Yes, that’s what it looks like. Except mine is encased in plastic and has the backing of a cheap Walgreen’s 12″X58″ photo frame to keep it intact. Except, truthfully, it is not in great shape.
Not sure if Dave has a caveat that all things written about on this blog must be in pristine, wafer-thin condition, for if that’s the case, he’s going to have to dispose of the evidence contained inside this Ziploc bag of a blog. [I do not – DM]
The year is 1985. The Chicago Bears were known, deservedly so, as the “Monsters Of The Midway”. A longtime Chicago Bears fan gets the idea to write and choreograph a rap video for the team. He knows someone who knows a Mr. Willie Gault, and the ball gets rolling. They record the song and video, and it explodes. Chicago Bear fanatics weren’t the only people digging this tune, it goes on to be nominated for a Grammy for Best R&B Performance by a Group or Duo, in a time when the Grammys seemed to still mean something. It meant something more when Da Bears lost to- wait for it- KISS. Ha ha. Trivia factoid for those who are trivia-bound.
I was 12 in 1985. 12. Many momentous things happened when I was 12. I discovered a minor-league prospect (not personally) for the Cubs named Greg Maddux. Little did I know that I would become slightly obsessed with Mad Dog (that’s another blog post for another time) for over a decade. I discovered that I was my mother’s daughter and hooked on soap operas, and who cared if I ditched classes to watch them? I had straight A’s, no one would say anything (insert laughter here). I discovered that Vision Quest was a fucking awful movie, although Madonna saved the soundtrack (not the case for Who’s That Girl, oddly enough). More importantly than that, I discovered I was a Chicago Bears fan. What took so long? My father raised us watching the Cubs. Process that. My mom hated all sports with a passion. If any sport was on the channel, she would start a fight to get her point across. My dad would turn the TV louder and ignore her. Now you know where I get that from. My dad was a Green Bay Packers fan. Green. Bay. Cheesehead. Fan. I have never been more ashamed to write a sentence in my entire life. I love my dad, but I am die hard Bears fan, and he is die hard Swiss Snorter. The Bears record is categorized under “rap”, a genre I readily admit to not understanding, although I do think it has its moments (Kayne West, Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre, Swiss Miss Coco Cozumel. OK, I made that last one up.). If the Bears are considered “rap”, then sign me up for a lifetime membership. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I get the individual lyrics corresponding to individual characters on the team, and I liked the video also. C’mon, McMahon, my dream sportsman at the time? (BM- Before Maddux). Walter Payton, Sweetness, one of, if not, the best running back in the history of the game? Mike Singletary, “Heart of the Defense”? Richard Dent, the Sack Man? The Fridge, the most lovable teddy bear to play for the Bears? A singing cast you couldn’t beat. Any rabid Bears fan would love it. And that was the start of my Chicago Bears obsession. 1985. The season overall, the players, Ditka minus the orange glow, the song- all of it. I was hooked. I listen to that song now, and I should cringe (listen to it, seriously- all these years later and given what our ears have been exposed to since it was released), but I don’t. It still makes me silly. What did I have to go through to get my paws on this 45″?
Given the hysteria attached to anything that the Chicago Bears did in 1985, you can only imagine what it was like to find this 45. It was, for lack of a better 5-letter word, chaos. Rose Records in Countryside (where the HPB now is) didn’t have it, they had a waiting list of 200 people for it. 1985, and I was a 12-yr old kid in love with Jim McMahon, I didn’t have the fortitude to wait it out. We went to JR’s Music, and they were out. K-Mart, Venture, Zayre- all out. There weren’t bookstores that sold music back then- that was the advent of the 1990’s and beyond. The idea of a bookstore that sold records? In 1985? Crazy talk. So- onto the waiting list at Rose Records it was. My mom went with me to wait in lines week after week. She didn’t complain. She would just ditch me in line and go looking for Tom Jones and Engelbert Humperdink albums while I was suffering in vinyl purgatory. It was a good 3 months AFTER the Bears won the Super Bowl before I finally got that call from Rose Records. When I went to pick it up, the guy behind the counter told me that it was indeed a collectible and was sold separately. It came in a separate box, etc. I don’t know if I totally buy that story, but at that point, it had ceased being about collector status and became rabid fan status. I didn’t give two shits if it was worth 10 thousand rupees if I had it in my perspiring little mitts. And I did. The cover. I propped that fucker up against the other side of my record player so that the first and last thing I saw before I attempted sleep was the 1985 Super Bowl Champion Chicago Bears. They must have stayed that way for the better part of a year, replacing my beloved Duran. (Of course, various smart ass friends of mine love to point out that Duran on a break that year, splintering off into Arcadia and Power Station. That doesn’t mean they still wouldn’t have been put into superstar vinyl worship like normal!). I still love that 45. I still take it out and marvel that they did it, and that so many people enjoyed it, and still do. It wasn’t a colossal undertaking of epic proportions to secure the vinyl, like some other stories I will eventually share here, but it was the thought of the love and joy behind securing the vinyl, and continuing to worship and enjoy it, 28 years later. One cannot say that about many things these days.