<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
8601010659
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
860106
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Monday, January 06, 1986
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1F
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1986, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
BEARS DEE-SERVE TO TALK BIG 
AFTER DEE-STROYING GIANTS
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
CHICAGO -- Dee-lightful, Dee-licious, Dee-lovely, Dee-fense. The thud of a
quarterback being slammed to the ground. The crunching of pads on a fumble
pileup. Such are the sounds they dance to at  Soldier Field these days, and
they were dancing Sunday, and they are dancing still.

  For when the gun sounded, it was 21-0, Bears over the Giants, a two-fisted
shutout in this city's first NFL playoff  game since Lyndon Johnson was
president.

  It was the Bears wrapping themselves like a blue and orange cobra around
the New Yorkers and squeezing the life out of them.
  It was Bears lineman Richard  Dent breathing in the face of quarterback
Phil Simms. Horizontally. And Dent's teammate Otis Wilson exclaiming
afterward, "We cut everybody off, we covered everybody, we could do no wrong!"
  It was  the Windy City over the Big Apple, three touchdowns to nothing.
And it was more. Something only a Bears or Giants rooter could tell you. For
despite all the magazine covers and the rock videos that  preceded it, this
was a game of Escape Your Cruel Fate -- which for the Giants and Bears has
always meant leaving the playoffs heartbroken. 
  In the last two decades, these two teams had played a combined eight
playoff games. Neither ever made it past the conference championship.  Both
were talking big now. The 15-1 Bears were everybody's odds-on favorite. But
the Giants had destroyed the 49ers  -- last year's Super Bowl winners -- the
week before.  Somebody would disappoint. Somebody would leave his city
face-down at the bar early this morning, mumbling, "I ain't never watching
those bums  again. Never. I swear."
Kicks weren't so swift  For the first 30 minutes, both teams were in the
running. As a football game, this was a great Greco- Roman wrestling match.
Force against force. Little  action. And no feet allowed.
  There were three missed field goals, two by Chicago, one by New York. The
only points in the entire first half came off a play that qualifies for
Bloopers, Foul-ups and  Bleepers:
  Giants punter Sean Landeta -- who made a dubious name for himself earlier
in the week by scalping playoff tickets, complete with his autographed picture
-- went to punt  near his goal line  and whiffed. Foot goes up. Foot comes
down. Ball trickles away. He says he grazed it. Big deal. The Bears pick it up
and run it in five yards. Touchdown. Sell a ticket to that, Sean.
  That was it:  7-0. Had the Giants been able to put anything on the board
from a first-and-goal at the Bears' 2, it would have been even closer. But
they threw three straight incomplete passes, then missed a field  goal. A
19-yarder. Hit the upright. Hello, New York? Destiny calling.
  Still, there was an uneasy feeling throughout the stadium as the teams
trotted off at halftime. Had the Bears grown too big for  their spandex
britches? 
  Not to worry, said the home team. As their Ivy League- educated safety
Gary Fencik put it: "We knew they couldn't win if they couldn't score."
  And to think, some folks  doubt the value of a college education.
  Of course, Fencik proved to be prophetic, for the Bears' defense simply
took over in the second half. It did not allow a single first down in the
entire third  quarter. Simms got plenty of close-up looks at the artificial
turf, and Landeta got plenty of  opportunities to improve his punting average
after his first-half strikeout.
Didn't keep their eyes on  the ball  At the same time, Bears quarterback Jim
McMahon was discovering a new offensive weapon: the Giants' defensive
secondary. Which, in a word, was god- awful. OK. Maybe two words.
  Time after  time, Giants defensive backs -- most notably Elvis Patterson --
declined to look at the ball coming in, instead choosing to focus on the
receiver's belt buckle. This accounted for most of the long passes,  including
one of two passing touchdowns.
  But then a safety would have been enough points in this one. As  Fencik
said, no score, no worry. "Their offense wasn't so hot,"  Giants coach Bill
Parcells  said afterward. "But they are the best defensive team in football."
  Shut em up, shut 'em down.
  And so the Giants go home, leaving New York with the same old bitter taste
in its mouth.
  And  the Bears go on. They are queer art, this Chicago team. Funky yet
brutal. One foot in glitter high heels, the other in a construction boot. Yet
this Midwestern city, which has always prided itself on  its working-class
backbone, has allowed all the Hollywood -- Super Bowl shuffles and
Refrigerator commercials -- because on Sundays, the guys still come out and
play the black-and-blue defense that makes  the lunchpail crowd smile and slap
their fists into their palms. 
  They did it again on Sunday. Dee-lightful, Dee-licious, Dee- lectable
Dee-fense. Which for the Giants could mean but one thing. Dee-feat.  Watch the
dancing Bears. Their beat goes on.
</BODY>
<DISCLAIMER>

</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>
FOOTBALL
</KEYWORDS>
</BODY.CONTENT>
