In Memory of a Bear Fan....

Speaking on behalf of myself only, this is a tough time of the year to be a blogger on this site. Most of us are still aching from the disappointing end to the season. Many fans have yet to find a reason to follow the Beloved with the impending lockout, no free agency, and the draft almost a month away. I credit the great writers on this staff for coming up with new topics to post every day. I know that personally it gets tiring trying to think of something new and refreshing. So this week I quit trying. Sort of. I recently had some tough times in my own family and my ultimate fellow Chicago Bears fan passed away. But WCG is like my other family so I thought I’d tell you a real story about my real family. Just something meant to entertain and amuse. Want to hear more? Maybe not, but if you do, then join me after the jump.

Many years ago I attended an early fall game with my father. Dad and I always attended a game in Chicago. One a year, except the year they played in Champaign, then we went and saw them in Minnesota. This particular year we went early and the weather was warm. Typically we go when it is "Bear weather". We’re gluttons for punishment. But this year was different. It was nice out. That’s the key.

I can’t even remember the opponent. I just remember it was old Soldier Field. We sat against the rail in the south end zone just above the entrance to the concourse below. We always grabbed a couple of bloody mary’s at the Essex (where we had stayed) before heading out for each game. That morning we’d added a beer or two. By the time we got to the game we were both feeling warm and fuzzy, so to speak.

My dad’s a conservative man by nature. He doesn’t stand out in a crowd. He never wanted to. He was very modest and reserved. The kind of guy you’d enjoy having a drink with because he’d just listen while you bragged and carried on. He was polite and refined. The definition of a gentleman.

That afternoon the Bears were playing well. Off to our left, over the next railing overlooking the concourse, was a particularly buxom young lady. She would stand at the railing and jump (bounce) and cheer her Bears on the field. She was very pretty and my dad took notice. After a great play on the field I saw out of the corner of my eye that dad was absolutely smitten with this young lady and couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Then, to my shock, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Show us your (insert pejorative term for female breasts here)!!!"

I was stunned. My father didn’t talk like that. He wasn’t "that way" at all. I was again stunned when almost every male (and some female) members of the audience began to take up the chant. Pretty soon the south end zone was chanting, "Show us your &^%$!!!" and my father was standing at the rail waving his arms as though conducting his own personal orchestra. By now stunned seemed mild. I was nearly comatose. Then it happened.

That beautiful, buxom blond looked at my dad, gave him a wink, and lifted up her shirt and exposed what lay beneath to the entire crowd. The cheer was tremendous. Several people were clapping dad on the back and the mood was jubilant. Then security showed up. They grabbed the young maiden and began to escort her from the game. Dad, now thoroughly enjoying himself, started the chant of "Bovine Manure" although that’s the PG version. Pretty soon the entire south end zone was in on that game too. It was Dad’s fifteen minutes of fame. His finest moment at a Bears game. It was awesome. And I will never forget it.