The '85 Bears: We Were the Greatest by Mike Ditka, Rick Telander
Authors: Mike Ditka, Rick Telander
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on.”
“Money is nothing. You can’t take it with you when you go to heaven. I use it as a tool to keep going.”
“I let them talk about [my weight]. I was happy then. I’m happy now.”
“The nickname came from Clemson. Me and the guys, we went out one night, having a couple beers, and we came back and there was an elevator in our dormitory. I was so big then and I walked through it, and a light was hanging down, and the guy behind me said, ‘You ain’t nothing but a walking refrigerator,’ and that’s how I got the name.”
“You’ve got to say the favorite moment was scoring a touchdown in the Super Bowl. That’s what you work for the whole time, from peewee ball all the way through. You get the chance to score a touchdown, so I can’t say no more. That was the highlight of the whole thing.”
chapter VIII
Sic ’Em Fridge, and the Premature Celebration
All week long 4gers coach Bill Walsh praised the Bears, saying their offense was “exceptionally well-designed,” and basically magnificent and untouchable, and their defense “was possibly the most effective defense in football.” Ditka was even more congratulatory and effusive, difficult as that might seem. The Bears coach came close to fainting, his bodice was so tight. San Francisco had “the most intimidating defense I’ve ever seen,” he said. And it had “the most innovative offense that’s ever been.” Ditka didn’t say he thought Bill Walsh was God, but it might have been on his mind. Ditka hoped against hope that his Bears wouldn’t get “blown out of the city.” Gentlemen, grab your barf bags.
Ever the man with an intuitive grasp of the absurd, Ditka told newsmen he had even considered calling NFL commissioner Pete Rozelle. “What if we both didn’t show up?” he asked.
San Francisco, though 3–2, still had the highest rating in the silly Dunkel NFL Index, but the Bears were No. 3, right behind the runner-up Miami Dolphins. “Did they announce it yet?” Ditka said at his Thursday press conference. “The game’s been canceled. Mutual fear.”
“I told him to go in and tell McMahon he was running the ball. Just grab the ball, hold it like a sack of money, and head south.”
—Ditka on Fridge’s first carry
But the rematch of the NFC Championship Game contenders was on. Same field. Same coaches. But one team had a different quarterback. Jim McMahon. And Ditka himself was certain he had learned from the embarrassing defeat the season before.
Fans at that January NFC title game out in San Francisco had been screaming at us, “When you come back, bring an offense!” It was a fair thing to yell. I had thought we could play conservatively, hang around, and win with our defense in that game. I found out we couldn’t. So we came ready to roll this time. We wanted the other team to be intimidated. We wanted to establish some fear if we could. Lots of it.
This was our offense, doing things right. Walter came out and he was pumped up, to say the least. He rushed for 132 yards and he scored two touchdowns. The last one, in the fourth quarter, he carried two 49ers around the left end with him right into the end zone. It was a 17-yard sweep and it put us up 26–10, and that was the final score.
We played without Dennis McKinnon and tight end Emery Moorehead, because they were injured, and used backups Ken Margerum and Tim Wrightman to fill in. They did fine. Hell, we scored the first four times we had the ball. Our offensive line was exploding off the ball and blocking like crazy. And, of course, our great defense was there. I don’t think Walsh and his guys knew what hit them. Joe Montana was sacked seven times, the most in his career, and they only got 183 net yards, not even half their average.
Like I said, we had a big chip on our shoulder from the year before. Payton told the press afterward that the 49ers hadn’t shown us much “courtesy or dignity” when they beat us before and also that they said
“Money is nothing. You can’t take it with you when you go to heaven. I use it as a tool to keep going.”
“I let them talk about [my weight]. I was happy then. I’m happy now.”
“The nickname came from Clemson. Me and the guys, we went out one night, having a couple beers, and we came back and there was an elevator in our dormitory. I was so big then and I walked through it, and a light was hanging down, and the guy behind me said, ‘You ain’t nothing but a walking refrigerator,’ and that’s how I got the name.”
“You’ve got to say the favorite moment was scoring a touchdown in the Super Bowl. That’s what you work for the whole time, from peewee ball all the way through. You get the chance to score a touchdown, so I can’t say no more. That was the highlight of the whole thing.”
chapter VIII
Sic ’Em Fridge, and the Premature Celebration
All week long 4gers coach Bill Walsh praised the Bears, saying their offense was “exceptionally well-designed,” and basically magnificent and untouchable, and their defense “was possibly the most effective defense in football.” Ditka was even more congratulatory and effusive, difficult as that might seem. The Bears coach came close to fainting, his bodice was so tight. San Francisco had “the most intimidating defense I’ve ever seen,” he said. And it had “the most innovative offense that’s ever been.” Ditka didn’t say he thought Bill Walsh was God, but it might have been on his mind. Ditka hoped against hope that his Bears wouldn’t get “blown out of the city.” Gentlemen, grab your barf bags.
Ever the man with an intuitive grasp of the absurd, Ditka told newsmen he had even considered calling NFL commissioner Pete Rozelle. “What if we both didn’t show up?” he asked.
San Francisco, though 3–2, still had the highest rating in the silly Dunkel NFL Index, but the Bears were No. 3, right behind the runner-up Miami Dolphins. “Did they announce it yet?” Ditka said at his Thursday press conference. “The game’s been canceled. Mutual fear.”
“I told him to go in and tell McMahon he was running the ball. Just grab the ball, hold it like a sack of money, and head south.”
—Ditka on Fridge’s first carry
But the rematch of the NFC Championship Game contenders was on. Same field. Same coaches. But one team had a different quarterback. Jim McMahon. And Ditka himself was certain he had learned from the embarrassing defeat the season before.
Fans at that January NFC title game out in San Francisco had been screaming at us, “When you come back, bring an offense!” It was a fair thing to yell. I had thought we could play conservatively, hang around, and win with our defense in that game. I found out we couldn’t. So we came ready to roll this time. We wanted the other team to be intimidated. We wanted to establish some fear if we could. Lots of it.
This was our offense, doing things right. Walter came out and he was pumped up, to say the least. He rushed for 132 yards and he scored two touchdowns. The last one, in the fourth quarter, he carried two 49ers around the left end with him right into the end zone. It was a 17-yard sweep and it put us up 26–10, and that was the final score.
We played without Dennis McKinnon and tight end Emery Moorehead, because they were injured, and used backups Ken Margerum and Tim Wrightman to fill in. They did fine. Hell, we scored the first four times we had the ball. Our offensive line was exploding off the ball and blocking like crazy. And, of course, our great defense was there. I don’t think Walsh and his guys knew what hit them. Joe Montana was sacked seven times, the most in his career, and they only got 183 net yards, not even half their average.
Like I said, we had a big chip on our shoulder from the year before. Payton told the press afterward that the 49ers hadn’t shown us much “courtesy or dignity” when they beat us before and also that they said
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