Change Is the Only Constant? Seriously?

Depending on how you look at it, the Chicago Bears are either swathed in—or suffocated by—history.

Just one of a handful of NFL franchises owned by descendants of their founders, the Bears make a great story insofar as tradition and lineage are concerned. What could be better for a franchise and its legacy than to have a tangible link to perhaps the most pivotal man in NFL history?

On the surface, not much. Pretty cool, right?

Wrong.

George Halas, Sr. died on Halloween, 1983. The last great thing Bears' leadership did for the franchise was Halas' hiring of GM Jim Finks in the mid-seventies. Already credited with turning two franchises into contenders, Finks was the perfect candidate to resurrect the Bears.

And resurrect he did. While no longer with the franchise by the time the 1985 Bears laid waste to the NFL, that team had Finks' fingerprints all over it. But the ascent and the championship obscured an emerging problem within the organization: in the aftermath of Halas' death, who would lead them?

Heirs by marriage, various members of the McCaskey family assumed control. They were now responsible for hiring the people best-suited to sustain the Bears' recent success.

But as teams do, the Bears grew old. Got injured. And got traded. With the conveyor belt Finks built no longer in service, the supply of savvy draft picks and prescient free-agent signings which earmarked his stay in Chicago disappeared.

And suddenly the Bears weren't so good anymore.

Looking at the ensuing decades, the Bears have mostly been mediocre (if not downright awful). While fans and the media debate incessantly this GM or that coach or trades and free-agent signings, there is but a single common denominator that stretches across three decades of futility: the McCaskeys.

They don't know what they're doing.

They're in charge of hiring the people who evaluate, develop and assemble talent. And for thirty long years they have failed. Their hand-picked executives have produced a long string of ineffectual quarterbacks. Forgettable receivers and tight ends. Anonymous offensive linemen. All of it leading to a moribund tradition of hapless and inept offenses.

Their coaches are over-matched and out-witted.

Yes, the Bears can still uncover defensive talent like the New York Mets once did pitching. But in a game constantly being tweaked and massaged to favor offense, this is only a minor advantage. 

There are aberrations. Like 2001 and 2006 and, most-recently, 2018. But these vanish as quickly as they appear, returning Bears football to its natural state of being.

Which isn't to infer the McCaskeys are clueless. On the contrary, they have developed the Bears assets to the point where the Bears are the eighth most-valuable franchise in the NFL, worth 2.45 billion-dollars. Which I think we all can agree is a pretty heady return on Papa Bear's original investment.

And with a billion-dollar monument to their legacy soon to be erected in the suburb of Arlington Heights, that valuation will increase still further. But the red wine stain on this pristine linen tablecloth of good fortune remains the McCaskeys.

If it even needs to be said, football is measured in championships, not valuations.

Oh, the McCaskeys and Ted Phillips still deign to descend from their ivory towers and mingle with the great unwashed once a year, polishing their brand as they advise exasperated fans and a befuddled media they understand what's going on and are going to act on it immediately.

All that's missing are results.

But with a string of sold-out games stretching back to 1984, you have to wonder why the Bears would bother. Like the fans of the baseball team that plays on the north side of town, Bears fans will bitch up a storm on Monday morning talk radio and then dash off checks for season tickets with eager and unquestioning obedience.

And with more seats to sell in their new stadium, money will roll in in even greater quantities.

3 - 13? 12 - 4? It matters not, people. Bears' fans have demonstrated they will buy whatever the McCaskeys are selling. And until the tickets and the merch remain unsold and the games unwatched, rest assured Matt Nagy and Ryan Pace's successors will be more of the same.

Again: the McCaskeys are the sole common denominator across thirty-years of crappy football and questionable football decisions. What does that say to you?

A long time ago, an Englishman sang “Meet the new boss/Same as the old boss.” Is it possible he was a Bears' fan?

Random Thoughts, Vol. 14

Yes, you are correct. Previous editions of 'Random Thoughts' contained ten items, while this installment contains only seven.

Unfortunately, the ripple of shortages washing over the world is now lapping upon the shores of 'The Square Peg', and as a consequence we have but seven items to offer.

Thank you for your understanding.

My dad was a nuclear physicist. So I'm thinking it's not that surprising that he'd wake me with the words up and atom?

I suffer from low self-esteem. I blame this on the fact I was born and raised in the Lesser Antilles.

The only people in my neck of the woods who drive with a sense of urgency are the people behind me.

Is it true that language-app Babbel is developing a new program based on Bears' coach Matt Nagy?

If I get the message “We are experiencing an unusually high call volume” every time I call a business, is their call volume really unusually high?

Now that strike-outs frequently outnumber hits in a given month in Major League Baseball, is it fair to question when single 'A' ball got so expensive?

So, let me get this straight. in direct opposition to their cult leader's repeated cries for deregulation and lessened governmental oversight, Trumpers are concerned the COVID-19 vaccines didn't receive enough?

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?

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.