The 12th Man

In the aftermath of the Bears' stunning come-from-behind playoff victory over the dreaded Green Bay Packers, it's time to reveal the inside story of the behind-the-scenes hero, who made it all possible.

Here goes…

I was in California, visiting family and watching from my oldest daughter's house with Brian (her husband) and their friends, a pack of millennials, most of whom knew nothing about football and were barely paying attention to the game.  In fact, the only one who cared, aside from me, was Brian.

A few words about Brian—great guy. Wonderful son-in-law. Love him dearly. But...

He's a die-hard Packers fan, having grown up in Wisconsin. 

And for this monumental game, he was wearing his Packers' baseball hat and his Packers' jersey and he was jumping up and down like he was on a Packers’ Pogo stick and braying like a donkey cause his little Packers were trouncing my Bears 21-3 at the half.

The second half wasn’t much better. Yes, the Bears scored. But the Packers came right back with a touchdown and the Bears were down 27-16 late in the fourth quarter as the Green Bay kicker came on the field for the extra point. 

I swear, Brian was so giddy he started talking in tongues. And between his happiness and my misery and his happiness at my misery and the indifference of everyone else to my misery, I could take it no more.  I had to escape. So...

I snuck out the back. A very important detail. Cause later I was wrongly and unjustly accused of storming out. But that's not true. I didn't storm out. I snuck out through the kitchen, out the back door, and down the back steps cause I didn't want anyone in the living room (especially Brian) to see me running away.

Got that, everybody? Snuck, not stormed. Big difference. Anyway…

As I walked through the chilly Los Angeles night, I was overwhelmed with self pity. Oh, why, oh why am I loyal to the losers of the world? How come my team can’t win the big game? Oh, poor, poor, poor pitiful me.

Wallowing in self pity, I happened to look to my right and what did I see? Over the fence, into the window of a neighbor's house was a living-room TV tuned to the game. And at that very moment, I watched as the Packers' extra point attempt sailed left, or maybe right. Can't remember. Thing is--it missed. And I felt this was an omen—a sign that this game was not lost.

My sacred spot…

And so, my friends, I kept my spot. There on that sidewalk. In the chill. Looking over the fence into the neighbor's living room. Watching in mounting disbelief as the Bears roared back. And, oh, you know what happened...

The Bears scored a touchdown. Then a two-point conversion. Then the Packers missed a field goal. Then the Bears scored another touchdown to take the lead with under two minutes left.

Meanwhile, texts poured in from my daughters and my wife, writing things like...

Where are you?

And...

Why did you leave?

And...

Are you watching this?

And...

Come back!

And so on...

I wanted to tell them where I was, but I knew if they knew that I was doing something so nutty as watching from the sidewalk, looking through the neighbor's window, they would demand I return. Right now! Before the neighbors called the police on the wacko peering into their home.

But I didn't want to leave because I had convinced myself that it was me sneaking (not storming) out of the house to watch from the sidewalk that had turned the tides. Like the flapping wings of a butterfly in California sets  off a string of events that leads to a typhoon in Japan. Or maybe it's the other way around.

The point is if I left my perch I'd jinx the Bears and the ensuing loss would be on me. So I ignored their texts and watched through the window with my heart in my mouth as the Packers quarterback last-ditched desperation pass fell to the ground incomplete. And the game was over and somehow, someway the Bears had won.

All that was left was my grand return. And what a return it was. The greatest return since Michael Jordan retired from baseball and returned to the Bulls.

As I came through the door, I proclaimed: I'm back!

And I burst into a certain song. Oh, you know the song I sang. C'mon, everybody, sing along--you, too, Brian!

Bear down, Chicago Bears, make every play clear the way to victory...

My daughter asked why I'd stormed out. To which I clarified--snuck not stormed. Big difference, you know.

Brian was a pretty good sport. He said congratulations. Then he blamed the Packers’ kicker. Then their coach. Then their quarterback. Then he said the outcome didn't really matter cause the game obviously meant more to Bears fans than it did to him. Then he said wait till next year. Then he went into the bathroom and started sobbing. 

Just kidding. I think...

So there you have it, my friends. I'm convinced that sneaking--not storming--out to watch from the sidewalk turned defeat into victory. You're welcome, Chicago.