Friday, April 25, 2025 - Day 255

Friday, April 25, 2025

Good morning!

For those of you reading these posts, I believe many—if not most—are Chicago Bears fans. I’ve loved watching the Bears for decades, even if loving them didn’t always mean liking them. With the McCaskey family at the helm, we’ve had more than our fair share of disappointment. For me, the 1970s were especially rough. There was only one bright spot in that era: Walter Payton, drafted in 1975. The Bears were still a losing team, but Payton made them worth watching. Every weekend, he gave us something to cheer for and after each game there was a highlight reel to watch of Payton…forget about the game. It was the beginning of something special.

It took ten more years, smart draft picks, savvy trades, and the right coaches to build a winning team. Buddy Ryan came in as defensive coordinator in 1978. Mike Ditka took over as head coach in 1982. The early ’80s still brought more losses than wins, but you could feel a change coming.

In 1984, things finally clicked. The Bears made it to the NFC Championship game before falling to the 49ers. That loss hurt, but we knew 1985 was going to be something else. Something historic.

Let me back up a bit. I was ten years old in 1969 when the Bears went 1–13. For the next 15 years, they were mostly—no, entirely—pathetic. And yet, I stuck with them. Because deep down, I believed they couldn’t be losers forever.

So there I was in 1985, 25 years old and still a boy at heart. Obsessed with football. I didn’t miss a snap, a second. I knew every player by jersey number. My best friends Paul and Bill hosted a Bears watch party every week, and recorded every single game on VHS—just in case the season turned out to be special. And it was. I wonder if those VHS tapes still exist ad if so, who has a way to play them?

They Bears lost one game that 1985 season, to the Dolphins on Monday Night Football. That loss ended their shot at perfection—but it lit a fire. The Bears stormed through the rest of the season and the playoffs with a ferocity I’ve never seen since. The “46 Defense” was unstoppable. Honestly, we watched games just to see the defense dominate. The offense was solid, but it was the defense that put fear in opponents—and points on the board.

Watching those games was a sacred ritual. You could yell, scream, jump up and down—but talking during a play? Absolutely forbidden. If you so much as whispered during a snap, you’d get death stares from everyone in the room.

So why am I telling you all this?

Steve McMichael, number 76—a pillar of that legendary defense—passed away on Wednesday, April 23rd, after a four-year battle with ALS. Watching this disease take its toll on Steve has been heartbreaking. ALS is slow, cruel, and inescapable. It steals more than mobility; it chips away at dignity, one piece at a time. It’s a window into my own future—and it terrifies me.

That’s why I get up each day and write. I write to remember, to reflect, and to share. Whether it’s laughter, sadness, or silence—what I offer you here is a piece of this journey. I may hold back at times, but only because I’m not quite ready to go there yet. My aim is to bring you along so you can understand what this path looks and feels like.

There are still moments when I can’t believe I have ALS. But reality always shows up—when I try to stand, or when I try to speak. What my mind expects, my body refuses to deliver. And each day, things change, even if only slightly. Over time, those small changes stack up, setting a new baseline I have to adjust to. When these new baselines are established, I will lean on the medical field and primarily you to help me to keep up the fight. Honestly, I couldn’t do this each morning without you. Thank you..thank you so much!🙏

Rest in peace, Steve McMichael. You fought with everything you had these last four years. You entertained us, inspired us, and gave us something to believe in. I will always remember the spirit and tenacity you brought to the field.

Have a great Friday!

Love you guys! ❤️