Sometimes there’s a single statistic that defines a sports franchise.
For the Bears, it’s this: They haven’t had a 4,000-yard passer in a season in their 104-year history.
Let that sink in while pondering a key addendum: Every other NFL team has had at least one 4,000-yard passer.
Thirty-one against one. That’s your Bears.
And it’s not like most of the other clubs sneaked in. The Dolphins have had nine 4,000-yard passing seasons. The Patriots have had 13. The Colts, 16. And some did it long ago. The Jets’ Joe Namath passed for more than 4,000 yards in 1967.
A bunch of quarterbacks even have thrown for more than 5,000 yards in a season. The Saints’ Drew Brees did it five times. Skeptics might say, ‘‘Yeah, but he played in a dome.’’
True. And the Bears play many games in nasty outdoor weather, home or away, which isn’t conducive to throwing and catching. But the Packers have maybe even lousier weather. And — holy Cheesehead! — they’ve had passers throw for more than 4,000 yards 18 times.
You’ll harrumph and say, ‘‘Sure, that’s because they had Hall of Fame quarterbacks Brett Favre and Aaron Rodgers.’’ Yes, but non-Hall of Fame quarterbacks Lynn Dickey and Don Majkowski also threw for more than 4,000 yards in a season for the Packers.
So what does this sad Bears statistic tell us?
It tells us the Bears are a team of muck and grind and clobbering and primitive thinking. They are gibbering, crouching cavemen while foes walk upright in shoes and speak.
There’s nothing wrong with defense, mind you. Trafton, George, Butkus, Hampton, Dent, Singletary, Urlacher, McMichael — the names of great Bears middle linebackers and defensive linemen fill Chicagoans with pride.
And a bruising running game is nice. Thank you, Walter Payton.
But the modern game is about passing. The rules have made it so. There are tacky gloves and push-offs and exotic schemes from bright, devious offensive coordinators who likely could be hedge-fund managers. The game has evolved; it’s the Bears who haven’t.
The Bears’ record-holder for passing yards in a season is Erik Kramer. His 3,838 yards and 29 touchdown passes in 1995 are the most in franchise history. Even he is stunned.
‘‘You’d think somebody would have come along and broken it by now,’’ Kramer, 59, says from his home in California. ‘‘Amazing.’’
There always has been something in the Bears’ culture, an attitude that adheres to Chicago’s reputation as a tough, animal-slaughtering, blood-spattered town. That’s nice for a Francis Ford Coppola script; it’s less so as a plan to score touchdowns.
Of those 5,000-yard passers — a group that, other than Brees, includes Dan Marino, Tom Brady (twice), Peyton Manning, Ben Roethlisberger, Patrick Mahomes (twice), Matthew Stafford, Justin Herbert and, yes, Jameis Winston — all but two needed at least 600 passes to reach the goal. The fewest number of passes needed to get there was Marino’s 564 in 1984. The point being, you have to throw a lot to get a lot of yardage.
Naturally, the Bears never have had a quarterback throw 564 times in any season. The closest is Jay Cutler’s 561 passes in 2014. In fact, the Bears only have had a quarterback throw 500 passes in a season four times in their history. Bears quarterbacks have thrown more than 400 passes in a season only 14 times.
They are rooted in muck, like padded groundhogs.
But now they have No. 1 overall pick Caleb Williams at quarterback, and the youngster virtually is guaranteed to break Kramer’s record. How can he not? Williams threw for 4,537 yards and 42 touchdowns in 14 games as a sophomore at USC. As a junior, he threw for 3,633 yards and 30 touchdowns in 12 games.
He’s going to blow the Bears’ passing record to pieces. He’s got star receivers in DJ Moore, Keenan Allen and rookie Rome Odunze. He’s got veteran tight end Cole Kmet. He’s got blockers. He’s got new offensive coordinator Shane Waldron, fresh off the creative Seahawks’ staff.
There is one thing, though: Williams never can beat Kramer’s 16-game-season record because now it’s a 17-game season. Even if Williams passes for more yards by, say, the 15th game, Kramer still will get an asterisk.
‘‘Yeah, well, I don’t ever spend a second thinking about it,’’ Kramer says with a hearty laugh. ‘‘I hope the whole thing goes.’’
There’s no way Caleb & Co. won’t obliterate that primitive 3,838 passing yards and 29 touchdowns. Out of the mud and into the sunlight.
Nothing could go wrong. The Bears are a changed organization. They get it.
Don’t they?
