Monsters of the Midway Dash Desert Dreams

Yesterday was spent cursing the gods about the pain of being an NC State fan. So let’s take today to smile about the good things sports can provide, instead of dwelling on all the inevitable downs that seem to stick in our memories longer than the ups.

I was born in Chicago, so the “Windy City” has always held a special place in my heart. My little brother is a huge Bears fan, so there has been many a Sunday when our displaced-fan butts have sat side by side in a sports bar, me watching the Dolphins play while he rooted on the Bears. Between the rapid-eye movement and attention jerks that it takes to follow two games, it’s a wonder one or both of us didn’t develop Tourette’s, but by combining the two games, we usually found a way to find something to cheer about during the course of those hours.

When I cursed the “Hebrew Hurler,” Jay Fiedler, he tried to boost my spirits by reminding me that his quarterback was Craig Krenzel. When he wondered why the Bears offense was more pathetic than a high school team’s, I reminded him that the Dolphins hadn’t won a Super Bowl in more than 30 years despite having the greatest quarterback to ever play the game. When I lamented the fact that I might have to look for an A.J. Feeley jersey, he gently brought up the fact that I had once bought him a Rashan Salaam jersey for Christmas. Of course, each exchange usually ended up with us sighing and ordering two more Miller Lites.

Chicago was 5-0 going into last night’s game at woeful Arizona (1-4). Talk of an undefeated season and comparisons to the dominant 1985 Bears title team were rampant, though my brother is just cynical and jaded enough that he was refusing to believe. When the Cards boosted their lead to 23-3 in the third quarter, he looked prophetic. He began cursing the offensive coordinator, Cardinals fans, Joe Theismann, DVR, his sister-in-law’s dog and our country’s foreign policy. I thought, "I’m pretty sure my little brother is going to fire a small collie dog off his back deck pretty soon."

But in the background … things sort of began to happen.

Arizona quarterback Matt Leinart was waylaid and coughed up the ball, and a scoop and score cut the lead to 23-10. A little glimmer of hope. Grossman throws his 19th interception of the game? No problem. The Tasmanian Devil, Brian Urlacher, ferociously tears the ball away from Cards’ running back Edgerrin James, Peanut Tillman picks up the ball and runs for another touchdown. Holy crikey. It is 23-17. Here come the jokes about how if the Chicago offense simply punted on first down every time they got the ball, they would actually be in better shape. Nervous laughter comes from my brother, who has stopped downing rum & Cokes like Mel Gibson at a bar mitzvah. Unbeknownst to the rest of us, he switched jerseys from Urlacher to Grossman at halftime. He begins threatening to wear the Grossman jersey every day for the rest of his life if they somehow find a way to win this game. I thought, "I’m pretty sure my little brother is going to start dry-heaving at any moment."

The Bears defense holds again. Rookie Devin Hester hauls in the ensuing punt and begins calmly bobbing and weaving up the field. Then the “Windy City Flier” finds another gear, jukes the punter and stumbles into the end zone for an 83-yard touchdown with 2:58 left, giving the Bears a 24-23 lead. Chest bumps, babies crying, dogs barking and drinks knocked over ensue. I thought, "I’m pretty sure my little brother is weeping at this point, though he tries to hide it well."

Somehow, Arizona moves the ball down the field and into field-goal range. Their kicker, Neil Rackers, made roughly 400 field goals last year, singlehandedly winning many a fantasy football championship. But the Bears are destined to win this game, right? Wide left. Pandemonium on the field. The stack of flapjacks on the back of Arizona coach Denny Green’s neck almost move. Joe Theismann spoons with Leinart as consolation. Somehow, Chicago completed a 20-point comeback without scoring an offensive touchdown. I can confidently say that that has never happened, ever, in any football game in the history of the world. I thought, "I’m pretty sure my little brother just wet his pants."

With NC State struggling at 3-3 and the Dolphins making a mockery of their season at 1-5, I find myself living vicariously through my brother. I take solace in the fact that the team from my birthplace just might be a team of “density.” I can’t help but smile as I drive home, shaking my head.

I’m pretty sure my little brother called in “sick” to work today. I’m pretty sure he’s still wearing a Rex Grossman jersey, I’m pretty sure he is still mildly drunk … and I’m pretty sure he is pretty ok with that.

Congrats, Devo. You deserve it.

Now where’s my Joey Harrington jersey …