Given the Bears’ free-agent history, maybe we should hold off on the parade

We are now knee-deep in the Bears’ silly season, in which every acquisition is received as a major coup, the general manager is forgiven his sins against God and football and the new coach, when he’s not busy brokering an agreement with North Korea, is charming everyone to within an inch of his or her life.

It’s possible that all of GM Ryan Pace’s recent free-agent signings will turn into success stories. Allen Robinson was considered the best receiver available, and Pace lured him to Chicago with big money. Trey Burton might have been a third-string tight end for the Super Bowl champion Eagles, but his potential was no secret around the league. And so on. All of it is reason for optimism.

But would it be asking too much to ratchet back the enthusiasm from Mardi Gras-parade levels to, say, touchdown-celebration levels?

Apparently, it would be.

The party boat has sailed, and voyagers are toasting the new signees, tearfully singing the team’s fight song and inquiring whether this blue-and-orange men’s Speedo brief looks good (no). When it comes to the Bears and Chicago, asking for restraint is a fool’s errand.

But after all the bad football the city has seen in the last three decades, shouldn’t we be a bit more discerning? I’m not chiding anyone for believing in what the Bears are building around young quarterback Mitch Trubisky, but I do wonder what happened to moderation. Has healthy skepticism taken ill?

I’ve come to realize that I have a memory and that tons of people do not. Or that I have a memory and that tons of people unashamedly choose not to remember. Perhaps they do so out of self-preservation. I will say they look serene. As do giant pandas playing with a shiny red ball.

Don’t make me look up the gooey things Pace had to say about Mike Glennon after signing him last year. Don’t make me find the epic poetry he spun around the signings of Markus Wheaton and Marcus Cooper.

For that matter, don’t ask me what he had to say in past years when he signed Antrel Rolle and Eddie Royal, two other free-agent busts. Lest you think I’m picking on Pace, don’t ask me about Phil Emery’s signing of Jared Allen and the gushing that ensued. Do you want to go back to the Jerry Angelo era for more comps? I didn’t think so.

Don’t make me ask why the Jaguars paid one of their receivers but not Robinson. I can’t help myself: Why did the Jaguars re-sign Marqise Lee but not Robinson? Were they worried about Robinson’s surgically repaired knee, the one that made him miss almost all of last season?

I’m not the buzzkill here. The Bears’ history is the buzzkill. Pace’s record in free agency is the buzzkill.

OK, maybe I’m a little bit of a buzzkill. Where’s that smiley emoji?

Look, three months ago, 90 percent of Bears fans didn’t know whom Robinson was. Some might have known he had 1,400 receiving yards in 2015, but then his production dropped, he got hurt and he disappeared. Now everybody around here is certain he’s The Answer.

Six months ago, 99.9 percent of Bears fans didn’t know who Matt Nagy was, and I’ll bet 99.9 percent of the McCaskey family didn’t, either. Now everyone is beyond smitten with the new coach. It’s like falling for someone in a bar and a week later being married. With three kids. That’s how over the top the Bears and Chicago are.

I’m fighting a losing battle. I know this. Fans want to believe. I’d like to believe, too. I’d like to see the city have a Super Bowl champion. But I’ve seen so much ineptitude and so many mistakes from this franchise through the years that belief is hard to come by. I think Trubisky will be good, but I don’t know. In my world, not knowing is sort of a big deal when it comes to believing.

I’m happy for the Bears that they were able to sign some well-regarded free agents, but it doesn’t follow that those players will be automatic successes. If anything, given the Bears’ history, it follows that those players will get injured picking out produce at the grocery store.

Go ahead and give your heart to the Bears again. Just know that when it’s handed back to you, it might look like steak tartare.

Many of you don’t want to hear that. Instead, you’d prefer to know where the 2019 and 2020 Super Bowls will be played. The answer is Atlanta and South Florida, respectively. What’s that? No, I don’t know if your bottle of sunscreen still will be effective in two years.

Follow me on Twitter @MorrisseyCST.

Email: rmorrissey@suntimes.com