Mike Singletary should not be in the Pro Football Hall of Fame before Dan Hampton.
Chronology, merit, common sense, whatever rules are used to sort these things out, Hampton has it over Singletary.
Hampton has it over any other defensive player from the 1980s, so I don’t mean this to sound like I am against Singletary being in the Hall of Fame.
Singletary deserves all the honors he can get. Singletary deserves his own bust in Canton, and I’m anxious to see them get the eyes right.
But when Singletary was announced, my very first thought was, where’s Hampton? Hampton must already be there, right?
Nope. Not only isn’t Hampton there, he has not even been considered.
Dwight Stephenson made the Hall of Fame this year. Dwight Stephenson. A center. Played eight years for Miami. Eight pass blocking years. Stephenson has been called the greatest center of all time.
Is it possible to know that?
Paul Krause, a free safety for Minnesota, made the Hall of Fame this year. Krause’s job was to run backward when the ball was snapped. He did this for 16 years.
Do either of these players belong in the Hall before Hampton? Not a chance.
Hampton retired two years before Singletary. Hampton has had three chances to make the Hall of Fame. Hampton has yet to get on the ballot.
George Allen didn’t make it this year. Nor did Lynn Swann nor John Stallworth. Not Carl Eller nor Jack Youngblood. But they all got votes. Hampton got zip.
And while all of them deserve to be in the Hall of Fame before Dwight Stephenson, none deserves to be there before Hampton.
Singletary would not have been the great linebacker he was without Hampton in front of him. Richard Dent would not have been the pass rusher he was without Hampton inside of him.
William Perry would not have become rich and celebrated if Hampton had not moved to the unglamorous end of the defensive line, not just allowing the Fridge legend to flourish, but spawning it as well.
Hampton got his sacks, but Dent got more. Hampton made his tackles, but Perry and Steve McMichael got the single teams.
Hampton was the focus of all defensive game plans, not Singletary, not Otis Wilson, not Wilbur Marshall. First, teams figured how to handle Hampton. Then they figured out the rest.
Still, they could not stop Hampton. Ten knee operations could not do it. Mangled hands, 15 broken bones, 300 stitches could not do it.
Any Hall of Fame voter who needs a refresher ought to look at the opening game of Hampton’s next-to-last season, against Cincinnati at Soldier Field.
Hampton blocked a field goal, sacked the quarterback twice, knocked down two passes and made seven tackles, four by himself. This is the greatest game I ever saw a defensive tackle play.
Here’s another Hampton moment, just from my memory. In the last victory Hampton would ever have as a Bear, a playoff victory over New Orleans, Hampton defined his greatness in a single play when he tackled not only Dalton Hilliard, the running back, but Hilliard’s blocker as well.
Throw that one on the play-of-the-decade machine.
Statistics are useful but, like politicians, don’t always tell the whole story. Here are some numbers that might. Through all his pain and injuries, Hampton still missed less than a game a season through the first decade of his career. Through the Ditka years, the Bears won three-fourths of the games Hampton played. In the games he didn’t, the Bears lost twice as often as they won.
The Bears’ defense of 1985 is widely considered one of the best defenses of all time, if not the very best. The best player on that defense was Hampton.
The best defensive football player in the NFL during the 1980s was Hampton.
Fair is fair.