My parents split was I was 10, 2 months before the Yankees lost the World Series to the Dodgers in ’81 and 4 months before the fucking Dwight Clark catch against the Cowboys. My sports awareness began when the Yankees and Cowboys who were supposed to be great but never were anymore. That was my era, but I felt like I had to stick by my guys.

I was a freshman in high school when the Bears beat the Cowboys in 1985. 44-0, never forget it (neither will Gary Hogaboom). The next day, I wore my Tony Dorsett jersey, my Dallas Cowboys sweatpants, sweat bands, and I was laughed by…everyone. Girls who didn’t even know about football laughed at me that day but I felt like I needed to a real fan. Dumb ass.

The only Bears fan I knew was my friend Matt who was a longtime Walter Payton guy. (Matt also was the first guy I knew who followed Mike Tyson.) I hated the ’85 Bears. They were bullies and obnoxious and they didn’t even let Payton score a TD in the Super Bowl. I didn’t think I was going to like them any better reading Rich’s book but I did.