The negatives in other reviews are: Author Rich Cohen inserts himself into his own story too often; the tale bogs down in prosaic nostalgia, rather than personality-driven narrative. I can see how some might think that.
But only if you’re from Chicagoland. If not, Cohen’s thread about his trip (as a twenty year-old fan) to the Bears 1986 Super Bowl victory is interesting: A charter flight where everyone else on board wore blue and gold sweaters and a Ditka Bear mustache. His pinpointing where each of the Bears lived on the clock-dial with McCormick Place at the center. His naive drive through Western Pennsylvania, the place where football stars once grew on trees: Unitas, Dikta, Namath, Montana, Marino. There is little rationale for this concentration of talent, save “Holy F—I cannot [coal mine] [work in the factory] [sell insurance] like my father did.
There was something likable about the 1985-86 Bears, even if you hated Chicago and/or the NFC North. They were goofy, especially Jim McMann, the quarterback with the headbands. They had Buddy Ryan’s 46 defense, whose object it was to maim, with the secondary objective of winning. That wasn’t so fun, especially for Redskins fans.
Cohen looks equally at football history, easier to do with a team founded by the founder of the NFC, George Hallas. Especially after Cohen himself has a family, he’s sufficiently perceptive to wonder whether football still is good for us:
“Football is violent by design. It became a sensation because of television but also because it expressed certain truths about American life: the danger of the mines and mills; dirt, struggle, blood, grime; the division of labor; the all-importance of the clock. Football was not a reprieve from working life, it was that life translated into another language.”
Reviewing other sports books, I often bemoan the “Moneyball Effect,” where every writer tries to sounds as cute and pompous as Michael Lewis. It can’t be done, of course: there’s only one Princeton snot, and Moneyball never will be bested. But taken on its own merits, this book isn’t bad. At least if you’re from outside Chicago.