State Your Case: What You Should Know About Bears' McMichael

It was two weeks ago that Chicago Bears' defensive tackle Steve McMichael was named one of 31 senior semifinalists for the Pro Football Hall of Fame's Class of 2024, and, yes, that's a big deal. It was the first time ... ever ... McMichael was a Hall-of-Fame semifinalist. Moreover, it means he has a chance to become of three finalists presented to the Hall's board of 50 selectors next January.

However, he first must survive this month's cut to 12, and there are plenty of reasons he should.

The first is that he was consistent and productive in what he was asked to do -- namely, rush the passer -- in one of pro football's greatest defenses. No, he wasn't someone who would produce 15 or 16 sacks a season, like Warren Sapp or John Randle. Few interior rushers can do that. But "Mongo," as he was called, was a guy who was going to get you 8-10 every year.

His career high in sacks was 11-1/2, which is fine. More impressive, though, is that he had seven seasons with eight or more. Is that a lot? Well, it's fewer than Alan Page, John Randle, Aaron Donald and Alex Karras, but more than any other defensive tackle in the Hall or out of it.

Dan Hampton and Randy White had six such seasons. Warren Sapp and Bryant Young each had five. All are enshrined in Canton.

If you could use a sacks-to-home run analogy, McMichael never hit 45 in a season but hit ... oh, call it 25 ... more often, with a high of something more like 34 than 45. If the analogy holds, there are plenty of individuals with far fewer than McMichael.

No analogy is perfect, but the point stands: Year-in-and-year-out, McMichael gave the Bears sustained excellence.

That consistency added up to 95 career sacks, which -- if unofficial sacks dating back to 1960 are included -- is eighth all-time among defensive tackles. If not, then McMichael is fourth among tackles post-1982 when sacks became official, behind only Randle, Aaron Donald and Sapp.

McMichael brought the heat like a Hall-of-Famer.

He used a variety of moves and alternated between power and speed. He was noted for having a "decisive rip" and a "fine spin," but mostly he was a high-motor, desire kind of player who mixed toughness with determination. What else would you expect from a guy who hunted rattlesnakes for fun?

But he was not a one-dimensional player. He couldn't be. Chicago defensive coordinator Buddy Ryan (and, later, Vince Tobin) wouldn't allow it. Nor would his teammates. The Bears' run defense was a brick wall, and that took everyone. One interior lineman couldn't hunt nothing but sacks. All had to play within the structure of a defense designed to keep blockers off linebackers.

Which is where McMichael comes in. 

Chicago's defensive tackles were charged with preventing interior linemen -- a center or guards -- from "jumping through" to the second level and cutting off linebacker pursuit. They were so successful that Hampton said he'd see opponents allow offensive linemen to "jump through" to linebackers more in one game than he and McMichael did in a one-or-two-year span.

Mike Singletary would second that. Having McMichael hold up C-G (center-guard double team) or T-G (tackle guard) blocks was key to the Hall-of-Fame linebacker making tackles. In fact, in the 11 years that McMichael was a starter, the Bears' defense allowed the second-fewest rushing yards and the third-lowest yards per rush -- all while leading the league in sacks.

"MING THE MERCILESS"

The consensus All-American out of the University of Texas was a third-round draft pick of the New England Patriots who didn't get off to a blazing start. But there were reasons: He was miscast as a nose tackle in a 3-4 scheme and admittedly wasn't as committed to the game as he should have been. Then, after a back injury sidelined him as a rookie, he was cut the following August.

That's when fate intervened.

McMichael's former collegiate teammate, defensive tackle Brad Shearer, had hurt a knee and was placed on injured reserve by the Bears. So he recommended McMichael to the front office, and, in 1981, it signed the undersized defensive tackle (245 pounds) as insurance ... with some talk of converting him to center, an idea that never materialized. 

By 1982, McMichael added weight, increased his strength and began to pressure quarterbacks as he gained playing time. When starting defensive tackles Jim Osborne and Dan Hampton were injured the following season, McMichael was ready to step in and responded with  8-1/2 sacks.

From then to the end of his career, he was an elite defensive tackle.

That's not my description. It belongs to Proscout, Inc., an independent scouting form that consults with subscribing NFL teams. It grades players on a color system, with blue the highest ... then red ... then purple ... silver ... orange ... and so on. Mike Giddings Sr. is the company's founder, and he always thought five blue seasons qualified a player for the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

In eight of McMichael's 15 seasons, he was blue. And in some others, he was high red or red. 

In traditional postseason honors, "Ming the Merciless" (Dan Hampton's nickname for McMichael, a reference to Flash Gordon's arch villain) was first-team All-Pro in 1985 (AP), 1986 (PFWA, TSN) and 1987 (AP, PFWA, TSN) and was second-team All-Pro in 1988 (NEA) and in 1991 (AP).

Critics might question his two Pro Bowl selections, and that's fair. But remember two things: 1) In that era, a majority of teams played 3-4 defenses, and there were only two defensive-tackle slots, not three, on Pro Bowl teams to allow for an extra inside linebacker; and 2), it's also possible there was Bears' fatigue.

When a player or coach (fans did not vote then) filled out ballots, there are just so many from one defense they'll support. The Bears had Singletary, Hampton, Richard Dent, Wilber Marshall, Otis Wilson, Gary Fencik ... even Todd Bell and Dave Duerson ... on one side of the ball, and all were great players. With that cast, someone could be overlooked.

Steve McMichael was that someone.

"He was extremely tough, extremely physical, really quick," former San Francisco guard Randy Cross said of McMichael. "He was like Joe Klecko and then some. Those tackles being able to run that defense from the inside out, were the key. And it started with Steve, Hampton and Singletary. That triumvirate was the perfect mix of personnel and scheme."

"There's no question I think he should be in the Hall of Fame," Hall-of-Famer and former Washington guard Russ Grimm told The Athletic last year. "I’ll tell you this: If I started a football team, Steve McMichael would be one of the first guys I picked."

McMichael was the "character" of the 80's Bears' defense -- every team needs one -- with one newspaper calling him the "loon of loons" because of antics and pranks he later parlayed into a successful professional wrestling career. 

Case in point: The night prior to Super Bowl XX when he set the tone for Chicago's 46-10 demolition of New England, a defeat so extreme that Sports Illustrated's Paul Zimmerman called it a "vision of hell." Before leaving a defensive team meeting that evening, coordinator Buddy Ryan announced that it would be his last game with the Bears. McMichael then stood up and flung a chair at a chalkboard -- striking it with so much force that all four legs punctured the surface. The chair was left hanging, horizontally impaled. 

With that, the meeting concluded, and the defense exited hollering and screaming. That was Steve McMichael.

"I don't use the word 'great' for very many players," said Hall-of-Fame guard Joe DeLamielleure, "but it applies to Steve. All the guys I know talk about him; they say he was a handful. He's so underrated by fans and the media, and he's like (Joe) Klecko ... a great player. He deserves to be in the Hall of Fame."

As always, there are too senior few slots in Canton for too many qualifited players. But Steve McMichael's case is stronger than most. He has sacks, All-Pro selections, high scouting grades, a ring and respect from his peers.

Sadly, McMichael today suffers from amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) as teammates and former wrestling foes rally around him. But Hall-of-Fame voters should, too. Because Steve, Ming or Mongo ... whatever you want to call him ... has a solid case for Canton.