Either I need an attitude adjustment or everybody else does.
I was thoroughly entertained by the Bears’ 31-28 overtime loss to the Dolphins on Sunday.
Everybody else in Chicago seemed thoroughly disgusted by it. I didn’t know self-service stomach pumping was a thing, but apparently it is.
I’m usually the one who can’t see the silver lining, what with the dark cloud threatening mankind.
Everybody else always seems so cheery. Their emojis won’t stop smiling or putting on sunglasses or raising a thumb upward. But not on Sunday.
I saw a wild, up-and-down game that called for surrender, not anger from viewers. Sit back and enjoy two flawed teams trying to be less flawed than the other, I told myself. I think I achieved transcendence in the fourth quarter.
Everybody else saw a poor Bears effort, an inexcusable loss against a struggling team that had to start middling, unremarkable Brock Osweiler at quarterback because starter Ryan Tannehill was nursing an injured shoulder.
I saw a game that isn’t going to make much difference in what the Bears are trying to do this season and beyond.
Everybody else saw playoff implications at every turn, babies being snatched from mothers and the end of the planet as we know it.
I saw a Bears team that is so much more fun to watch than what we’ve been subjected to the past five years. I found joy in the messiness. I found happiness in the pile of yards taken and in the stack of yards given.
Everybody else saw inexcusable mistakes, fumbles at the worst time and a Bears quarterback throwing a fourth-quarter interception in the bleeping end zone.
I saw Mitch Trubisky throw for 316 yards and three touchdowns in his first game since his six-touchdown pyrotechnics against the Buccaneers. The Dolphins game was set up for him to be reminded that Tampa Bay was an accident, a chance occurrence, six strokes of luck. I saw him prove his naysayers wrong Sunday.
Everybody else said, “Nay.’’ Everybody else saw his measly 89 passing yards in the first half against Miami, more ill-advised passes and — this can’t be overstated — a fourth-quarter interception in the bleeping end zone.
I saw a Bears team that would have fallen apart at the first sign of trouble last year and the year before that and the year before that.
Everybody else said that drawn-out torture is still torture, even if it goes into overtime.
I saw linebacker Khalil Mack, perhaps the most dominating player in the NFL, performing well below his standards because of a sprained right ankle he suffered early in the game. I saw a defense radically affected by that.
Everybody else would like to know how Mack’s sprained ankle explains all the missed tackles on Albert Wilson’s 43- and 75-yard touchdown receptions in the fourth quarter. Everybody else also would like to know who the hell Albert Wilson is.
I did a Google search and learned that sprained ankles do heal.
Everybody else went to Dictionary.com and looked for synonyms for “catastrophe.’’
I saw the Bears lose by three points in overtime on the road and said, “So what?’’
Everybody else said, “I’m repairing to my room, where I’ll be in isolation, shades drawn, for the next two days.’’
I see a team that is still in first place in the NFC North.
Everybody else says it’s an optical illusion.
I see a team with playoff potential.
Everybody else is wondering where I get my hallucinogens.
I saw the Bears figuring out, in real time, how to use Tarik Cohen and Jordan Howard together.
Everybody else saw a boneheaded fumble by each player.
I saw Cohen catch seven passes for 90 yards. I saw a Miami defense that was completely freaked out by him, sort of the way opponents are freaked out when Patrick Kane has the puck on his stick for the Blackhawks.
Everybody else says, “I’m worried about the Hawks, too.’’
I saw the normally creative Matt Nagy forget himself in overtime when he called five straight run plays to set up Cody Parkey’s 53-yard field-goal attempt, which sailed wide right. I saw a rookie coach having a rookie-coach moment. It happens.
Everybody else was measuring him for a coffin.
At one point, somewhere in the third quarter, when it became apparent that this perfectly imperfect game might literally go down to the last drop, I gave in to it. I was in it for the entertainment, no matter what that meant. The wilder, the better.
Everybody else was in it for the victory.
I have indisputable proof that it was only one game.
Everybody else begs to differ.
It’s the question that won’t give me peace: Why can’t everybody else be as upbeat as I am?