelt, the fan in the arena. 

Fair-weather follower that I am, I can cackle with delight at a franchise who more often than not is its own worst enemy.

Frustrating? Yeah. Entertaining? As fuck.

Next?

A Peek at the NFL Post-Season

This is a satisfying end to the NFL season. Best of all, there isn't a team from Los Angeles in serious contention for a title. I mean, watching the Lakers and the Dodgers clinch within sixteen days of each other was a bit much.

Yeah, the Rams are in the playoffs. But despite a fine defense, no one expects them to do much—if any—damage.

Far more heartening are the returns of the Cleveland Browns and the Buffalo Bills to the post-season.

As a Cub fan, I can relate mightily with Clevelanders and their sports-based suffering. And both editions of the Browns have contributed more than their fair share to that suffering.

Who can forget the 1987 and 1988 AFC Championship games? Or the heroic 1981 effort in the Divisional round against the then-Oakland Raiders, played in four-degree temperatures with wind chills of twenty-below?

Or the ignomy of Red Right 88?

Do I dare remind all concerned the Browns lost these three games by a total of ten points? Perhaps not.

The Browns declined not long after those consecutive championship games and a very messy relocation to Baltimore followed after the 1995 season.

The expansion Browns have suffered (there's that word again) a difficult childhood. With just two random winning seasons in their first twenty-one, weary Clevelanders have again had their faith tested.

And just as the forlorn franchise has finally bundled a functional front office, strong coaching and the on-field talent to win, they get smacked by COVID-19. It's not hard to imagine the city's sports fans beseeching an uncaring God, arms extended and palms turned up in supplication, with “What did we ever do?”

It takes a heartless soul, indeed, to root against them.

Which brings me to the Buffalo Bills.

I never had any feelings for them one way or another until they made it to four consecutive Super Bowls in the early-nineties—and lost all four.

I was old-enough to appreciate the special kind of grit it took to return to the stage where they'd repeatedly lost. And when I learned via an ESPN documentary the city had turned out and cheered kicker Scott Norwood (he of the 'wide right' infamy), I recognized Buffalo and its fans as people with very big hearts.

Like their soulmates in Cleveland, Bills fans have suffered ever since. Rebuilds have come and gone with the only common denominator being they failed to bear fruit. (The Bills haven't won a playoff game in a quarter-century.)

But a winning combination of front office executives, coaches and players has finally been assembled, and the Bills are surging and represent a serious threat to virtually every other team in the AFC.

In fact, given the just-good-enough play of the defending-champion Kansas City Chiefs over the second half of the season, I would only be mildly surprised to see them defeated by Buffalo at some point.

The good news for fans of my hometown Chicago Bears is that tomorrow afternoon's game versus the New Orleans Saints will be the final game of the season.

This awkward assemblage of talent sputtered and lurched through another season, routinely failing to realize expectations heightened by their performance in 2018. It should be clear to all concerned by now that season was an aberration, not a trend.

In its wake, warmed-over kudos to GM Ryan Pace and head coach Matt Nagy.

Pace for mostly having done a pretty solid job on draft day. The primary exception being the selection of Mitchell Trubisky with the second-pick in the 2017 draft—after surrendering draft picks to move up a spot and paying a king's ransom to sign a career back-up QB.

In a league dominated by quarterback play, Pace whiffed spectacularly on the biggest pick of his career. Kindly ignore that two young quarterbacks by the name of Patrick Mahomes and Deshaun Watson were also on the board.

Historically, it's a given that the Bears screw-up at quarterback. It's practically congenital. But choosing Trubisky over Mahomes and Watson was a fatal error. One magnified both by a promising defense and the thin talent surrounding him on 'O'.

Nagy was hired from the Chiefs as an offense-oriented whiz-kid. One able to create dynamic squads capable of lighting up the scoreboard in an era where offense clearly dominates.

Granted, he hasn't been given much to work with. But I am struck by the fact the Bears' offense was on life-support until Nagy handed play-calling duties off to offensive coordinator Bill Lazor.

While that brief resurgence was against the 98-pound weaklings of the NFL, it was something.

You have to ask yourself: if Nagy failed at what was reputedly his strength, what about the areas that weren't?

To his credit, he kept the team focused and upbeat. But that only goes so far. And with the Bears obvious strength (defense) seemingly in a premature decline, this is a franchise with many, many questions to answer.

I distinctly remember as the twentieth anniversary of the Bears' 1963 championship was approaching, the intensity of the widespread irritation at how the Bears had failed to mount even a single credible threat in the ensuing years.

With the twentieth anniversary of their 1985 championship now fifteen-years old, you have to wonder what the future holds.

It may only be a matter of time before empty seats at Soldier Field aren't the byproduct of a pandemic.

 

Building Up the Bears?

It was Alexander Pope who said “Hope springs eternal in the human breast.”

I would add the coverage of the Chicago Bears in the Chicago Tribune's sports section.

However fine a newspaper it may be, the happy talk following two narrow victories over cellar-dwelling opponents (one in the midst of an eight-game losing streak and the other starting a third-string quarterback making his NFL debut) smacks of public relations-speak and not clear-eyed, objective journalism.

Judging by the content, you would have thought the Bears had shut-out the Baltimore Ravens and San Francisco 49ers—on the road. The reality is the Bears squeaked by the New York Giants and Detroit Lions by a cumulative margin of nine points.

Yes, the Bears completed several forward passes, which was certainly novel. And some even gained double-digit yardage, another novelty. What's more, a number of possessions lasted more than three downs, which qualifies as a veritable epiphany.

But contrary to the Tribune's coverage, in the end it was the same old Bears; struggling against what were (on paper) inferior opponents.

And to think all fans were worried about in September was finding a reliable field goal kicker.

The 2019 Bears have many problems. Beyond playing a first-place schedule and surrendering the ability to sneak up on people as they did last year, problem number-one is their brittle offensive line, further decimated by the loss of Kyle Long.

An offensive line is the core of any team's offense. When they're stout and impenetrable, they make a quarterback look like Brett Farve and a running back resemble Barry Sanders. 

Quarterbacks have time to survey the field and decide on the best option for a pass. Running backs have wide open lanes enabling them to break off five, six yards at a crack. After three quarters of this, an opponent's defensive line shows signs of fatigue.

A great offensive line provides options. Got a lead you want to protect or an opposing offense you want to keep off the field? Go ahead. Run that ball. Need to strike fast and reclaim the lead late? Done.

Sadly, the Bears don't have either of these options. The proof is in the fact they're among the league leaders in three-and-outs. They can't sustain their running game or their passing game.

However talented the Bears defense is, they're on the field for more snaps than three-quarters of their NFL colleagues. As a consequence, they tire and give up points. And if there's a team in the NFL that can't afford to fall behind, its the 2019 Chicago Bears.

Once again, the Bears can't run and they can't pass, largely because of their deficient O-line. Mitch Trubisky's development has been further retarded by this line, leading to a torrent of bitter and hostile criticism.

And lacking draft capital, April won't be an answer any time soon.

But you'd never know it reading recent dispatches in the Tribune. Nope. The Bears have rediscovered their mojo. They have their groove back. Fire up Club Dub. All of this after beating the New York Giants and Detroit Lions.

Whew. It's a little much.

The Bears face the distracted Dallas Cowboys tonight, a team with serious internal issues. They could conceivably get lucky and catch the Cowboys by surprise, giving them a 7 – 6 record and sending the Bears' public relations staff at the Tribune into overdrive.

But with remaining games against the Green Bay Packers, Kansas City Chiefs and Minnesota Vikings (the first and last on the road), things don't look so good. Not with a tough schedule and a weak line and no obvious solutions on the horizon.

Like their 2007 counterparts, the 2019 Bears are the morning after a celebration. And there's no hiding the fact these Bears don't look so good in the light of day.

It'll be curious to see when the Tribune acknowledges it.

How to Fall and Miss the Floor

Kickers are almost an afterthought in the NFL. And when they're not, they're practically generic. Never waste a high draft pick on one. And never, ever over-pay them. They're just not worth it.

Despite punters having punted and placekickers having placekicked for as long as linebackers have been linebacking and quarterbacks have been quarterbacking, this attitude has even permeated the game's Hall of Fame.

To date, four placekickers have been enshrined. And just one—that's one—punter.

It does not compute.

In the wake of Cody Parkey's otherworldly 2018 season, I wonder how important Bears' fans consider the position. Or even Bears' coach Matt Nagy.

Bears' GM Ryan Pace certainly embraced the kickers-are-generic ethos, releasing the Bears' best-ever placekicker prior to the 2016 season because he was set to earn about three-quarters of what Cody Parkey averages on his current contract.

He was also—gasp—thirty-four years old. Incontestable points, all.

In his three seasons since, Robbie Gould has made 82 of 85 field goal attempts (96.4%), and converted 75 of 82 extra point attempts (91.4%). Points surrendered? Sixteen.

In the same time span, Gould's four successors have hit on just 57 of their 75 field goal attempts (76.0%) while converting 99 of 105 extra points (94.2%). Forfeited points? Sixty.

Since being dismissed for being too old and too expensive, Gould is a combined 157 for 167, a success rate of 94.0%.

His replacements? 156 for 180, a success rate of 86.6%.

If that weren't bad enough, know that Gould has erred on as many kicks in the past three seasons as Cody Parkey did in 2018.

Ryan Pace is young. He is learning on the job. And his capricious release of Gould smacks of arrogance and ignorance. Of far-reaching decisions based on insufficient evidence.

Next year is not guaranteed. Nor is the year after that. The Bears had the playoffs in hand this season, and surrendered them in a fashion worthy of horrormeisters Alfred Hitchcock and Stephen King.

Khalil Mack will always be a feather in Pace's cap. Just as the premature release of Gould will always be a thorn in his side.

GMs are important. So are placekickers.

It is a lesson I hope Mr. Pace is soon to embrace.

The Premature Coronation

I frequently delude myself with the notion that Chicago is a baseball town. More specifically, a Cubs town. But even after four last-place finishes in a row, Bears' pre-season games knock the Cubs, who happen to be in the midst of a heated pennant race, off the front page.

Huh?

The Bears win three games in a row for the first time in five years and it is apparent they are headed to the Super Bowl. This is cycled endlessly by the media and on Facebook and even by sober people. The Bears are the talk of break rooms and bars and subway cars.

A lopsided win against a deeply-flawed Tampa Bay team etches it in stone. And thanks to an early bye week, the Bears and their fans have fourteen days to revel in the afterglow. And revel they do.

This is the best Bears defense since 1985. After one (that's one, as in less than two) big game from heavily-scrutinized quarterback Mitch Trubisky, the Bears are the '62 Packers, '84 Niners and '72 Dolphins all rolled into one.

So when does the Super Bowl start, anyway?

So it goes when you defeat the diminished Seattle Seahawks, forlorn Arizona Cardinals and Tampa Bay Buccaneers, who conveniently are minus their starting quarterback. This is all it takes to engorge the Bears and their fans.

As an admittedly fair-weather Bears fan (I will root for the Dallas Cowboys when Jerry Jones is gone), I can take the local heroes—and their fans—with a grain of salt. That goes for the overheated media coverage, too.

I smile when I realize that the same team which took down the high-flying '85 Bears on a Monday night also took these guys down last Sunday.

Oh sweet irony.

Don't get me wrong. I'm happy for the Bears. The franchise that mostly wasted the services of Hall-of-Fame LB Brian Urlacher has done a serviceable job in the last two drafts. This is noteworthy when you consider the signing of QB Mike Glennon and dismissal of K Robbie Gould not so long ago.

Then there is the timely theft of Kahlil Mack from the Oakland Raiders. He has cemented an already talented defense, which bodes well for any team.

But the Bears are young. They are inexperienced. Like freshly-laundered sheets, there are plenty of wrinkles to iron out.

They are playing a last-place schedule and all concerned are convinced they're the New England Patriots. Let's be clear: a thrashing of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers does not a world champion make—even in a microwave culture like ours.

The Bears need to learn how to win. And how to lose. They need to learn how to sustain effort and focus and how to ignore the hyperbole.

The Bears need to learn how to respect each and every opponent. Every guy they face was The Man on his high school and college team. You get that, right?

We pull long and hard for our guys. But like the champions we envy, we shouldn't get too high after a win or too low after a loss.

Clear-eyed moderation is best.

Like my favorite GM says, if the Bears are truly pointed in the right direction we should give them a little time and enjoy the process.

The Bears are a work in progress—not a museum-ready masterpiece.

Keep On Keepin' On

It's hard to feel for people who are some combination of wealthy, famous and attractive. This because they lead lives we imagine to be far superior to our own, immune from the problems the rest of us struggle with every day.

For instance, rush hour can't possibly be the enervating ordeal for LeBron James or Jennifer Lawrence or Jeff Bezos that it is for you and I, right?

Wrong. 

While fame and fortune can certainly cushion one from life's harsher realities, it doesn't ensure that it will be a blissful and serene float down the river of dreams. For proof, we need only look at Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain. Neither were sweating Republican threats to slash Social Security and Medicare. Yet both were so drastically unhappy they took their own lives.

But there is another, more inspiring example: Kevin White.

Unless you're a fan of the Chicago Bears, you probably have no idea who Kevin White is. He is a wide receiver from the University of West Virginia and was the seventh player selected in the 2015 NFL draft.

To put that in perspective, of the thousands and thousands of young men playing collegiate football at that time, just six (six!) were thought to be better NFL prospects to the folk who earned their livelihoods appraising them than Kevin White.

Pretty heady stuff. And an apparent head start on a rewarding, fulfilling life.

But three years removed from the glorious spring evening on which he was drafted, White has played in just five games. Caught just twenty-one passes. He has yet to score an officially-sanctioned NFL touchdown.

They're not the kind of numbers number-seven picks are supposed to put up.

But there are reasons for that. First there was the stress fracture in his very first training camp which effectively ended his rookie season. Then, four games into his second year a broken ankle ended it. And in game number-one of his third, the star-crossed receiver incurred a season-ending clavicle fracture.

Sports columnists and the general public have thoughtfully provided insult to these injuries.

White has been declared a wasted draft pick. His team's most overpaid player. And much, much worse. He has been cruelly derided for his lack of production as if he chose these injuries over playing the game that has been his passion since childhood.

I don't know White, but I'm reasonably sure the last three years have been torment. Imagine possessing the talent to play NFL football and after being fitted for a uniform and signing a great, big contract, being denied by a series of injuries for which the word 'freakish' barely suffices.

Kindly note these injuries happened despite the status that is accorded those whose names appear on NFL rosters. Kindly note his body was ravaged despite a guaranteed contract worth more money than I (and perhaps you) have made in forty-four years of wage-slavery.

Kindly note that despite the passion and the work and the time devoted to it, his dream has only intermittently appeared, drifting in and out like a radio station with a weak signal.

But even after that dream began to curdle like spoiled milk White did not give up. Even after his notoriety became a two-edged sword and his income an albatross White persevered. He has responded to each and every injury by rehabbing himself into game shape with an unswerving and profound relentlessness.

If I'm Bears' GM Ryan Pace, that is precisely the type of personality I want challenging psychotic dudes called linebackers who take powerful exception to footballs being caught in their midst.

White is not a wasted draft pick. White is not a malingerer. White is not (to quote the most-offensive fan comment) a pussy.

White is a role-model.

Despite his modest accomplishments on NFL gridirons, White is an All-Pro insofar as The Square Peg is concerned. And we will risk a hernia pulling for him in 2018.

The best of luck to you, Sir.

It's Bear Season

My hometown NFL franchise continues to struggle. As they have most of my life.

They were once the terrors of the NFL. But I spent my formative years watching as the team's legendary founder (George Halas) struggled to adapt to the realities of the post-expansion NFL and wasted draft choice after draft choice pursuing not the best available talent, but talent he could sign on the cheap.

It resulted in some of the most desultory football ever to soil a network television camera.

True, a world championship eventually followed the 1974 hire of the brilliant Jim Finks and the 1982 hire of Mike Ditka. Another Super Bowl visit followed the drafting of a once-in-a-lifetime linebacker. But not to worry—those successes have been thoroughly extinguished.

Torpor and incompetence have assumed their assigned seats.

The thirty-two years since the Bears' last championship dwarfs the twenty-two year wait which preceded that, and was considered a public indignity punishable by hanging.

One long-term drought is a fluke. Two bear an uncomfortable resemblance to a pattern.

As is usually the case, the defense is good enough. They play hard, and despite the woeful 4 - 10 record the team has rarely been blown out. In fact, the Bears have been outscored by just 4.2 points a game.

The common denominator stretching back over half a century is the absence of a potent offense. The franchise fails at this aspect of football as reliably as water douses fire.

Yes, the Ditka-era offenses were strong, but they were inevitably hobbled by a great quarterback who was usually disabled come playoff time. It's no coincidence that the only year the Bears went all the way was one of just two post-seasons in which Jim McMahon was available.

The remaining contenders were left in the hands of Steve Fuller (1984), Doug Flutie (1986), Mike Tomczak (1988 and 1990) and Jim Harbaugh (1991), none of whom are a threat to darken the doorway to the Hall of Fame anytime soon.

There was no confirmed sighting of a goat, but even the 2001 Bears, who came out of nowhere to go 13 - 3 behind quarterback Jim Miller, lost his services late in the season and for the divisional playoff game.

The Bears post-season quarterback? Shane Matthews.

True, Erik Kramer had an amazing 1995 and remained healthy throughout all of it, but that's mostly because those Bears never threatened to make a playoff appearance.

The Bears have had great runners (Matt Forte), great receivers (Brandon Marshall), great kickers (Robbie Gould) and even great kick returners (Devin Hester), but the offense rarely gels. Only for a single season after the tenured quarterback (Jay Cutler) is reunited with his favorite offensive coordinator.

When we're talking the Bears and offense, chemistry is something that happens only in a textbook. Were I a legal scholar, I would be checking the record for legislation prohibiting the Bears from point-scoring prominence. They are—once and for all—O-averse. 

This from the franchise that created the forward pass. 

Fast forward to 2017. The confused brain trust heading the Bears signed a career back-up quarterback to a very generous contract before trading up in the draft for a promising youngster.

It has mostly been a quarterback controversy in reverse.

The Bears stumbled onto a fifth-round running back (Jordan Howard) who has performed admirably—especially considering the unsettled line in front of him. And offensive tackle Kyle Long has performed at an All-Pro level throughout his brief career.

But the lack of a threatening or even dependable receiver corps allows opposing defenses to stack up against the run, further exposing the weak line. And the Bears best threat—tight end Zach Miller—is out with an injury.

So games end with single-digit first down totals. Drives that amount to a trip to the corner 7-11. And play-calling as predictable as a Supreme Court vote. It adds up to a Ph.D. dissertation in feeble.

Football is the most reciprocal sport out there. A great defensive line makes a secondary look good. A great secondary make a defensive line look good. A great offensive line makes a quarterback look good. And a running back. And vice versa.

Running opens up the passing game. And passing opens up the running game. It goes on and on. A great defense allows an offense to play without inhibition. And a great offense sustains drives, which keeps the defense fresh.

Football is a game that rewards balance.

Perpetually out of balance, the Bears remain the also-rans they have been for the better part of the last fifty years. Without a curse to market, attention is focused entirely on performance. In other words, the McCaskeys are fine administrators but come up short at talent acquisition.

A stream of executive-level football personnel has come and gone. Only the results remain stable. There is a blind spot.

True and incisive change starts at the top. Without it, the Bears will continue to flounder.

I'd love for the McCaskeys to prove me wrong.

Learning to Respect The Man

As a product of the late-sixties and early-seventies and witness to posters, t-shirts and bumper stickers offering variations of the era's don't trust anyone over thirty mantra, I was reluctant to admit The Man mattered.

I was more inclined to believe The Man was an out of touch, over-fed Republican intent on exploiting the masses for personal gain when he wasn't entertaining thoughts of shearing off my hair and packing my ass off to Vietnam.

Okay, so The Man was (and still is) looking to exploit the masses for personal gain. But as I would learn, he could also serve a useful function. 

One was reviving moribund sports franchises.

By the mid-seventies, the Chicago Bears were a pathetic sight. Offering some of the most anemic, unimaginative and uninspired football ever seen on NFL turf, the once-formidable franchise couldn't even lose well.

Their four, five and six-win seasons meant they weren't able to enjoy the restorative effects high draft picks could supply.

The watershed moment arrived when their once visionary owner looked in the mirror and realized what was wrong with the Chicago Bears. It was only then that George Halas stepped aside and hired a GM conversant in post-WW II-style football.

Jim Finks had masterminded the Minnesota Vikings' late-sixties rise to NFL prominence, after resurrecting the Calgary Roughriders of the Canadian Football League. He possessed an uncanny eye for evaluating talent and potential.

Just three years after Finks' arrival the Bears participated in the NFL playoffs, a once-unimaginable occurrence. Finks moved the franchise away from drafting players the frugal Halas believed he could sign on the cheap to drafting players Finks thought could excel at professional football.

During Finks' tenure Walter Payton, Mike Hartenstine, Doug Plank, Roland Harper, Dan Hampton, Al Harris, Otis Wilson, Mike Suhey, Keith Van Horne, Mike Singletary, Todd Bell, Leslie Frazier, Jay Hilgenberg, Jim McMahon, Jim Covert, Willie Gault, Mike Richardson, Dave Duerson, Tom Thayer, Richard Dent, Mark Bortz and Dennis McKinnon were either drafted or signed as undrafted free agents.

Castoffs like Emery Moorehead, Steve McMichael and Gary Fencik were signed as free agents. It's worth noting that twenty of the twenty-four starters on the 1985 Super Bowl team were acquired during Finks' tenure.

But The Man is relative. While Jim Finks appeared to be The Man for all intent and purposes, George Halas still owned the Bears and was still breathing. He had influence to exert and an ego to satisfy.

The first dent in the Halas-Finks relationship was Halas' hiring of Mike Ditka, during which the old man apparently forgot he had hired Finks. Further eroding the relationship was Finks' drafting of Jim McMahon, whom Halas didn't think highly of.

While history proved both decisions to be sound ones, the relationship was damaged beyond repair. Finks resigned shortly before the 1983 season began, and Halas died just two months later. The 1985 Bears famously won Super Bowl XX.

The raft of talented players Finks brought to Chicago did what players do. They got injured. They got old. A few held out and never regained their career momentum. Without Finks' unerring assessments to replenish the team, this talent was never adequately replaced, putting the franchise in a nosedive that, for the most part, it has never been able to pull out of.

Ironic that even The Man has to please The Man. It's always something.

The Bear Market

This past February was Chicago's coldest ever. Which is pretty amazing when you consider how overheated certain Chicago Tribune sportswriters were about the personnel employed by the local NFL franchise.

You'd think such frequent spontaneous human combustion would make weather records like these all but impossible.

In the world inhabited by David Haugh and Steve Rosenbloom, QB Jay Cutler and GM Phil Emery's continued employment ten-minutes after the conclusion of the regular season was a national crisis on par with Hillary's e-mail accounts, ISIS beheadings and Iran's nuclear program.

The Chicken Little twins advised us repeatedly that if Cutler and Emery weren't removed immediately, the earth would suffer a catastrophic shift of its axis, potentially placing next year's Chicago Bear schedule in jeopardy.

New threats to our collective well-being were exposed if head coach Marc Trestman and defensive coordinator Mel Tucker weren't disposed of with the urgency accorded spent uranium rods. 

Their warnings flowed like money at a Koch Brothers Super PAC.

Speaking as a reader, imagine enduring this kind of stress before you've even had time to sufficiently process Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez calling it quits.

Sigh.

With all but Cutler now gone, the twosome turned their attention to Brandon Marshall, a talented-but-outspoken wide receiver. They took strong exception to Marshall's remark that football was a platform, a means to an end, rather than an end in itself.

This as Haugh and several other Tribune sportswriters enjoy extra-curricular gigs on radio and TV in addition to their newspaper assignments. It's a shame Marshall didn't enjoy a similar bully pulpit from which to question their commitment.

The piling on was ugly. It was unfair. And it was pointless. Vince Lombardi couldn't have taken the 2014 Bears to the post-season.

In overreacting to unfulfilled expectations they themselves created by speaking breathlessly of last year's Bears as Super Bowl contenders, Haugh and Rosenbloom cease to be journalists and instead become their own sitcom, one best called Chasing My Tail.

Now the Bears have a new coach, John Fox. And a new GM, Ryan Pace. 

Welcome to Chicago, gentlemen. If you haven't won a Super Bowl by the Fourth of July, don't say you weren't warned.
 

I Almost Have a Job!

If the paucity of posts weren’t clue-enough, you should know: I found a job.

Not a full-time-with-benefits one mind you, for I am clearly unworthy of such extravagance. But I have found temporary work--with benefits (the exact nature of which escapes me at the moment).

Oh yeah. I’m being paid.

What I do was once the province of college graduates. I am a human resources benefits administrator. Yes, the finer points of health insurance, 401(k)s, pensions, payroll, COBRA, vacation and FMLA administration are being stuffed into me as rapidly as I can clear space on my internal hard drive.

Week five was completed Friday.

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I am. To have a forty hour paycheck for the first time in two years is the proverbial rain in the desert. But I am troubled.

Troubled by the degreed HR staffers who no longer have a job because their jobs have been outsourced to temporary workers like me. Troubled by a company that either doesn’t realize its raging hypocrisy as it speaks of the importance of commitment from its temporary workers or doesn’t care.

I am troubled by the ongoing conditions in a supposed first-world country in which highly-educated people make fifty and one-hundred mile commutes for a temporary paycheck while chasing a vague and nebulous chance at permanent employment.

As I suspect is true in many American offices circa 2011, the mood is grim.

Weary, stressed-out workers swallow hard and multi-task while working for stagnant wages as executive compensation rockets upward in an unbroken trajectory independent of company performance or economic conditions.

In the hour and a half it takes to negotiate the twenty-five mile trip to work, I realize I am uncomfortably close to a conundrum where I work merely to perpetuate my ability to get to work.

But then there is my resume. The official record of my contributions to corporate America.

If nothing else, this position will allow me to show recent experience. Which, if you haven’t looked for a job lately, is the mantra of our business class: only the employed (or recently-employed) need apply.

And would all of you ninety-niners please just go away? Or something?

But the days aren’t without mirth. The monumental tedium that results from eight hours of ‘What are the restrictions on withdrawals of after-tax contributions made to the DC plan after December 1, 1986?’ is an extraordinarily fertile breeding ground for humor.

I long to quote Dr. “Bones” McCoy from the original Star Trek and say “Dammit Jim! I’m a doctor—not a retirement specialist!” I struggle to resist publicly identifying the three types 401(k) distributions as hardship, regular and regular with cheese.

Or to inquire of our off-site facilitator “Does a 401(k) participant get a treat when they roll over?”

But these aren’t even my biggest temptations. Let me explain.

In our classrooms, we sit in individual, high-walled cubicles. As mentioned earlier, we take our instruction from an off-site source as we are monitored by on-site instruct—I mean facilitators. The off-site facilitator speaks to us from Texas via speaker phone.

When questions are asked over the speaker phone, they produce a stadium-like echo, which creates in me an irresistible urge to say things like “Upon further review, it has been determined that the offensive player had both feet down at the time of the catch. The call stands. Touchdown Chicago.”

Alas, I have not. Corporate America takes itself very seriously.

But as any temporary can tell you, dreams die hard.