The epidural had done its job.
In October 2024, my back stopped working, and a herniated disc was causing a series of spasms down my left leg that rendered me basically immobile. (I had a cane!) After a series of useless doctor visits, and 22 minutes in an MRI machine that caused me more pain than I thought I could physically endure, the Hospital of Special Surgery in NYC finally got me onto the table and got that sweet, sweet medical nectar injected in my spine. By the end of the month, when the Bears traveled to DC to face the artists formerly known as the Redskins, I could walk. Not well, mind you. But better. Which is a good thing, because the awful building currently housing the Commanders is seemingly miles from the closest train station.
That game was one of the strangest experiences of my life as a sports fan. We had to abandon our (expensive) seats because, for some reason, nobody sits down at Commanders games. (And I couldn't physically stand for three straight hours.) We ended up watching the game on concourse TVs, where our viewing pleasure was complemented by a stream of drunken Washingtonians picking fights with one another. (And not a normal amount of drunken squabbling. Four straight quarters of it.) The comeback by the Bears that day was remarkable, and it's been forgotten entirely. That comeback put a charge into every Bears fan in the building. When the Hail Maryland happened, I didn't see it. I heard it. I looked over at Noah, co-founder of DaBearsBlog, and said, "After all that?" I limped back to the subway, the pain growing with each step, thinking what we just watched was the strangest game of the season. But not thinking it was any more than that.
I didn't know about the Tyrique Stevenson video. Not until later that night, when I saw it on a muted TV as I was slamming down overpriced Stellas with a fella named Billy Beavers at the Hotel Salamander's bar, where I had spent most of the evening pretending to be a pharmaceutical salesman from Parsippany, NJ. (I'll save that for another column.) When I saw that video, I knew the game went far beyond "strange" status. The season, and Stevenson's career, were irrevocably changed.
Ben Johnson was not there. One of the recuring themes we've been hearing since the summer - mostly from the players themselves - is about a change of culture at Halas Hall. The old culture, the recent H.I.T.S. nonsense (which I believe stood for Here Is Trite Shite), was summed up in the final moments of that game in the D.C. suburbs last season. The Flus play call before the final throw. Stevenson taunting the crowd instead of, you know, playing in the ongoing game. Several defensive backs in position to end the game, and nobody does. The Bears of recent years have been about slogans. They have been about trying to convince us that everything is fine, even when the results depict a different story altogether. The only Ben Johnson slogan I've heard is "not good enough." It is pretty damn refreshing.
Next Monday night in D.C. won't be a determinative result for the 2025 campaign. If the Bears lose, all hope is not lost for meaningful football at the end of the calendar year. If they win, they're not guaranteed a spot in the tournament. But it is, definitively, an opportunity. To rebound from two opening losses with three straight wins. To show this is a new group, a new era. And for Tyrique Stevenson, a player who has been shockingly good to start this season, a chance to firmly purge the memory of that afternoon in 2024.
Of all the stories emerging from these first four games of 2025, Stevenson is perhaps the most surprising. Fans (and media, to an extent) are so quick to call for the excommunication of players that do not meet their arbitrary standards of excellence. One mistake, even a significant, visible, dramatic one, is grounds for dismissal. It would have been very easy for Ben Johnson and Dennis Allen to see Stevenson's 2024 tape, to look at that video from D.C., and think it wise to move in a different direction; see him as a symbol of the past regime's ineptitude and ship him elsewhere. They didn't. They coached him up. And after a rash of injuries to the secondary, they have found themselves relying on Stevenson even more. Their confidence in the player has been rewarded. All Tyrique has done is play the position at a Pro Bowl level.
Tyrique should embrace this coming week, and the inevitable questions. He shouldn't run from past mistakes; he should embrace him. November 2024 in D.C. is part of his story, the hurdle he has overcome, the villain he has vanquished. Mistakes are made every day in the world of sport. Watching athletes overcome them is why we watch.
Many believed Tyrique Stevenson's career in Chicago ended in D.C. last season. Ben Johnson did not. A big night back in the capital next Monday could cap off one of the more remarkable redemption stories this organization has witnessed in my lifetime.
Editorial Note: DBB will be taking the next week off and returning with an audio monologue on Tuesday October 14. (Barring anything happening that requires a serious column.)
