The Bears are going to the Super Bowl. What's more surprising is the excitement I feel, the urge to pump the air with my fist and rummage through 418 Facebook groups for the name that appropriately expresses the nuances of my euphoria.
The nuances of football I'm afraid I can't relate. Besides the fact that in these modern times, quarterbacks are dateable and linemen are not, for the very practical reason that when four hundred sinewy pounds roll over in bed, little, brittle things, like the other person's bones, break.
No, I've never seen the Bears in any kind of action. But that won't put a damper on my latent loyalty. I'm from Chicago, and like most people, I most eagerly identify with my city, state, country when I'm stuck somewhere outside of it. ("Soy Americana! Ayudame!" You scream, wandering blindly off a curb outside a tapas bar in Madrid.)
If you've ever spent so much as an hour on layover at O'Hare: Admit it. The Bears' imminent victory gives you an inexplicable thrill. It's that awkward surge of affection you feel for those geographically nearest and dearest to your heart. It's like freshman year all over again, when you attempted to bond with people with family within three states of where you used to live. ("Oh, you're from Chicago/Illinois/the Midwest! My buddy from third grade lives there.. Do you know a Johnny?")
Or maybe not.
But my emerging love of the Bears shows all the signs of location-based elation. My symptoms range from a sudden aversion to horseshoes to premature post-loss anguish. I blame the Super Bowl updates that have been sneaking off the sports pages, supplanting important news on, say, the befuddled state of our union. We've been hyped, thanks to a month of the media's manly metaphors. Like:
"Saints get caught in bear trap" (Washington Post). "Eagles soar past cowboys" (MSNBC). Or, my personal favorite, "Colts get kicked where it hurts" (ESPN.com).
Neigh, don't bother getting up. Except to buy an extra jockstrap. (Invented in the late 19th century by a pioneering Chicago sporting goods company. Or by some guy in Boston, depending on your Google search. I stand by the former.)
Sure, quacks and atheists and horsy-looking haters of all things brown and huggable have formally declared that the Bears will lose. They don't realize it doesn't matter. We Chicago fans can't help where we were born or who we are. If you're from Chicago, you believe in the Bears, the way you once believed in Santa and still believe you can do anything you want in life if you really put your mind to it and build a 3-D resume.
There's no good reason not to celebrate. If we root and win, we howl and drink and merry-make, amid a tumultuous crowd of attractive, weeping, corybantic strangers. If we root and lose, we howl and drink and merry-make up for it, amid a tumultuous crowd of attractive, weeping, corybantic strangers.
Not to mention, according to CNNMoney.com, the Bears' participation suggests the DOW will jump a whopping 18 percent.
In short, all factors indicate it's safe to start cheering for the Bears already. And yet this kind of loyalty seems hard to find outside Chicago. I mean a loyalty that's Chicago-style to the max, unlike the Loop's "deep-dish" or da accent Chicagoans are supposed to have but don't. I'm beginning to think everyone is more interested in siding with the "probable" winners of the Game than with the clear and distinct winners of Life. Life as we know it and as the Discovery Channel shows it. Real world, baby. Bears eat ponies for breakfast.
Writes Paul Attner, of Sporting News, "This much we know about Super Bowl 41: Hardly anyone except those claiming allegiance to the Bears believe they can win."
Well put, Paul. We don't need fluffy filler fans.
As for those who've been tacking "Go Colts" to the end of all their January e-mails: Go suck on a saltlick. Chew on a carrot stick. Your team will need all the energy you can channel.
In the meantime, I've finished shopping Facebook. I really liked the subtle twang of "Daaa Bears, da bears da bears. are going to win the superbowl!" Call it a nostalgic flash inspired by that fake accent thing. But in the end, "Chicago Bears Super Bowl XLI Countdown (Superfans)," won out. The cautious wording didn't speak to my jubilation, but the headcount did: 2,279 strong. I'm part of something big.
And whether or not you are an experienced sports buff like me, join the team and chant along. Go Bears! Hail Mary! Punt the field! You know what I mean. This Sunday, go the whole nine yards; watch the Super Bowl, help out the Bears and boost the GDP.
Jane Chong is a Trinity sophomore. Her column runs every other Wednesday.
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