'The regular season ended with the Bears losing to their division rivals, the Green Bay Packers, with a score of 10-3. Yes, this does mean the Packers got a field goal, a touchdown, and the extra point, and we got a field goal, but at least it was an even match with tough guys pushing on each other and playing like hardened SOBs until the game was done. There were 10 seconds on the clock and they were still setting up a play. Because of the Bears win-opposite outcome, the Packers will be in the playoffs, and are the #6 seed. The Bears are still the #2 seed and next week is a bye week so I am not upset except I have to scrounge up a topic for next week; perhaps I will speculate on what LOSERS every other team is. Oh, how unsportsmanlike of me.
Toward the end of the game, the commentators were blabbing about stats (i.e. the rulers were out and the dicks were being measured) and saying how the Bears had done a better job of gaining yardage. Again, stats are useless because it doesn't matter how many yards you gain if you don't get as many points. Packers? 10. Bears? 3. Stats? 0. Me? 1,000*.
My beginning-of-the-season wish came true -- the Bears are in the playoffs and there will be January ball with me blogging about it. What is better? The wish come true or the blogging? BOTH because I am wondering what the heck I will write about when the playing is over in February after the Super Bowl (my next wish), and I am enjoying the discipline of sitting and writing about the game. Football is a very good thing to follow for those who are easily distracted by shiny things and socializing because there are a limited number of games in a season that doesn't last too very long. Baseball, hockey, and basketball are seemingly interminable with too many games to follow. Please note: if at any time, any Chicago sports team wins anything at the tippety top of the big prizes, something akin to the Stanley Cup, you know I will be out on the sidewalk in the middle of the day screaming, "WOOOOO!" And then I will go back to work.
I assume there will be a few weeks more of the Pocket Square Guys (a dear friend took my sister and me out to lunch for our birthdays -- Thanks! It was delicious! -- and I caught a glimpse of Jimmy Johnson (phooey) on a TV and exclaimed, "A POCKET SQUARE GUY!"). What will they do in the off season, the PS Guys? Sit around and count their money? I imagine they all play golf, especially Michael Strahan (who is my fave of the five followed by Curt, Terry, Howie, and that is that because Jimmy just ain't it). I cannot imagine Howie Long taking a class, maybe in French, at his local community college to expand his knowledge for that trip to Paris he promised his wife they'd take. Perhaps Terry Bradshaw has decided this is the year he will learn how to hula hoop or throw a pot but probably not. Maybe they'll wander in forests talking to the animals because their wives just want them to zip it for five minutes, just five, I am begging you, and their kids do not like football, they prefer synchronized swimming or archery or the art of the Italian Renaissance and, Dad, are you familiar with the Sex Pistols oeuvre?
A new year is upon us! Happy 2011. Happy playoffs!
Brett Favre, the Thing Who Wouldn't Leave, alleges that this now-ending season was indeed his last. Perhaps he is still suffering from the effects of that Bears-induced concussion and when his brain isn't swollen he will think he should indeed play just one more season, awww, come on, I still got it, let's go for 21 seasons. Just in case this notion might start to run through his head, I suggest this: Brett! Quit while you can still walk upright without the aid of canes! Better still, while you can still remember the names of your kids and your social security number both. Let us miss you and then let whoever it is that does such things get you into the Football Hall of Fame. If you keep playing pro ball, that Hall of Fame thing won't happen for even longer. See? See? You might be getting ready for induction if you had just let it be after you retired from the Packers the first time, the time it should have stuck. I ask this of you for what I hope is the last time: How can we miss if you won't go away?
* This is a lie. It should be 1,117 but I rounded down.