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.

 

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?

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.

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.

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.