Flashback: ‘85 Bears took New Orleans by storm

By Randy  |   Tuesday, January 30, 2007  |  Comments( 0 )

Chicago Bears
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They were a bad to the bone bunch of misfits and rogues that you couldn't help but love in spite of yourself.

It was January 1986 in the city of New Orleans, the week of Super Bowl XX. Bears quarterback Jim McMahon was living life to the fullest in a city where nobody knows you and nobody cares. I'm not quite sure what that means, but I heard a club D.J. say it one night on Bourbon Street and, after consuming a few beers, thought it would be a good way to describe the city in a sports article if I ever had the opportunity.

The morning guys on the local all sports station - "The Sports Beast" - often pontificate about whom they believe to be the best quarterback to play the game. They rightly never mention McMahon, but he was great in '85. I'm ashamed to admit that I don't know what his final stats were that year. I don't think they had QB ratings back then. Every time the Bears' offense needed a great play, McMahon made it happen.

The rebel McMahon - at odds throughout the season with NFL commissioner Pete Rozelle for his non-conformist ways - arrived in New Orleans that week fully aware of the city's salacious reputation. Let's just say the punky QB and a few of his teammates took full advantage of Bourbon Street's salacity.

"McMahon and his gang nearly drank the whole street dry," revered New Orleans psychic Bruce the Almighty told me the other night.

Bruce was a young man in those days. Bruce said he had never seen anything like it. He said had McMahon been drafted by the Saints, he would have drank himself into an early grave.

Yeah, McMahon and New Orleans seemed made for each other on that Super Bowl week 21 years ago. Kindred spirits, perhaps. After a few sips of a Hurricane at Pat O'Briens, you really don't have to squint very hard to see the ghost of McMahon and his partners in crime dashing in and out of the plethora of houses of ill repute that dot the famous Bourbon Street.

It was a wild week in The Big Easy, and, unsurprisingly, McMahon managed to remain in the heart of controversy all throughout. It all started when the late Buddy Diliberto, a legendary New Orleans character and sportscaster, erroneously reported that McMahon had spoken ill of the city and its women.

In fairness to McMahon, he never uttered such statements, and Diliberto was suspended for several weeks. However, McMahon did drop his pants and moon a helicopter passing over the Bears' practice field later that week.

As most know, defensive coordinator Buddy Ryan was the brains behind those '85 Bears. That's why Mike Ditka couldn't stand him. Lest anyone doubts this fact, do a little research on Ditka's stint as head coach of the Saints. He set the franchise back at least several years while fattening his wallet immensely.

"They fought constantly," former Bears linebacker Wilber Marshall told USA Today's Jon Sarceno this week. "Ditka would call him a "short so-and-so," and Buddy would say, 'I'll kick you in that (blankety-blank) hip yours. W had to pull them apart all the time. But it kept the players off guard because we were having so much fun watching them."

Ryan assembled the most dominant defense in the history of the sport - a fierce wrecking crew that pitched shutouts against its two previous playoff opponents (the Giants and the Rams) - before heading into New Orleans to face the underdog New England Patriots for Super Bowl XX. New England's quarterback, Tony Eason, had the reputation of turning into a turtle at the slightest hint of a pass rush. He was tailor made for Buddy's boys and their aggressive, attacking "46" defense. It is ironic that the final score was Bears 46, Pats 10.

The Bears finished with a Super Bowl-record seven quarterback sacks. Eason failed to complete a pass in six attempts before veteran Steve Grogan replaced him in the second quarter. Grogan did not fare any better.

McMahon rankled Rozelle all season long by wearing headbands with the commissioner's name on them. On this Super Sunday, he did not fail to disappoint as he changed headbands on several occasions. In pre-game introductions, he came out wearing one with the letters J.D.F. CURE (Juvenile Diabetes Foundation Cure). Then, changed into one that read P.O.W.-M.I.A. Finally, McMahon switched to one that read "PLUTO."

"I had a bunch of them sent to me this week, I'm sorry I couldn't wear them all," McMahon told The Times-Picayune that night. "I tried to stick to some charities and the last one was for my friend Pluto. I played this game for Pluto Plater, a good friend of mine (in college at Brigham Young). His career ended tragically (due to a brain tumor.) I'd like to say hello to Pluto."

McMahon was perfect that day, passing for 256 yards, scoring a pair of touchdowns and guiding the Bears' offense to 37 points and 408 yards. He overcame the distractions of the week and his own self-indulgence to execute the Bears' offense beautifully.

The punky QB. The Fridge. Samurai Mike. Sweetness and Mongo. They were a colorful bunch of outlaws who left an indelible black-n-blue mark on Bourbon Street, something that is very difficult to do for anyone who has ever attempted it.

Given the relative youth of the team, talk of a dynasty inevitably ensued. It never materialized. Ryan left for a head coaching job and the vicious defense never seemed quite as vicious again. McMahon could not avoid injury. Payton got old. Ditka got fired. The NFL gods did not deliver any more apostolic blessings from their Storehouse of Graces.

However, for that one Sunday night in late January '86 in the city of New Orleans, the Chicago Bears were every bit as good as it gets. Much better and much more fun than the 2006 edition that will face the Colts in Miami Sunday night. You can bet the house that Lovie Smith and Ron Rivera will not be taking any swings at each other, or that Rex Grossman will not onto the field with "BARBARO" emblazoned on a headband wrapped around his forehead.

"I'll be doing a little shufflin' tonight myself," McMahon said as he left the Superdome and headed for the French Quarter. To this day, the Ghost of McMahon can still be seen gulping a Hand Grenade on Bourbon and Orleans.

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