The topic arose Monday morning at Steve McMichael’s bedside in Homer Glen, the notion that his call to the Pro Football Hall of Fame could be coming this week. Instantly, McMichael’s eyebrows rose and that bug-eyed look he has given for 65 years whenever he gets excited came forth. It was a goosebump moment.
Even as amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) keeps him in its clutches, rendering him permanently incapacitated, McMichael’s smile still can push through the same way he did as a fearsome defensive tackle breaking through an offensive line.
Hall of Fame aspirations were obvious in McMichael’s eyebrows, his stare, his grin. For Misty McMichael, his wife of 22 years, it was another sign this journey they’ve been on — once a laughter-filled, raucous joyride but now a cruel test of stamina and survival — should lead them to one final destination.
To Canton, Ohio. To that prestigious football museum where the busts of the greatest to ever play are united for eternity.
“It’s where he belongs,” Misty said. “He deserves it.”
With Wednesday’s announcement that the Hall of Fame’s seniors committee selected McMichael as one of three finalists for the Class of 2024, his voyage has reached the doorstep of Canton. All that’s left is a January vote from the Hall of Fame’s full 50-member selection committee. An 80% approval would push McMichael through the checkpoint, a VIP invitation to the induction ceremony next summer.
For those familiar with the Hall’s selection process, it’s essentially a foregone conclusion. McMichael’s enshrinement is coming.
“It’s happening,” Misty said. “And you have no idea. This has been a reason for him to keep going, to keep fighting.”
That’s all McMichael ever needed, a reason to keep fighting. Out of loyalty to his football brothers and through his intense drive to squeeze every ounce of talent from himself and every drop of fun from the sport he loved, he played 191 consecutive regular-season games for the Bears from 1981-93. A dozen playoff games were mixed in, including three during the 1985 season when he and the Bears defense mauled their way to and through Super Bowl XX.
McMichael was a larger-than-life character on one of the NFL’s iconic teams and an every-week performer on one of the greatest defenses of all time. He is now the fourth starter from the ’85 defense to enter the Hall, following Dan Hampton, Mike Singletary and Richard Dent.
McMichael’s production in 13 years as a Bear — 92 1/2 sacks, 814 tackles, three safeties — was enhanced by his work ethic, dedication and fearlessness. He was equally gifted in his ability to attack quarterbacks as he was in keeping the Bears linebackers clean to make tackles behind him.
“There was a four- or five-year stretch in the mid-1980s where I don’t think anybody played that inside tackle position better than Steve,” Bears Hall of Fame offensive lineman Jimbo Covert said. “I exclude nobody. I can’t think of anybody who did all he had to do with the responsibilities that he had. You look at what he accomplished game in and game out, he answered the call all the time.”
McMichael was a five-time All-Pro, twice on the first team. He always has taken great pride in the 33 game balls he received. Still, it was his commitment that elevated the respect he had among teammates.
“More than 200 games in a row,” Hampton said. “To withstand the rigors and the pounding for all those years. And it’s not like he was playing cornerback. He wasn’t a receiver. He was a defensive tackle taking on double teams and triple teams and leg whips and this and that. To then essentially defy the physical reality of it is mind-boggling.”
Added Covert: “Steve was relentless. He practiced like he played and played like he practiced. He only had one switch. And when he turned it on, it was on.”
That’s what helps cement a man as a legend, a status McMichael has held in Chicago for almost 40 years. Now — along with fellow seniors committee finalists Art Powell and Randy Gradishar — he likely will become a Pro Football Hall of Famer.
“Finally,” Misty said. “This is amazing. I don’t want to watch him die. I want to see him live to see this, to feel all that love. He deserves this. I want him to go happy.”
‘A moment in time’
The McMichaels have been engulfed by Steve’s ALS affliction since they heard the first doctors deliver the diagnosis nearly three years ago. His initial regression was gradual, but his physical deterioration became rapid. He’s now a shell of the NFL animal he was for 15 seasons. He is bedridden and voiceless, hooked to machines and requiring around-the-clock nursing.
The agony, the heartbreak, the stress, the helplessness has often been overwhelming. But since McMichael’s Hall of Fame quest got new life in July when he became one of 31 seniors semifinalists, Misty has felt a revived vigor in her husband. An excitement. A purpose.
“He hadn’t smiled for a while,” Misty said. “You can look on my Instagram feed at the pictures we’d post. People thought I was like ‘Weekend at Bernie’s,’ just propping up a (bleeping) corpse. I’m like, ‘No. He’s alive. I promise!’ Now? He’s smiling. And people are like, ‘Oh, my god! He’s alive.’ It’s true. He’s alive again. He’s happy.”
Whatever it takes.
Two weeks later, McMichael made the cut again — from 31 to 12.
“We’ve been suffering for years with this,” Misty said. “It’s unhuman. I’m tired of watching him suffer. But if we have a reason to persevere, to go through this suffering, we will. And we are. We have a reason.”
Covert, the most recent Bears inductee into the Hall of Fame, can appreciate what McMichael must be feeling. Covert’s 2021 enshrinement came nearly 30 years after his final season. And as proud as he was of his nine-season career, the entry into Canton offered a final validation.
“It’s almost overwhelming,” Covert said. “You start to realize how few guys are in the Hall of Fame — from the 1920s when the NFL began until today. It’s sometimes completely overwhelming to think you’re in that group.
“All those years that you’re not in, you’re trying to forget about it. It’s in the back of your mind. It doesn’t happen. You get disappointed. And then when it happens and it hits you, it’s like your whole life flashes in front of you in one second.”
Hampton remains confident this week’s breakthrough will fulfill McMichael in a new way.
“Every player has a certain agenda, if you will. It’s part of setting goals and trying to achieve things,” he said. “Who doesn’t want to be in the Hall of Fame? So, yes, this does matter for Steve. Yes, this is a part of the equation. And today is kind of an alignment of the planets.
“They didn’t vote Steve in 20 years ago or five years ago. So this now is a moment in time.”
Destination: Canton
Misty McMichael preplanned Tuesday night’s celebration for friends, family and neighbors at 115 Bourbon Street in Merrionette Park. She had a hunch the good news was coming.
Now she has grander visions. She is determined to get her husband to Canton the first week of August, already researching how she might solicit an ambulance to transport him to a medical airplane that can airlift him to Ohio.
“We’re going to party like it’s the ticker-tape parade downtown after the Super Bowl,” Misty said. “And then we’ll get that gold jacket. We’ll cut it up the back and we’ll put it on him. I’m telling you. We’ll do it. We want every Bears fan, all of his old teammates, everyone who has ever waited for this moment, to be there with us. It will be amazing.”
Plus, Misty promises, somehow, some way, the enshrinement will include some McMichael flair, some McMichael wisdom, some McMichael entertainment.
“Sometimes you watch those ceremonies and they’re boring as (bleep),” Misty said. “It won’t be boring when Steve is there. I promise. He’s going to make the Hall of Fame famous. It’ll be like the Beverly Hillbillies come to town. I keep telling him he has to start working on his speech.”
Ah, yes. The speech. McMichael lost his ability to talk about a year ago. His communication is limited to facial expressions and use of an Eyegaze device, which allows him to stare at letters on a monitor to spell words or choose predetermined phrases that are spoken by a computerized voice.
Who knows? Maybe a paragraph per week over the next 11 1/2 months could provide McMichael one more brief opportunity to be the epic storyteller and self-proclaimed philosopher he always has been.
McMichael has become increasingly adept with the Eyegaze device, Misty said, more easily able to let his caretakers know when his ear is uncomfortably squished or his legs need to be moved or he needs a little something extra.
“All of a sudden he’ll be like, ‘Ice cream. Coca-Cola. Ass on fire,'” Misty said. “I’ll just say, ‘OK. Slow down. Slow down. One (bleeping) thing at a time, please.'”
Yes, ice cream is one of McMichael’s last guilty pleasures. Vanilla Häagen-Dazs. Figuratively, he also still can puff out his chest with pride, as he did Monday, when the talk in his bedroom was about his refusal to miss a game during his career. Ever. For any reason.
McMichael’s eyes widened, then turned to the Eyegaze.
“I’m tough,” he said.
As if anyone ever tried to argue otherwise.
That’s why Misty is convinced — even after her husband’s intensive care unit stay earlier this month and a near-death experience with both sepsis and pneumonia — that he will push himself to make it at least one more year, to be alive and jubilant when his official Hall of Fame entry comes.
We’re inside 50 weeks now, an easy way to begin the countdown to Canton.
“This is a tremendous honor for anyone. At any stage of life,” Covert said. “But this will mean a tremendous amount to Steve. He certainly deserves this.”
49 … 48 … 47.
“It’s amazing this is happening,” Misty said.
McMichael continues to fight. His story isn’t done.
