My name is Max and I have an addiction. My problem started back in the early '90s. It seemed so innocent. So easy. So carefree.á I could just sit down on Sunday afternoons and enjoy the game. Back then it didn't matter as much if the Bears won. They were never supposed to win. They were never supposed to be good. I could sit there drinking a soda and eating my wings with my old man and have fun watching the Bears suffer through QB after QB as my dad would curse under his breath for the first half and doze off during the second half. Then as the early '90s transgressed into the mid- to late-'90s, I started to really care about the outcome. I could enjoy it still, but I would be bummed out for a day or two after the game if (or in most cases, when) they let another one slip away. But it had ...
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Article written by Max Kienzler