Sox Championship Takes Edge Off of Super Bowl
We interrupt our usual format to share some personal perspective on Sunday's festivities in Miami.
After the Super Bowl XLI matchup was set, I talked to my daughter Jordan on the phone. She noticed that I didn't sound too excited about the Bears being in the game. And, she may be right in a round about way. Sunday's game, however exciting, just doesn't mean what it did in 1986, four years before Jordan was born. The 1985 Bears season was a whole, different animal on a lot of levels for long suffering Chicago sports fans like me that came to sports consciousness with the Bears being coached by such legends as Jim Dooley, Abe Gibron, Jack Pardee and Neil (I DID NOT walk on the moon) Armstrong.
Of the above mentioned group, Dooley and Gibron made Dave Wannstedt and Dick Juron look like Bill Walsh and Joe Gibbs; Pardee got the Bears to the playoffs for the first time in fifteen years where they were routed 44-0 by the Cowboys (who, by the way, had an assistant coach at the time named Ditka) Shortly thereafter, Pardee bolted town for the Redskins.
Pardee's replacement, Armstrong, was unsuccessful on the field, but did leave an important part of the '85 puzzle behind. While coach of the Bears, he hired a buddy of his from Minnesota to be the Bears defensive coordinator. This buddy was held over in 1982 when Mike Ditka was hired to coach the Bears and authored the famous "46" defense that is associated with the '85 team. Of course, Armstrong's buddy was James David "Buddy" Ryan (and now you know the rest of the story.)
At the time of Super Bowl XX, Chicago fans were rabid for a championship.
The Chicago Blackhawks, easily more popular than the Bulls in the 1970's, competed in the Stanley Cup finals in 1971 and 1973 only to lose to the evil Montreal Canadians. 1971 was especially heartbreaking because in game seven, the Hawks took a 2-1 lead into the third period and were twenty minutes from hoisting the Stanley Cup at the old Chicago Stadium. Montreal, led by Jean Belleveau and Henri Richard put two pucks past Tony Esposito and the Habs took the game 3-2 and the cup. The Hawks lost in six games in 1973 and it would be ten more years until a meaningful playoff game would be played by a Chicago team (sorry kids, the Sting doesn't count.)
The '83 Sox had made it to the playoffs with the best record in baseball, only to lose to the underdog Orioles in four games, which included some highly debatable moves on the part of Sox manager Tony LaRussa.
The '84 Sox flopped, but the '84 Cubs became America's darlings when they made it to the playoffs for the first time. Alas, after winning the first two games in Chicago, the Cubs dropped three in San Diego to lose the series three games to two. Leon Durham, who allowed an easy ground ball to roll through his legs, was Bill Buckner before Bill Buckner was cool. Couple Durham's lack of defense with the site of the arrogant, Popeye armed Steve Garvey parading around in victory, and you'll get how frustrated Chicago sports fans were in January of 1986.
The '85 Bears will always be legendary for the 30 and over crowd because they broke a 23 year championship drought for Chicago. Fact is, if you are under 50, you probably don't remember the Bears winning the NFL championship in 1963. I know I don't. And thus, the '85 bunch, with the cool nicknames and the limping, bad ass coach are forever etched in our brains and in our hearts for finally giving Chicago a championship in our lifetime.
Chicagoans in the '90s were spoiled with six championships by the Bulls. The ugly truth is, until
Michael, Scottie and Phil amped it up, Chicago was not a big basketball town. Although I enjoyed watching the Bulls win, for me, it was like watching an arena football team win. I was happy Chicago was the champion of a major league and I certainly marveled at the play of one of the all-time greats, but its meaning in the fabric of my sports life was pretty inconsequential. It really wasn't until 2005 that a championship series had serious, have to, must, win meaning to me.
Here's the rub with the Super Bowl: Win or lose on Sunday for the Bears, I can take solace in the fact that I have witnessed a Chicago White Sox World Series Championship in my lifetime. Nothing in sports will ever compare to that for me. Nothing, not even a second one. I have, as a great man once said, been to the mountain top.
2005 changed my entire perspective on my sports fandom. When Juan Uribe threw out Orlando Palmero to end game four, I sat there shocked and stunned because the prize that I had always wanted was mine and I couldn't believe that it was really happening. Achieving the once thought impossible White Sox championship doesn't mean that I don't care anymore, it just means that anything after October 26th, 2005 is icing on my sports cake and nothing more. October 26, 2005 will always be the defining moment of my life as a sports fan, and nothing, not even beating a bunch of Hoosiers in the biggest spectacle on Earth, will change that.
I'll be hunkered down Sunday like I always am during football season. I'll be wearing my lucky Bears shirt and making chili like I did for the two playoff games. I'll be foaming at Rex Grossman and Peanut Tillman like I do every Sunday when they screw up and I'll be hoping the boys can bring one home for the greatest city on Earth. But if they don't, I can live with it because I can go in my office and look on my wall and see a plaque which reads: "Chicago White Sox, 2005 World Series Champions." And that means more to me than any Super Bowl Victory.
After the Super Bowl XLI matchup was set, I talked to my daughter Jordan on the phone. She noticed that I didn't sound too excited about the Bears being in the game. And, she may be right in a round about way. Sunday's game, however exciting, just doesn't mean what it did in 1986, four years before Jordan was born. The 1985 Bears season was a whole, different animal on a lot of levels for long suffering Chicago sports fans like me that came to sports consciousness with the Bears being coached by such legends as Jim Dooley, Abe Gibron, Jack Pardee and Neil (I DID NOT walk on the moon) Armstrong.
Of the above mentioned group, Dooley and Gibron made Dave Wannstedt and Dick Juron look like Bill Walsh and Joe Gibbs; Pardee got the Bears to the playoffs for the first time in fifteen years where they were routed 44-0 by the Cowboys (who, by the way, had an assistant coach at the time named Ditka) Shortly thereafter, Pardee bolted town for the Redskins.
Pardee's replacement, Armstrong, was unsuccessful on the field, but did leave an important part of the '85 puzzle behind. While coach of the Bears, he hired a buddy of his from Minnesota to be the Bears defensive coordinator. This buddy was held over in 1982 when Mike Ditka was hired to coach the Bears and authored the famous "46" defense that is associated with the '85 team. Of course, Armstrong's buddy was James David "Buddy" Ryan (and now you know the rest of the story.)
At the time of Super Bowl XX, Chicago fans were rabid for a championship.
The Chicago Blackhawks, easily more popular than the Bulls in the 1970's, competed in the Stanley Cup finals in 1971 and 1973 only to lose to the evil Montreal Canadians. 1971 was especially heartbreaking because in game seven, the Hawks took a 2-1 lead into the third period and were twenty minutes from hoisting the Stanley Cup at the old Chicago Stadium. Montreal, led by Jean Belleveau and Henri Richard put two pucks past Tony Esposito and the Habs took the game 3-2 and the cup. The Hawks lost in six games in 1973 and it would be ten more years until a meaningful playoff game would be played by a Chicago team (sorry kids, the Sting doesn't count.)
The '83 Sox had made it to the playoffs with the best record in baseball, only to lose to the underdog Orioles in four games, which included some highly debatable moves on the part of Sox manager Tony LaRussa.
The '84 Sox flopped, but the '84 Cubs became America's darlings when they made it to the playoffs for the first time. Alas, after winning the first two games in Chicago, the Cubs dropped three in San Diego to lose the series three games to two. Leon Durham, who allowed an easy ground ball to roll through his legs, was Bill Buckner before Bill Buckner was cool. Couple Durham's lack of defense with the site of the arrogant, Popeye armed Steve Garvey parading around in victory, and you'll get how frustrated Chicago sports fans were in January of 1986.
The '85 Bears will always be legendary for the 30 and over crowd because they broke a 23 year championship drought for Chicago. Fact is, if you are under 50, you probably don't remember the Bears winning the NFL championship in 1963. I know I don't. And thus, the '85 bunch, with the cool nicknames and the limping, bad ass coach are forever etched in our brains and in our hearts for finally giving Chicago a championship in our lifetime.
Chicagoans in the '90s were spoiled with six championships by the Bulls. The ugly truth is, until
Michael, Scottie and Phil amped it up, Chicago was not a big basketball town. Although I enjoyed watching the Bulls win, for me, it was like watching an arena football team win. I was happy Chicago was the champion of a major league and I certainly marveled at the play of one of the all-time greats, but its meaning in the fabric of my sports life was pretty inconsequential. It really wasn't until 2005 that a championship series had serious, have to, must, win meaning to me.
Here's the rub with the Super Bowl: Win or lose on Sunday for the Bears, I can take solace in the fact that I have witnessed a Chicago White Sox World Series Championship in my lifetime. Nothing in sports will ever compare to that for me. Nothing, not even a second one. I have, as a great man once said, been to the mountain top.
2005 changed my entire perspective on my sports fandom. When Juan Uribe threw out Orlando Palmero to end game four, I sat there shocked and stunned because the prize that I had always wanted was mine and I couldn't believe that it was really happening. Achieving the once thought impossible White Sox championship doesn't mean that I don't care anymore, it just means that anything after October 26th, 2005 is icing on my sports cake and nothing more. October 26, 2005 will always be the defining moment of my life as a sports fan, and nothing, not even beating a bunch of Hoosiers in the biggest spectacle on Earth, will change that.
I'll be hunkered down Sunday like I always am during football season. I'll be wearing my lucky Bears shirt and making chili like I did for the two playoff games. I'll be foaming at Rex Grossman and Peanut Tillman like I do every Sunday when they screw up and I'll be hoping the boys can bring one home for the greatest city on Earth. But if they don't, I can live with it because I can go in my office and look on my wall and see a plaque which reads: "Chicago White Sox, 2005 World Series Champions." And that means more to me than any Super Bowl Victory.
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