Chicago Bears: Sweetness and Might

(5 of 6)

Next to the fact that 23 different Bears have scored touchdowns this year, the most outlandish statistic is that ten of them were playing defense. Considering that no team had ever marched unscored upon through the playoffs before, it takes some nerve for the Bears to insist that they were even better defensively last year. Besides nerve, they also have evidence. The Pro Bowl safety Todd Bell and the splendid linebacker Al Harris held out for more money this season and have missed the entire festival. Richard Dent, a particularly wanton defensive end, chose to work while he grumbled. Dent threatened to forgo the Super Bowl, but backed down when Ditka seemed inclined to play the game anyway." I'm sick for Todd Bell," says Fencik. "He's the best safety I've ever played with. It's not just a matter of losing two players' talents. It's a matter of--hey, they're part of us."

Fencik, 31, is a Yalie with a taste for administering concussions, one of merely 15 Ivy Leaguers in the N.F.L. "When you don't go to school on an athletic scholarship," he says, "there's a special pleasure in playing college football. It's something you're doing sort of for free, almost for fun, no strings attached. Also, you have a little different perspective on other things you want to achieve like getting an education. There are a lot of guys walking around the N.F.L. with certificates of attendance." He is more startled by the number of Bears walking around with no bad memories. "Do you know, over half of these players have never been on a losing Bear team?"

Among them, of course, William Perry, 23, the least accomplished member the defense, the least essential attachment to the offense, the most famous football player in the world. "I thought I'd just come in and play behind the All-Pros," flects the Bears' 6-ft. 2-in., 304-lb. regular defensive tackle and part-time running back. "You know, play a little short-yardage defense, some special teams, make a few tackles hopefully. But to end up on offense and stuff, scoring touch downs and everything, being on a team that's 17 and 1 too. It's just a lucky time." A lucky time. "Big Will," laughs McMichael lightly, delightedly. If any teammates begrudge Perry his windfall, they have been discreet. "When he first got into the defense, I'd have to tell him every place to go. We'd make the call in the huddle--break!--and he'd look right at me. Big Will."

Coach Ryan says, "He's improving, but he's got to lose some more weight. If he reports in shape next year, he could be a player. Otherwise, write him off." That would be terribly hard now. As much or as little as Perry is, he personally never claimed to be anything more. This may have been his dignity and surely was his grace. "The Perry thing, as much as anything," Ditka says, "made people think, 'Hey, these guys are having fun.' It was kind of flukish, the way it happened." If the Perry thing gave a sort of melancholy life to that smoky old carnival bark, "Monsters of the Midway," the Perry person made the mood of the sideshow bright. "Everything has been a thrill to me," whistles this cheerful man through his ventilated smile. "The whole season. It's funny to see me doing TV commercials. My wife and I sometimes look over at each other and just laugh. One day somebody won't ask you for your autograph. You won't be on TV, and that'll be O.K. too."