I have invented a story in my head. In this story, Rex Grossman has a secret he has kept from almost everybody. He’s kept it from the city of Chicago, NFL analysts, and perhaps even the guests at his party last New Year’s Eve. Lovie probably knows about it, but the rest of us have been in the dark. Until now.
You see, Rex has a terrible disease. Sort of like Lou Gehrig. So what’s he’s been able to accomplish so far in the NFL is downright heroic. And when he lofts a pass off his back foot for a big interception it should still make you want to cry, just for a completely different reason than you think.
You know, I, too, have an affliction that would make me a miserable quarterback: I am not very strong or fast, and I don’t know how to play football. I mean, I have a general idea, but it’s mostly of the “the ball goes that way” variety.
I’ve kept my secret until now. Hearing Rex’s story helped me muster the courage. Thank you, Rex Grossman. I hope that I will finally be recognized as the MVP I am. Soldier Field, here I come.
And yet, as I forage through the local news coverage for something remotely resembling Bears coverage instead I am subjected to hours and hours of Redskins coverage.
The Redskins.
A team of Rex Grossmans.
Generations of teams of Rex Grossmans.
When Chicagoans root for the home team its always with a nod in the direction of self-deception. Here in Redskins country, it’s self-delusion. It’s like the movie, nay, THE FILM, Major League. It would be hilarious but there’s no comedy, no James Gammon to set things right with a wry turn of phrase.
(sigh)
I miss my wall to wall Bears coverage.