The Beginning
Sam’s draft started out in the most innocuous way. Sam, a lifelong Bears fan, thought it might be fun to roster Caleb Williams. While he knew it would be a “reach” by most seasoned fantasy football players, Sam wanted to have some fun and have a guy he actually enjoyed watching in real life on his team. During rounds 2 and 3, the draft board presented two options he couldn’t pass up: Rome Odunze in the second and De’Andre Swift in the third. Rome was poised for a breakout year, and Swift—over the past two seasons—had looked more and more like the bellcow back most Chicago fans thought he could be when he arrived at Soldier Field. While he now owned 3 Bears players they were reasonable picks based on draft position and potential outcomes.
Round 5 arrived with yet another “sleeper” just sitting on the board. Sam took Colston Loveland, proclaiming, “Can’t believe you let me get MY GUY.” While most of the draft looked at Sam quizzically, a few league members started to wonder if he might actually be on to something.
Rounds 6 and 7 saw Sam select Olamide Zaccheaus and Cairo Santos. After the Santos selection Sam, unprovoked, shouted, “Zisman takes kickers early—WHY CAN’T I?!” The room fell eerily silent. Zisman hadn’t yet drafted a kicker. A few of us began checking Sam’s team and, as we suspected, he had only drafted Bears to this point.
The later rounds started, and that’s when something changed. Sam’s entire demeanor shifted—he leaned closer to his laptop and started muttering things under his breath. Most of it was unintelligible, sounding either like growling or general “grrrr’ing.” But a few phrases slipped through, such as: “Why can’t I find the damn IDPs…” and “Where is Walter Payton? He’s a running back he should be on this list.”
Someone attempted to calm him down by offering him a burger, but he slapped it away snarling, “I only eat Chicago Dogs or Deep Dish from Lou Malnati’s!” genuinely offended by the prospect of eating a burger.
Finally his 11th-round pick came, and he shouted at the top of his lungs, “I’M TAKING REX GROSSMAN!”
At that moment, the room understood: Sam had lost the plot.
With the Grossman pick, any lingering hope that Sam was engaged in a harmless bit evaporated. His eyes darted around the draft room like a feral animal searching for a honey jar. He refreshed Sleeper with violent purpose, scrolling with the speed and precision of a man who practiced this ritual alone in a candle-lit basement surrounded by framed Devin Hester jerseys and half-empty bottles of Malört used for “motivation.”
Round 12 arrived.
Sam slammed his fist down and declared, “LANCE BRIGGS IS A VALUE HERE.”
Someone began to explain that Briggs retired a decade ago, but Sam hissed—actually hissed—revealing what looked suspiciously like emerging incisors.
By Round 14, he was sweating profusely and speaking in short, clipped phrases like a malfunctioning Matt Eberflus.
“Ursine… bloodline… sweet fridge… where is the fridge…”
We thought he meant actual food or the Old Style he ordered. He did not. His Round 14 pick was William “The Refrigerator” Perry.
Then the defensive selections began—none of them current players.
Round 15: “BRIAN URLACHER. STILL HAS IT.”
Round 16: “PEANUT TILLMAN. FORCE FUMBLES STILL LEGENDARY.”
Round 17: “DICK BUTKUS. YES HE’S AVAILABLE. YES HE’S ALIVE IN MY HEART.”
The air around Sam began to smell faintly of deep dish and desperation. His laptop speakers emitted what sounded like the low rumble of Soldier Field crowd noise—except it wasn’t normal crowd noise. It was… chanting.
“BEAR DOWN… BEAR DOWN… BEAR DOWN…”
Sam hunched over his keyboard, typing with the rigid precision of a taxidermied animal being puppeted by an unseen force. His spine curled. His shoulders broadened. His voice deepened into a low, guttural warning:
“No one… takes my Bear Stack…”
We all stepped back. One guy made a light joke about the Packers. Sam turned his head 180 degrees like an owl and growled. The guy immediately apologized and offered him another Malört. Sam leapt toward him yelling, “I’LL TAKE YA DOWN TO CICERO AVE FOR TALKIN’ LIKE THAT!”
Round after round, the transformation accelerated. His arms grew rounder, furrier. His posture slumped as if preparing for hibernation. His voice faded into soft growls and occasional high-pitched squeaks we later identified as attempts at saying “Trestman.”
When he drafted the 1985 Bears Defense in Round 18—an entity not even offered by the Sleeper app—the lights flickered like the Brown Line entering a blackout zone.
By Round 19, Sam was fully incapable of speech. Instead, he typed with claws—actual claws—selecting players like:
- A random long-snapper he insisted was “the future.”
- A 6th-string tight end named “Bobbly Groomsworth III,” whom no database acknowledges and might be entirely made up.
- A retired trainer from Halas Hall whose job was “stretching Jay Cutler that one time.”
- A guy he met outside Portillo’s who “had good footwork.”
Then came his final pick, Round 20.
From somewhere—nowhere—and everywhere at once, the “Super Bowl Shuffle” began blasting. It was deafening. A few guys dropped to the floor, clutching their ears.
“IT’S SO BAD!”
“WHY DID THEY MAKE THIS?!”
“MY EARS ARE BLEEDING!”
Sam’s face curved into a slow, unsettling smile.
“One final pick…”
He looked up at us—or rather, his new soft, plush, button-eyed face did—and in a gentle, velvety voice that sounded like a Care Bear speaking through a foghorn, he said:
“Mike Ditka… as my FLEX.”
The draft room fell silent.
Then, without warning, the room shook violently. A ripple tore through the floor, and a fissure opened wide. Out of the crack, Italian beefs began to flow like an unstoppable river of mid-tier sandwiches. An army of Jeremy Allen Whites emerged, all shouting in unison:
“Yes, Chef.”
A single tuft of stuffing drifted out of Sam’s hoodie. His transformation was complete.
Where Sam once stood, there was now a large, cuddly teddy bear wearing a tiny Khalil Mack jersey and clutching his laptop between felt paws. He blinked slowly, contentedly, and let out one final, satisfied growl:
“Bear… Down…”
Sam’s roster
QB: Caleb Williams
RB: De’Andre Swift
WR: Rome Odunze
WR: Olamide Zaccheaus
TE: Colston Loveland
FLEX: Mike Ditka
FLEX: Bobbly Groomsworth III
D/ST: 1985 Chicago Bears Defense
K: Cairo Santos
BENCH
Bench: Lance Briggs
Bench: Charles “Peanut” Tillman
Bench 3: Brian Urlacher
Bench 4: Dick Butkus
Bench 5: William “The Refrigerator” Perry
Bench 6: Bobbly Groomsworth III
Bench: Rex Grossman
IR: Random Portillo’s Guy With Good Footwork
Suffered a gravy-related ankle injury escaping the Italian Beef fissure.
KC Guyz 