It wasn’t easy beating the 46. Man, did the 85 Bears run that defense to perfection. They had the defensive line and linebackers to put overwhelming pressure on the QB; they had hard hitting safeties, and corners who could cover the WRs just good enough. The only way to beat the 46 was getting rid of the ball quickly, like Marino did against us on MNF for our only loss that season. I really wanted a shot at revenge in the Super Bowl. But those sorry ass Dolphins couldn’t even get past the Patriots… we took it out on New England, don’t worry.
There are many numbers that mean something to me. Take for example the #22. I was born on the 22nd of a month, as was my brother, as was my sister, as was her first child… and oh yeah, MY 22nd was the same day as my parents’ anniversary. How about 312? Yeah, the Chicago original area code, representing my city, which just happens to be the birthday of my wife. OK, how about 34? Yeah, sweetness all day, and flip those numbers and you got my son’s birthday. 23 should be universally retired in the NBA for our MJ; at least the Miami Heat did something right. 46… although I can’t play that number on the roulette table, it represents that best NFL defense of all time, right here in Chicago, back in 1985; I’d put them up against anybody. Well, 46 will be remembered for an entirely different reason now, and not the final score of that Super Bowl…
April 6… the day my mother died.
I wasn’t ready for this day; not sure if I ever would have been. She was 75 years old; she didn’t look it. My Mom still looked beautiful; I guess that’s one of the silver linings here… believe you me, I’m trying to find them, and hold onto them, tightly. It’s kind of like Barry Sanders retiring on top of his game. Don’t get me wrong, my Mom had her issues, as does anyone of that age, but nothing serious, or so we thought. Yet, like Barry, we never got to see my Mom decline. We never got to see my Mom battle cancer or some other sickness in the hospital; we never got to see her lose her mind. On the flip side, we never got to prepare for this day, and now, I wish I was able to see her just one more time…
Dying in her sleep, at the house she lived in pretty much her whole life, the house we grew up in, on the couch… I can’t be mad at any of that. The only problem I have with it is why now… why now? I’m not sure we’ll ever get an answer to that, except believing, as our faith teaches us, that it was simply “her time”. 10 more years? Sure, I would have taken that, although at this point, I would take 10 more minutes. What an absolute gut punch… kind of like Wilber Marshall laying out Joe Ferguson…
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