Beard Down, Chicago Bears. Beard. Down.

Amidst the packing of the various micro-brewery pint glasses and respectful disassembly of the homemade Crown Royal purple bag wallpaper, Kyle Orton’s eyes drifted towards his open guitar case. The same eyes that naturally would find the opening for any of the latchkey kids the Bears had employed at wide receiver the past few years now fell upon a mess of loose papers inside the case. It was then that reality sunk in for the former Bear play-caller. This truly was the day the music died.

Between patchy exhibitions of facial hair, confusing exchanges with Ron Turner, and an affinity with Jim Beam that can only be termed “Robert Downey Jr.-esque,” Orton’s life had settled down here in the Windy City but was now messily thrown aside like the papers upon which he vacantly stared. In a professional sports organization with a fan base loyal and hopeful to the point of idiocy, a decent quarterback could find employment and solace. Orton had grown to embrace his recognition as a son of Halas Hall and, in a nod to his naively construed premonition that any dude looks good with a guitar, an über-douchey college tradition for any man, along with not showering and hemp necklaces, felt he could pen an ode to his beloved Bears organization. Orton, a noodling guitar player when sober and bourbon-soaked full-blown artist by 10 p.m., as evidenced by him screaming such in your face at Enclave, had scratched out on these loose papers the beginning of what would establish his lore in the annals of innately limited Bear quarterbacks, his musical, “Beard Down.”

Chants of what first began as a sideline mocking of Orton’s statuesque maneuverability after bone-crunching sacks had struck Orton as a flash of genius that was more likely concussed tingling and nausea. But Orton, used to vomiting during his most profound and sweaty drunk moments at 4 a.m., sensed this as a sign and promptly took pencil to cocktail napkin at the airport bar. Transposing these disheveled thoughts to paper on the flight home, Orton, still not fit to converse in polysyllabic words, really took hold to the idea and passionately delved into his love for his organization. The next morning, confused and unsure of what he had written, Orton set the papers aside and didn’t return to them until 1 a.m. the next night and reviewed them in a glassy-eyed and gin-infused wonderment interrupted by moments of pride. Over the weeks, Orton added to his masterpiece, often in the early hours of the morning in the company of peroxide blondes, empty fifths of Jack Daniels and his most fucking awesome DVR’d episodes of “Family Guy.”

But now, while packing and after realizing he would need to borrow some tens of glass recycling bins from his now former teammates, Kyle stood in despair looking at this seemingly lost cause of foolhardy genius. Its magic, unfortunately, would have to be overestimated in a new time zone with new teammates, none of whom Orton feared he would ever have to utter the words, “What do you mean you habitually crap the bed, Rex?” For now, Chicago has a new captain and play-caller to embrace, one with unyielding potential and hope, ripe for Bears fans to crush in the throes of blind allegiance. But one who cannot compete with the subtle limitations that true Bears fans knew to embrace. Sure, Bears fans can anticipate passes underthrown to streaking receivers; look at Cutler’s indistinguishable chin or moppish hair and extract tinges of Blagoje-like qualities and estimate the number of starry-eyed girls lacking esteem and basic math skills that Cutler will simultaneously likely offend and welcome to stay the night. These things, however, do not capture the lack of finesse and cognizance symbolized in that crawling scratchy bearded under-jaw by which Bears fans will know Kyle Orton. As you head west, Kyle, think not of the love now forlorn but of the massive amounts of peyote you will likely encounter in a city that does not appreciate a hard Midwestern night’s drinking. Sunshine on your shoulders, Kyle. Sunshine on your shoulders.