Thread: The Chicago Bears in general, and William Refrigerator Perry in particular, changed my life. Fridge was a defensive lineman who could run the ball on offense and catch touchdowns. He's also major reason I moved to America. I wrote a book about it

Here's the story 1/

In 1982 British TV debuted a weekly NFL highlight show on Sunday nights. We were suddenly introduced to a sporting spectacle we had no previous knowledge of in form of an hour-long broadcast crushing highlights of all 14 of the previous weekend’s NFL games into a single hour

I watched in open-mouthed wonder, trying to piece together rules of this mysterious, chaotic ballet, exhilarated by the long bombs, hits and Funky Chicken celebrations played at nosebleed pace, mostly as montages set to the pulsations of Bonnie Tyler’s “Holding out for a Hero”

I immediately fell in love with the Bears: the free-flowing running of Walter Payton, punk-rock tenacity of Jim McMahon, and limelight-stealing rookie William Perry, a man so large he was nicknamed “The Refrigerator,” and emanated the naive joy of an enormous, overgrown baby

Because there was no internet and tv was a week behind, I followed Bears Super Bowl season by phoning up random 312 Chicago area numbers during games, peppering total strangers with questions about the score. (If you remember an English kid calling you back then THANK YOU)

Summer'86, I went to stay with my pen pal in Chicago’s Northern Suburbs. A trip that changed my life. In cruel coincidence I was in the United States at the very time the Super Bowl Champion Chicago Bears had elected to decamp and play their first ever game in London, England

The American Bowl pitched the Bears against the Cowboys at Wembley Stadium. Part of the draw of Chicago was chance to place myself in proximity of Walter Payton, Refrigerator Perry. Yet once again an entire Atlantic Ocean separated me and My Bears. We had merely swapped places

Every morning, I had to watch my heroes being fawned over by English people who could never love the Bears in way I loved them. Most galling were the shots of Phil Collins and his son hanging out with Walter Payton during training. I detested Phil Bloody Collins in that moment

I hate-watched the game and felt schadenfreude as the rain soaked the 86,000 English fans. Those emotions were replaced by jealously as 316-pound Refrigerator plunged into endzone from the one-yard line with 7 Cowboys bouncing off him. An exclamation point on Bears’ 17-9 win

As thousands of joyful English voices resounded around Wembley, the broadcaster let slip that the Bears would be turning round and flying directly back to Chicago O’Hare.

“We have to go meet them.” I declared. My Chicagoan friend said "Sure, why not?”
The real game was on

Cut to 2 AM. Deserted O’Hare arrivals. Only other human beings there, a 2-person camera crew from NBC’s local affiliate. They faked crowd scenes, shooting our tiny group in extreme close-up to make it seem as if large number of fans had welcomed home their triumphant heroes

At 4 AM Bears groggily deplaned. Mike Ditka emerged from customs, with signature cigar, shouting “These men are your heroes, leave them alone.” Kurt Becker was in front of me. I asked if he'd take a photo with me. “Fuck off,” he said. So Plan B, I fired off my flash in his face

Then I spied Walter Payton. The man who'd ultimately amass 16,726 rushing yards, whose poster hung above my bed alongside Debbie Gibson and Danny De Vito, was now directly in front of me. He posed for a photo like a king. But my camera jammed. Top 10 life regret to this day

There was a sudden crash behind me. It was the Fridge. Unlike the other Bears who were mostly fatigued and ill-tempered, The Fridge exuded an approachable affability. He wrapped an enormous arm around my shoulder, and let me trot alongside him, as he ambled towards the exit

He leaned in and whispered “Live your Dreams, kid. Everything is possible. If you want it. Do it. Like I Did.” Then scribbled his signature on a piece of paper (Fridge #72!) and handed it back to me. Then he too was gone

Fridge telling me anything in life is possible had roughly same effect as God talking to Moses on Mount Sinai. His words filled me with an unusual cocktail of optimism and energy. A stretch to suggest I felt dangerous. But I felt borderline capable, which for me, was progress

On freeway back from O’Hare to Northbrook at 5 a.m., I sat in the car staring at Perry’s autograph, repeating message he had whispered to me like a mantra. “Live Your Dreams… Be Yourself… Everything is Possible” Fridge gave me permission to Dream of moving to America

At the time this advice seemed so personal, aimed only at me and life-changing. Now I've spent a career working in sports, I recognize Fridge’s words as amalgam of pretty much every quasi-inspirational cliche any athlete tosses in direction of all young kids they encounter

Full Story of how I grew up as an American trapped in an Englishman's body in my book. Involves Hart to Hart, Miami Vice, Public Enemy/Beastie Boys, and of course, Tracy Chapman.

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