My brother once bought me a Rex Grossman Florida Gators jersey, and when Rex was the quarterback of the Chicago Bears, we would hang that jersey in the bar at Josie Woods. Whenever Rex would throw a touchdown pass, I would (drunkenly) shout “WHO WANTS TO GET REXED?!?!?” This was followed by my removing the dank garment from the wall and tossing it over the head of an unwitting bystander to the applause of the celebratory horde. There was an irony to that ritual. I knew Rex Grossman wasn’t a great quarterback and was fairly certain he would never be a great quarterback. But he was our quarterback in that moment and that was all that mattered. I would have done the same for any of ’em.
Miller and Matthews.
Kyle Orton.
Kordell Stewart.
Jay Cutler.
Glennon and Dalton.
Mitch Trubisky.
Justin Fields.
The parade of young men who have attempted to fill this team’s quarterbacking void is a murderer’s row of mediocrity (or worse). It seemed clear to me, as I live out my 43rd year on the planet earth and my 20th year writing about the Chicago Bears, that a franchise quarterback was not something I would ever experience. I had submitted my letter of resignation to my boss at Hope, Incorporated, a subsidiary of Belief Enterprises. The framed pictures of Sarah, Bear and Beatrix that had adorned my office desk were now neatly placed into a cardboard box, as I awaited security’s escort to the parking lot.
But then I woke up on Sunday morning, October 13th, 2024, and everything changed.