I woke up this morning to two unfortunate realizations: 1.) I had no milk for my coffee and 2.) the Urlacher trade rumor which suggests to me that Hallas Hall is in ruin. If the rumor is indeed true, the only conclusion I can come to is the Bears' "rebuilding" effort has gone from a controlled burn to a chaotic prairie fire. The failure of the administration to address its immediate and otherwise obvious needs leaves me utterly puzzled. We all play Madden. We know when we have holes to fill. Why can't they see the same thing? What the hell are they doing with this team?
Much like the decline after the '85 season, one good year is no justification for wanton mis-management and unbridled arrogance. Twenty plus years without a proven Quarterback? Inexcuseable. Washed up Wide Outs? Inexcuseable. Dubbing oneself as a "running team" without a Running Back (or a competant Offensive Line for that matter)? Fraudulant.
Bears Gods forgive me: it's no wonder our superstars are demanding more money and/or trades. Who wants to play for a penny-pinching front-office that lives for yesterday when the fans dream of tomorrow? Putting the burden of success squarely on Hester's shoulders will not only render him useless from fatigue, but also sabatoge any hope of winning games. Our defense will be worn out before our home opener. The injuries will begin piling up and the commeradery that once brought the defensive unit together will wither and fall apart like an old t-shirt, leaving players and fans alike laden with disappointment and mired in another long, losing season.
As cliche as it sounds, teams that play together, win together. If the players and the administration are too busy fighting amongst themselves, there's no hope for a cohesive unit on the field. I'll be the first to say it: if Jerry Angelo allows our players to go elsewhere and fumbles the draft, Chicago will calling for his resignation with pitchforks and firey torches. I'll lead the march on Hallas Hall myself.
Jerry Angelo, before you do another thing (or not do), pick up the controller of your kid's playstation and run through a couple seasons on Madden. Maybe you'll believe it then, when a computer tells you you're losing control. Because you're not listening to us, or common sense for that matter.