Monsters: The 1985 Chicago Bears And The Wild Heart Of Football - Plot & Excerpts
I checked into a motel in Metairie. I was staying with my friend Matt Lederer. Each day, we woke at 11:00 a.m., watched an hour of TV, then caught a taxi to the French Quarter. I was seventeen, in possession of money that I had not earned, decked out in Bears regalia, and filled with the old zipperoo. It seemed like the entire city of Chicago was down there, mingling and exchanging predictions. Everyone had a story: some of us had followed the team for years, remembered Ditka as a player and only wanted to live long enough to see one more championship; some of us were new to the team and believed this is how it would always be; some of us were born in the desert and had known nothing but this wandering life—but all of us fell upon New Orleans like parched rats, gulping down milk and honey. As soon as the Bears arrived, they were awash in controversy. The first issue had to do with McMahon’s ass, which he had bruised while sliding during the Rams game. “Yeah, I remember it,” said Kurt Becker, who shared a room with Mac in New Orleans.
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