Bears Have Driven Themselves to Distraction--and to Defeat

Now, I ain’t here to start no trouble. I’m here to burst the Super Bears Bubble.

Uh huh. Yeah. Have mercy. Put your hands together.

Yes, there is an outside possibility that by now you’re sick of reading and hearing about those super bad, super shufflin’ cyclones from Shy-town, the Bears.

Rest easy. As you read this, the Chicago Bears are only hours away from extinction. By suppertime they will be joining Boo Boo and Yogi and other great show-biz Bears who have faded into fond memory.

That’s right. I’m not here to feed you no stats. I just want to tab the Pats.

In picking the New England Patriots to defeat the Chicago Bears in today’s Super Bowl, I am not resorting to cheap sensationalism, because that would demean the solemn dignity and exquisite class of this great--burp! (‘scuse me)--event.

And I hope I’m not letting my heart rule my head, although some organ better take charge here soon.

Seriously, I’m convinced the Patriots will win this thing, which is just as well.

Are any of us ready for 12 more months of Refrigerator TV commercials, Sweetness testimonials and assorted Jim McMahon atrocities? Haven’t these guys become just a little unBearable?

But what’s this got to do with football? Plenty.

Take the quarterback. Please.

I came to New Orleans prepared to climb onto the Jim McMahon headbandwagon. After watching meek, quiet, humble quarterbacks lead L.A. pro teams down the tubes this season, I was convinced that brashness and arrogance were admirable qualities, even essential ones, in a winning quarterback.

But the McMahon act has worn thin, like a 24-hour Pee Wee Herman telethon. Not only that, I think there’s some danger that McMahon is leaving his game on the pavement. The only guy I know of who could work himself into this kind of pre-event frenzy and still deliver a stellar performance was Muhammad Ali when he was Cassius Clay.

McMahon is also slowed down by a bruised bun, and I think the Patriots might get to him.

Yeah, he came to conquer the Street of Bourbon, but he’ll wind up with his head bandaged like a turban.

Sorry, but that rappin’ beat just won’t go away.

Apparently, it has even dulled the senses of Walter Sweetness Payton. Now there’s a Super Week disappointment. Two thousand reporters journey to New Orleans to glorify Payton, to sit at his feet and immortalize him. In this, his ultimate week in the sun, we gather before him to seek the meaning of life, and what does he tell us?

That he got shafted on tickets.

The Bears gave Walter only the 20 tickets allocated to each player. He needed 24. He had to go out and buy extra four tickets!

Listen, I tried to phone Walter at his hotel to offer my Super Bowl media box-lunch, to help defray the cost of feeding his group at the game, but I couldn’t get through.

Walter even lashed out at the media. Where were us guys in the lean years?

Is Walter joking, or is he cracking under the pressure? I was afraid to go to Bourbon Street Friday night for fear of running across Sweetness playing a sax on a street corner to earn money for those extra tickets. Or would he be wandering the French Quarter, wearing a headband printed with “I need 4”?

The Bears are on the verge of self-destruction over money, anyhow. The team ownership is tighter than a cheap facelift. Richard (Can’t Pay the Rent) Dent actually threatened the ultimate treason, boycotting the Super Bowl. Now, there’s a real Three-Musketeer move, a great team-rallying tactic.

As for The Refrigerator, I still love the guy. I hate his agents for selling him out to a couple of demeaning TV commercial scripts, but the ‘Fridge is cool. But he’s only one small, fat cog in a big machine that is threatening to blow its gaskets by game time.

There are other factors that favor the Patriots. New England’s defense stopped Dan Marino cold, and McMahon is no Marino. The Patriots have their best quarterback on the bench, ready to jump in if the Bears rough up Tony Eason.

In the playoffs, the Patriots have reversed regular-season losses to the Raiders, Jets and Dolphins.

The Bears left Bear weather home. And as for Chicago’s intimidating image, as New England linebacker Andre Tippett said: “Just because our red, white and blue unies don’t look as nasty as theirs doesn’t mean we’re not as physical as they are.”

And as Bear linebacker Steve McMichael said: “I think being favored by 10 points is a lot of crap. This is the Super Bowl.”

Exactly.

Which reminds me, can we get on with the game now? The extra week of alleged preparation has already cost the Bears the ballgame, and now the city of Chicago is in danger of overdose and hyperventilation.

Friday’s Chicago Sun-Times contained 33 stories and features on the big game, including an essay entitled, “Time to Bring Back Drop-Kick.”

And use it on McMahon in lieu of acupuncture?

What I’m trying to say is, in the ultimate game, the Bears and the city of Chicago are making the ultimate mistake: They are taking the whole thing too seriously.

I got the scoop for the Shy-town Loop; the Bears ‘bout to wind up in Super Bowl soup.

Uh huh.