DICK BUTKUS DIES AND THE BEARS WIN: IT’S THE WORK OF LIFE AND DEATH
Only in Chicago can a legend pass at 80 and his beleaguered team suddenly put up 40, which is how football dominates a town that never will forget Butkus’ ferocity and always lives with his fervor
Dick Butkus would live forever. He was too tough and brainwracked to die, his snarl bigger than any funeral. Whenever I approached him for an interview, and he always was available, I’d still ponder days when he could reduce me to a puddle in a quagmire. He performed in the NFL when his savage style was welcome, not belittled or eliminated for safety.
“I want to just let ‘em know that they've been hit, and when they get up, they don't have to look to see who it was that hit 'em,” he said. “It shouldn't be any puzzle. When they come to, they got to say, 'It must've been Butkus that got me.’ ’’
And when he got them? “I wouldn't ever go out to hurt anybody deliberately. Unless it was, you know, important ... like a league game or something,” he said.
I wanted him in any warfare, against Putin or another world. On Thursday night, after he passed at 80, the Chicago Bears somehow put up 40 and finally broke a 14-game losing streak that lasted 346 days. There are grown men in that city who passed photos of Butkus’ gnarled fingers and wrote, “The spirit of 51 got us a W.” That’s how they think there, where he grew up and lived past fearless wreckage yet always amazed me after retirement.
He moved to Los Angeles, where I live, and when I played tennis in Malibu, near the homes of celebrities and rock stars, I thought of Butkus in the hills, doing his TV programs and sitting for an informercial where he grilled hot dogs. He was the nicest hard-ass who had only one wish: The Bears would win a Super Bowl. They did once, in 1985, when he finally was regarded for what he was, as longtime local sportswriter Taylor Bell said this morning: “Butkus was the best linebacker of all time, the gold standard, the ruler by which everyone else was measured. He was, as noted in an NFL documentary by the great voice of John Facenda, ‘Moby Dick in a goldfish bowl.’ ’’
Bell covered him at Illinois. I was in diapers. The chairman of the Bears, George McCaskey, also saw him with his own eyes as the grandson of George Halas. “Dick was the ultimate Bear, and one of the greatest players in NFL history,” he said. “He was Chicago's son. He exuded what our great city is about and, not coincidentally, what George Halas looks for in a player: toughness, smarts, instincts, passion and leadership. He refused to accept anything less than the best from himself, or from his teammates. ... His contributions to the game he loved will live forever and we are grateful he was able to be at our home opener this year to be celebrated one last time by his many fans.”
Or, as NFL commissioner Roger Goodell said: “Dick Butkus was a fierce and passionate competitor who helped define the linebacker position as one of the NFL's all-time greats. Dick's intuition, toughness and athleticism made him the model linebacker whose name will forever be linked to the position and the Chicago Bears.”
Damn if he died, “peacefully in his sleep overnight” in Malibu. The Bears ended up winning and averaged seven yards per play. “This morning, I was nervous. Out of this world nervous, so I guess that was my body telling me we were about to go off,” said receiver DJ Moore, who was the first player with 200 yards and three touchdowns from scrimmage since Walter Payton in 1979. “I look forward to having some more nervous days before games.”
It’s the work of life and death. Dick Butkus is gone, but he’ll never go away. There are more games to win.
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Jay Mariotti, called “without question the most impacting Chicago sportswriter of the past quarter-century,’’ writes general sports columns for Substack while appearing on some of the 1,678,498 podcasts and shows in production today. He is an accomplished columnist, TV panelist and talk/podcast host. Living in Los Angeles, he gravitated by osmosis to film projects.