Mac Is Back: Pass It On

By Tom Callahan

At least the Chicago Bears know what has technically been wrong with Jim McMahon, the most erudite of their four quarterbacks, who has written one book and read several others. He has a slight tear in the rotator cuff of his right shoulder. McMahon said, "I knew something was in there," though two arthroscopic examinations were required to find it. Missing him for six of eleven games, Coach Mike Ditka had frankly grown dubious. "Can you hear that?" whispered the quarterback, jiggling his bad handle. "It sounds like somebody's walking around in wet shoes."

The Bears have watered down their stomp a little this year, skirting the likes of Detroit (13-7), Philadelphia (13-10) and Atlanta (13-10), winning all the same. They have not only beaten but joined the media. A Bear without his own radio show has become an object of pity. McMahon, Ditka, Linebacker Mike Singletary -- everyone but William ("the Refrigerator") Perry, it seems -- have penned monographs to last season's glory. Perry is thinking about a cookbook.

Perry's weight fluctuates from mildly incredible to phenomenally spectacular and has risen far enough above 300 lbs. to dim the defensive tackle's offensive sidelight, which had been so symbolic of Bear dominance. Ditka, who for the moment acknowledges the New York Jets as the N.F.L.'s foremost team, has pledged Perry will carry the ball again "as soon as his weight gets a little nearer to a vicinity we'd like." Asked what vicinity it occupies now, Ditka replies, "Chicago." This season's odd shadow is being cast by Doug Flutie, the 5-ft. 9-in. quarterback from Boston College, whose Heisman Trophy two years ago appeared to have been sculpted to scale. After settling his seven-figure account with the dormant U.S. Football League, Flutie signed just a few weeks ago to back up Mike Tomczak, who backs up Steve Fuller, who backs up McMahon. General Manager Jerry Vainisi describes Flutie's Chicago earnings as "less than Fuller, more than Tomczak," who lately has done most of the playing. Two weeks ago, Flutie was hurried into the fray at Tampa Bay for a series of mishaps that prompted him to hurl himself on the ground in distress. "It was a chance to get Doug in the game as a Bear," Ditka said. "That's what he is. He's a Bear."

Flutie is starting to feel like a Bear. "I was never a Chicago fan. I mean, I didn't even know all the names. I knew Walter Payton's, of course. But I had to be introduced to (Defensive End) Dan Hampton." For turning the wrong way on a hand-off and missing an open receiver in the end zone, Flutie was toasted by his teammates with choke signs all around. But the spirit was amazingly warm. "When I first came into the huddle, everyone's head kind of popped up, and they all smiled as if to say, 'Here you go, kid.' " Since breaking his collarbone 17 months ago in the New Jersey Generals' final spring, Flutie had missed playing football. But back in a clubhouse again, he realized that his greater longing had been for a team. "Without a team, it's like you're alone on an island. There's no one around to turn to, no common goal to strive for. When you're a quarterback, it's particularly empty."

Particular quarterbacks move teams beyond the scrimmage line, as the best coaches know. San Francisco's Bill Walsh could make a serviceable quarterback out of an usher, but no one can be taught to lift a team the way Joe Montana raised the 49ers 55 days after back surgery. "Armies work hard for Lancelot," Guard Randy Cross says, "harder for King Arthur." At 38, oft- deposed Raider Jim Plunkett keeps coming back to reign in Los Angeles.

Set to return against Green Bay this week, McMahon has not lost in 22 starts dating back to 1983. In 40 openings over three injury-prone years, he and the Bears are 36-4, and Ditka is as galled as several of the players. The thought of Mad McMahon riding to the season's rescue on his black chopper does not thrill anyone, especially the coach. "I don't believe you're really that hurt," Ditka told McMahon straight out before the diagnosis. "He's been Sybil-izing a lot lately," McMahon yawned, a coded reference to a multiple personality. "Why would I not want to throw a football? I have to go to practice anyway." Personally opposed to practice, he ridicules the Bears' lack of a heated facility and their habit of shuttling to Champaign-Urbana or Suwanee, Ga. "If you want to be a Bear," he likes to say, "it's a good idea to get into the frequent-flyer program."

Diana Ditka thinks of the quarterback as one of her sons: "He has the same hair, the same sunglasses, and he talks to Mike the same way." "But who knows?" says McMahon. "We might be the Oakland A's. Maybe we'll kick and scream our way to three straight titles." Who would bet against it?