As a kid, I can recall being inconsolable, even physically ill after watching my team get blanked by the Joe Montana led, budding San Francisco 49er juggernaut in the 1984 NFC Championship game.
I didn’t know that we had lost to arguably, one of the greatest dynasties of all-time, led by the greatest quarterback in the NFL to ever successfully pull off the “surfer-dude” look without being repeatedly punched in the mouth or duct-taped to a goalpost. I didn’t know jack about the game within the game; didn’t know a 4-3 defense from a 3-4 defense.
All I knew was that we weren’t getting the job done when it mattered; in the clutch. Bill Simmons would call this a “stomach punch” scenario. It is a scenario that I’ve become far too familiar with.
One year after laying an egg in the conference-title game, my Bears were on a rampage. They literally ran unchecked over anyone and everyone in their path. Buddy Ryan, the defensive coordinator, devised and perfected a revolutionary new scheme, called the “46”. A year older and wiser, I studied this scheme, dissected it to gain a better understanding of what I was seeing (as well as a seventh grader could dissect a defensive scheme).
This is all that needs to be known about the 46; the 46-defense is about pressure. It’s about sending more people than the offense could block, in an all-or-nothing gamble that defenders would pound the quarterback into the grass before he could get the ball out of his hands to an open receiver. And it worked so well, that it began to live on its reputation alone, the way a bully does while making a geek run his lunch money after having him witness the pummeling of another geek. They racked-up a 12-0 record, and carried that invincible swagger into a Monday night game against the Dolphins.
Two words. Dan Marino. Three words. Dan Mutha-effin Marino.
Dan Marino was the starting quarterback for the Dolphins. Dan Marino possessed a trick-hammer release, with speed that seemed to defy physics. Dan Marino had receivers who knew how to cut their routes short and get open quickly if they felt the blitz was coming. The Bears 46-defense, though intimidating, was at its heart, nothing more than a blitz package on steroids.
It’s pretty obvious where I’m going with this.
The Dolphins took my Bears to the woodshed, just like Ralphie did with Scott Farkas. I remember this game, not only because of what happened, but also for what didn’t happen. Midway through the second quarter, it was obvious, even to a seventh-grader like me at the time, that the 46 wasn’t working. But Buddy Ryan made no effort to adjust the scheme. The Bears kept right on blitzing, and Marino kept right on dissecting them. The Bears eventually recovered from the loss to win their only Superbowl, but I will always remember the Marino Massacre as a classic example of poor coaching, due to ego.
After the Bears only Superbowl victory, I endured many a “Stomach-punch” moment courtesy of my favorite team, giving way to many inconsolable, physically-ill moments, which were eventually soothed by beating the crap out of my brother (Kicking a younger sibling’s ass is a salve for many ailments. They are bred specifically for these situations. Curing cancer could be as simple as punching an annoying younger guy in the head repeatedly and stealing his Hershey candy bar. We should commission a study on this.)
Which brings me to this season.
I went into this season, knowing that my Bears were mediocre, at best. Watching them scrap and struggle, barely pulling out victories against some of the crappiest teams ever to suit up for the NFL in any era (2005 49ers, hello?) and even LOSE to some of them (2005 Cleveland Browns?!?) well… let’s just say that I had my reservations.
But as I watched their defense fly around the field, I begin to buy into it. Sports pundits dared to compare this 2005 Bears defense with the 85 bears, and as ridiculous as it sounded, I began to believe the hype. Even though their defensive systems are vastly different, I began to believe. The frenzy came. The irrational voice in my head that screamed, “Hey, this could be OUR year!”
I carried that frenzy into this past Sunday’s game versus the Panthers.
Here’s some background info;The current Bears defense relies on a defensive scheme called the “Cover 2”, or “Tampa 2″, made popular by the Tampa Bay Buccaneers a few years ago. Damn near everyone’s using a bastardized version of this scheme now, so you can call it the Tommy Hilfiger of defenses. Everyone’s wearing it, but it looks nice and keeps you covered, so screw it, let’s wear it and cut the labels off.
The Panthers have a wide receiver by the name of Steve Smith, who is… uhm… pretty goddamned good. Good as in, it might be a good idea for the defense to know where this guy is on the field and, uhm… maybe assign two or three defenders to monitor his on-field shenanigans. Does anyone remember a basketball player named Michael Jordan? Remember what happened to teams that were arrogant enough to try guarding him with one man, and actually stuck with that plan, even after Money began torching them?
That’s right, I forgot. There were no such teams. It’s Michael Mutha-effin Jordan.
This should have been the case in the football game against Steve Smith. Put our best guy (Vasher) on their best guy (Smith) and roll a safety over to help deep. Hell… everyone on the field should know where Steve Smith is at all times.
But Ron Rivera, the Bears defensive coordinator, in his infinite wisdom, much like his stubborn predecessor Buddy Ryan did twenty years earlier, decided to employ, and stick with “his” scheme.
The Cover 2 mostly consists of the cornerbacks pressing receivers in the flat, one-on-one, then releasing them to the two deep safeties, hence the name. But understand this; there’s not a safety in the league that can match Steve PGG Smith’s speed if he gets clean releases from the cornerbacks at the line of scrimmage, which is pretty much what happened all game.
Lewis Tillman, the corner who was matched with Smith for most of the game, was burnt with such frequency and intensity, that they should have crossed the name “Tillman” off the back of his shirt and replaced it with “Steve’s Bitch”. As painful it is to admit, it’s still the truth. We were overmatched, out-coached and outplayed in all areas, especially in the Steve Smith category.
Everyone’s selling the “plenty to build on for next year” angle, but I’m too depressed to really buy into it right now. Since my younger brother now outweighs me by about 50 pounds, my sibling-thumping therapy isn’t as appealing as it use to be. I’m confident that I can still kick his ass, but it’s way too labor-intensive nowadays. I’ll need a few more days to bounce-back naturally.
Edited to add: I recently recovered well enough to watch an NFL highlight film of this game. Prior to one of Steve Smith’s touchdowns, Nathan Vasher (our best corner) was instructed by “someone” to take the nickel position and cover the slot receiver instead of Steve Smith. I rewound my DVR just to see if I could identify the assistant coach to make sure he’s bagging groceries somewhere instead of sabotaging my team. Sadly, I didn’t get a name or face.
Posted by Barry Dawson IV 
Posted by Barry Dawson IV 
Posted by Barry Dawson IV 