Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...

The Bears were looking forward to this, home again, in daylight, eager to show what had happened in Miami was neither delusion nor illusion, but only past bedtime, and if they could do it once, they could do it again with everybody watching.

A modest goal in a season of scant achievement, and after playing the worst game in the entire length of the Wannstedt Interlude, the Bears, those who managed to finish the game, had to trudge past their fans, those who bothered to use their tickets and stay until the end of the game, to such tender shouts of gratitude as they all ought to catch the next train out of town or throw themselves under it.

The most popular sentiment was that this Bears team be replaced by the bunch that was also using Soldier Field to film the TV show “Early Edition.”

And to be honest, I could not tell the difference. This does not make for a realistic TV show.

One man’s props are another man’s solution.

“You sure as heck wouldn’t think that a team with only one win would be overconfident,” mused Dave Wannstedt. “That can’t be it.”

Wannstedt can talk himself into believing that, and maybe some of us, but the Bears played like heirs waiting for the will to be read.

Or to frame it in the circumstance of the moment, like one of Chris Zorich’s charities, expecting Zorich to show up with a turkey, the Redskins.

Is this the coach’s fault? It would seem to be so.

“I tried to warn our guys about this team,” Wannstedt said.

Just so we know whom to blame.

The bottom is more a condition than a destination, an uncertain place, and my feeling is that the Bears have not reached it yet, though this is clearly some sort of Wannstedtian low plateau.

It is not just the 31-8 defeat, but the manner of it, in preparation, in execution, in frustration.

Making Washington quarterback Gus Frerotte–who was in tears after last week’s loss to Baltimore–look like Joe Montana is something the Bears have not done since they made Bubby Brister an All-Pro for a day.

The Bears have become alchemists, turning tin into gold.

Not bothering to tackle or cover or catch or run or block, or field a punt or kick one, well, these are just the details of humiliation, not the alibis.

“Our offense was bad, our defense was bad and our special teams haven’t been getting it done altogether,” said Tyrone Hughes, the nominal kick returner for the Bears.

Hughes has been such a disappointment for the Bears–a fumbled punt, another botched return this day–that he just cries out to have his face slapped, which is what lineman Todd Burger actually tried to do.

“Very immature on my part,” Burger said.

True. The mature thing to do would have been to wait until Hughes took his helmet off. As it was, all Burger managed was a two-handed shove of his teammate.

“I love Tyrone Hughes,” Burger said. “I think he’s a hell of a guy.”

One would avoid being Burger’s enemy.

The prize for immaturity, however, has to go to Curtis Conway, positively Rodmanesque in an end-zone snit just before the half that probably cost the Bears a score, Conway himself and whatever chance there was to win the game.

No matter that Conway was right. He was interfered with by Cris Dishman on a pass play. In protest, Conway put his hands on an official for 15 yards, an ejection and fine, tore off his helmet, another 15 yards, and stomped around in solo fury for a good half-minute without any of the Bears either trying to console him or support him.

The Bears stood around and watched as if Conway was the floor show and there was no cover charge.

It was Dishman who finally showed Conway some sympathy. It is a sad day when your enemy is your only friend.

“He shouldn’t have done that. That was huge,” said Raymont Harris. “Curtis just exploded.”

Conway’s two-hand slam of his helmet was impressive, but not as stylish as Erik Kramer’s one-hand slam of his helmet later, though Bryan Cox still maintains the team standard. The Bears can match up well against any team in the league in helmet-slamming.

“Three days ago, everybody was clapping hands,” Wannstedt said. “Things don’t change in three days.”

No, it has taken about 4 1/2 years to reach this point.