What a trip to McDonald's can teach you about Bears football

I took my two year-old daughter, Haley, to McDonald's this weekend. Not because I wanted to go or because I somehow enjoy feeding my daughter deep friend assemblages of hoof, beak, cartilage, and cardboard, but because she learned that a magical establishment exists that rewards her with a toy for eating delicious finger "food", dipped in brightly colored high fructose corn syrup that she can request by name. "Daddy, can we go to McDonald's, pleeeeeeeeeeeease?". As a parent, I am extremely invested in the healthy development of my child and take immense pride in her burgeoning language skills. But, let me tell you, nothing takes your parental pride down a notch quite like the realization that you've taught your child how to ask for McDonald's. (Example #3,487,247 that parenting is impossibly difficult.)

Yet, as much as I disapprove of providing my daughter access to consumable items - I refuse to call it food - that cause childhood obesity and ass cancer (Yes, I know it's called colon cancer. I just think ass cancer better encapsulates how much it sucks.), I do not want to unnecessarily elevate the status of junk food by turning it into some sort of forbidden fruit. A quarterly fast food foray is better than a twelve year-old with sexual fantasies about clowns, french fries, and chicken nuggets.

Generally, during our trips to the Golden Arches, I only buy food for Haley, but it had been three years since my last tryst with Ronald McDonald so I ordered a six-piece chicken nugget Happy Meal instead of the usual four piece meal, two extra shame nuggets for Dad.

Holy wave of nostalgia, Batman.

The nuggets tasted exactly like I remembered from my high school days, when I had the metabolism of a horny bull moose - for the record, that's approximately 47% greater than a regular bull moose - and could polish off a twenty-piece nuggets, large fries and a chocolate shake in a single sitting. A lightly crisped, toasty crust, surrounding a homogeneous, succulent, vaguely chicken-flavored chewy interior. A simple, guilty pleasure that satisfies both your hunger and inner child, provided you don't think about what actually constitutes a "McNugget".

As I watched Haley smile, play with her soon-to-be-forgotten fuzzy bear toy, and snack on french fries and nugs, I developed a grudging respect for the stalwart consistency of McDonald's. Haley doesn't know the food is bad for her. She just knows that it tastes good, she can eat it with her fingers, and she gets a cool toy. McDonald's may not be the apex of culinary arts, but they serve cheap, satisfying, reliable food, an experience that has not changed in any significant way in the past 50 years. You can malign the quality of the goods, but not the effectiveness of the product, much like the Chicago Bears.

The Chicago Bears are the McDonald's of the NFL: Never pretty and tough to swallow, but undeniably effective and staggeringly consistent. For the past 91 years, the Bears have won with a combination of defense, toughness, special teams, and rugged masculinity (I'm looking at you, Jim McMahon) that is effective, but both gut-wrenching and difficult to watch. Even the '85 Bears, the paragon of Chicago football and perhaps the greatest team of all-time, wouldn't crack any one's list of Top 25 most beautiful or exciting NFL teams.

Beauty is Montana to Rice. Beauty is Manning to Harrison. Beauty is Tom Brady to whoever-the-scrappy-white-guy-is-who-happens-to-be-catching-the-ball-today. Beauty is not running the ball 40 times a game, generating 5 turnovers, and winning 13-3. But, that's how they do it in Chicago. They win ugly.

This creates a problem of perspective, because winning ugly doesn't score you any bonus points with fans. When people think of great teams they reminisce about crisp passing offenses, flashy running plays, and high-flying wide receivers. They don't take into account the fact that a team with Devin Hester running back kicks will consistently start drives at their own 40 instead of their own 20 (or sometimes they won't even have to start drives at all when he runs the ball back for a touchdown). They don't factor in the ability of Charles Tillman to routinely punch the ball out of opposing wide receivers hands when he tackles them. But, whether we like to admit it or not, winning ugly is still winning.

Take, for example, Peyton Manning. Manning is the Whole Foods of the NFL, his offensive arsenal a buffet of delicious and nutritious local and organic options. Yet, despite his offensive wizardry, he has a 9-10 lifetime record in the post season and more home playoff losses (4) than any quarterback in NFL History. I love Peyton Manning and think he's more the victim of sub par coaching and defense than poor play, but fans and media consistently overrate Manning-led teams due to their aesthetically pleasing style of play. But, beautiful football can't compensate for sub par defense any more than offering organically grown, sustainably harvested broccoli can compensate for charging 17.95 for a floret.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating for Bears football any more than I'd advocate for McDonald's. I'd far rather cheer for a team that put on a glorious, dominant display of offensive football than a team that squeaks out ridiculous, cover-your-eyes, hide-the-women-and-children wins with punt returns, tipped balls, and fumble recoveries. But I respect both for what they do and think neither gets the credit they deserve for consistently excelling because they do so in unorthodox fashion. It's time we gave the Bears and McDonald's their proper due, even if they do end in painful trips to the bathroom.