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We can dream bigger than the city of Chicago when it comes to new owners for the Bears, can’t we?

Alderman’s idea, while noble, doesn’t aim high enough.

Frustrated Bears fans are again hoping chairman George McCaskey and his family might find replacements for themselves.
Bears chairman George McCaskey is considering moving the franchise from Chicago to Arlington Heights.
Jonathan Daniel/Getty Images

Chicago Ald. George Cardenas would like the city to explore the possibility of buying the Bears, who are threatening to take their George Halas memorabilia and move it to Arlington Heights. The fact that the McCaskey family has a padlocked grip on the franchise and seems to have no intention of selling it doesn’t appear to faze Cardenas.

Saying, ‘‘Let’s buy the Bears!’’ is like saying, ‘‘I think I’ll be the Rolling Stones’ new drummer!’’ But let’s play along. Let’s play fantasy football.

One of Cardenas’ ideas is for the city to purchase the franchise, then sell shares of the team to fans, as the Packers have done. I’d prefer that the Bears follow the Packers’ lead by winning football games, hiring good coaches and finding the next Aaron Rodgers, but I suppose you have to start somewhere.

If we’re going to fantasize, if we’re going to think big, let’s take the city as buyer out of the equation. It has enough troubles. It doesn’t have walking-around money, let alone the $4 billion or so it would take to land the Bears. And, frankly, I don’t want Elmer from Stickney emailing me weekly that the Bears’ rotten performance was not what he had in mind when he bought three shares of the franchise for $300 apiece. And then he’ll proceed to tell me what he did have in mind, which would be information I never had solicited.

If the city is going to look for investors/buyers, why not reach out to some billionaires who have been successful in other industries and have a track record of identifying smart people to run their businesses? If that sounds like a veiled criticism of a family that inherited a football team — a football team that is its only source of income — and still has trouble telling a pass from a punt . . . well, that’s mere coincidence.

I’d start with zillionaire Warren Buffett, then stroll around the mountains of money that give contour to our map of the filthy-rich. Move on to Elon Musk. Or Jeff Bezos. If you’re insistent that the new Bears owner know something about sports, how about ACF Fiorentina owner Rocco Commisso, who is worth $8.4 billion? He was born in Italy and played soccer at Columbia University. Soccer internationally is known as football.

This is our kind of rich guy!

Our Rich Guy says to the McCaskeys, ‘‘Name your price.’’ They say, ‘‘We would never sell our memories!’’ Our Rich Guy says, “I’ll give you $5 billion and 100% of the Halas fedora concession on game days at Soldier Field.’’

‘‘Done!’’ team chairman George McCaskey blurts out.

While we’re fantasizing, is it outrageous to imagine a Halas Hall that doesn’t include general manager Ryan Pace and coach Matt Nagy? I can’t shake this dark suspicion that part of any McCaskey agreement to sell the team would include a clause keeping the two men — ‘‘or two men of similar incompetence’’ — in their positions in perpetuity.

Cardenas’ idea is a noble one, but he doesn’t have any idea what he’s up against. The current ownership group is tied through family blood to the franchise. Because it’s incapable of making decisions that lead to championship football, it cares disproportionately about blowing on the embers of team history. It’s like having Einstein heirs who don’t understand physics but want to keep walrus moustaches alive.

Cardenas’ plan to have the city buy the team is far-fetched but no more far-fetched than the notion that the McCaskeys will sell. I periodically get emails from readers who have heard from their brother-in-law’s cousin’s barber that ownership will proceed with a sale when the family’s 98-year-old matriarch, Virginia McCaskey, breaks the plane of the Big End Zone in the Sky. But that’s just the hope of a frustrated fan base talking. When your team hasn’t played many meaningful games in a three-decade span, all you have is hope. Even if it’s a mirage.

The McCaskeys are an immovable object, which is ironic when you consider they’re pondering a move to Arlington Heights. But let’s play some more pretend:

Let’s say the family agrees to sell the team, but only if the new owners move it to the suburbs.

Surely Cardenas, no matter how much he’s trying to keep big money in Chicago, can see that his civic duty extends well beyond the city limits. Work on this proposal, Alderman. Trust me, Bears fans never would stop voting for you.