Bears 31, Browns 3
I don’t know about you, but I didn’t walk away from Sunday thinking, “Nice win.”
I walked away thinking something far more dangerous:
Oh shit… this might be real.
Let’s slow down.
Breathe.
Because Bears fans don’t get to enjoy things without immediately scanning the room for danger.
But still.
31–3 isn’t an accident.
And it didn’t feel fluky.
It felt… controlled.
That’s new.
First Things First: Yes, the Browns Are a Fucking Mess
Let’s get this out of the way so the internet doesn’t lose its mind.
Yes, the Browns stink.
They’re such a mess that Jim Brown couldn’t rise from the dead in his prime and save that team.
Fine.
Agreed.
But here’s the thing.
Good teams beat bad teams clean.
They don’t screw around.
They don’t keep the door open.
They don’t let chaos hang around until the fourth quarter.
The Bears didn’t do that.
They slammed the door.
Locked it.
And took the hinges with them.
That matters.
Ben Johnson Might Be the Sean McVay of the Midwest
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:
Ben Johnson gets it.
He doesn’t chase cute.
He doesn’t chase Twitter plays.
He chases stress-free football.
Run the ball.
Stay ahead of the chains.
Create easy throws.
That’s not sexy.
That’s winning.
And for the first time in a long time, the Bears looked like a team that knew exactly who they were.
Caleb Williams: Embrace the Ordinary, Bro
Daryl Johnston said something on the broadcast that was absolutely spot-on.
Caleb doesn’t need to be a hero on every snap.
He needs to embrace the ordinary.
And here’s the hard truth:
He doesn’t always make the hero throws because he’s fearless.
He makes them because he’s still not consistently accurate.
Sunday was better.
Much better.
That early throw to Luther Burden?
Perfect.
Footwork.
Timing.
Placement.
That’s the version of Caleb that wins games.
But here’s the test coming.
No Parsons.
No Watson.
Green Bay is going to sell out to stop the run.
They’re going to dare him to beat them.
They’re going to say, “Fine. Throw it 40 times.”
If Caleb wants to be great, he has to take the checkdown.
Over and over.
Until defenses get bored.
Hero ball is fun.
Boring ball wins divisions.
The Running Game Is… the Best in the League?
Read that again.
The Bears might have the best running attack in football.
That sounds fake.
I know.
But it’s real.
Physical.
Consistent.
Mean.
And Green Bay knows it.
They took it away once.
They’ll try again.
That’s why Saturday night is about one thing:
Can Caleb be accurate when the game plan demands patience instead of fireworks?
Defense Travels. Home or Away. Period.
Is this the ’85 Bears?
Relax.
Is it Reggie White’s Eagles?
No.
But this defense does something extremely important.
They create turnovers.
They control field position.
They show up.
Bill Parcells used to say playoff football comes down to two things:
Turnovers and field position.
That shit still applies.
If the Bears bring that mindset Saturday night, things can get very uncomfortable for the Packers.
Loveland showed up.
The unit rose to the moment.
They didn’t flinch.
That’s how belief starts.
And Now… the Moment
Here’s where the tone changes.
The NFC North is open.
Wide the fuck open.
Detroit is wobbling.
Injuries everywhere.
The timing couldn’t be better.
And the Packers?
They’ve kicked our asses for 25 years.
Enough.
Ric Flair said it best:
“If you want to be the man, you’ve got to beat the man.”
Saturday night isn’t about standings.
It’s about identity.
No more moral victories.
No more “we’re close.”
This is the bully.
And if the Bears want this division, they have to put their foot to their ass.
Final Thought
If you told me in August that the Bears would be here—with this opportunity,
this window,
this moment—
I’d tell you you were full of shit.
But here we are.
Browns?
Handled.
Check.
Now comes the test.
This is one of the biggest games in years — right up there with the double-doink kind of pain.
Because games like this don’t just decide seasons.
They decide who you are.
No more fucking around.
As former Rangers head coach John Tortorella would say:
“Screw it on straight.”
