Anticipation being the mother of disappointment, it is not clear what else Mike Ditka could have done to justify the curiosity surrounding his first visit to Soldier Field as enemy coach, so standing around spitting and scratching will have to serve.
He might have, oh, popped out of a cake, or out of a coffin, something dramatic, sung the anthem or recited the “Cremation of Sam McGee,” with music, over the public address system.
Ditka could have swung in on a vine. “Mike, Mike. Mike of the Bayou, friend to you and me . . .”
None of that happened, or little else. In the game, on the sidelines.
Not one clipboard was thrown nor one quarterback rebuked, though if Jim Harbaugh ever deserved to be scolded, rookie Heisman holder Danny Wuerffel could use an actual flogging.
The only way to know Ditka was around was to pick him out of the solemn laundry along the New Orleans sideline, like looking for a wart in a box of raisins.
More Top Picks Convergence Insufficiency Symptoms In Children
Coaches, even prodigal coaches, are hardly worth the price of admission, even if they validate.
“This was not about me,” Ditka said, “it was about two football teams trying to get better.”
Modesty fits Ditka like a parachute.
Ditka’s welcome was not as much warm as it was polite, there being possibly a substantial number of witnesses who remember not the single Super Bowl gained but the Super Bowl opportunities wasted.
“I understand the hype,” Ditka said. “I just hope it is not like this when we come back in October.”
On this night whatever Ditka could do would cause no harm, not, for example, on a scale with turning the playoff Bears over to Doug Flutie or letting his own ego and selfishness depreciate a dynasty before its time.
Ditka is well out of Chicago and Chicago well out of Ditka, both better off.
On a sartorial note, it must be mentioned that Ditka has foregone his old shag rug sweaters and multi-hued leathers, settling instead for a modest, if entire, black ensemble, looking not unlike Johnny Cash without the belt buckle or acoustic guitar.
Ditka still paces and frets and bends, chomps on chewing gum as if it offends him, all familiar tics, and with good reason since the New Orleans Saints are a team made for worry, not that the Bears are any better today than when Ditka tearfully excused himself into the rest of his life and ours five years ago.
Judging from the last preseason game for each side, both the Saints and Bears are going to go through the season like two hermit crabs operating out of the same shell.
What could not be determined on this night was proof that Ditka should still be the coach of the Bears and that Dave Wannstedt should be spinning some other team’s wheels.
Ditka has the advantage of being freshly unfailed, while Wannstedt finds himself roughly where Ditka was in his last season here, faced with the chore of making an adequate team exceptional.
Wannstedt does, at least, seem to have the energy to do it, while Ditka, if memory serves, spent his last seasons with the Bears looking for something to lean on.
Justice does not appear to care. From here the Saints go to St. Louis, to open the season against a team with prospects as limited as their own, while the Bears open on Sept. 1 in Green Bay against the Super Bowl champions.
“I’m lucky to be back,” Ditka said. “You go through life and I’ve been blessed, to be here, to leave here, to have an opportunity one more time. What a thrill it is to have a second chance. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”
During pregame warmups, Ditka assumed his station on the 40-yard line and waited for petitioners to call, as old friends and strangers did, a parade of the courteous and the curious.
Wannstedt made his way to Ditka early and the two found enough conversation for a full five minutes, acting not like legend and shadow but cohorts in common misery.
Mike McCaskey, the most recent man to fire Ditka, paid his respects as well. They talked, Ditka said, about golf in Ireland. Ditka laughed several times.
Insincerity is the best revenge.