A Letter to Ben Johnson: Run Away While You Can
So, Ben, you took the job. The job you’ve coveted, right? This is it—the gig that’s supposed to put your stamp on the NFL. But let’s be real here: Was it worth it?
What happened to the whole “I’m holding out for my GM” mantra for the past two years? You know, the one about being on the same page when it comes to offensive philosophy and personnel. That went out the window the second you saw dollar signs, didn’t it? And yeah, the payday is probably life-changing for you and your family, but here’s the question you’ll ask yourself every night when you look in the mirror: Was it worth selling out?
Because now, you’re walking into a shitshow. You’re tied to a GM whose record as a talent evaluator is laughable. Ryan Poles (14-36), is that really the guy you want handpicking players for your offense? Let’s not sugarcoat it: The dude’s draft track record reads like a roll of toilet paper, one mistake after another and full of shit. Do you really think he will flip the switch and suddenly build a competent roster around you?
And let’s talk about “leadership” for a second. You’re putting your career in the hands of Kevin Warren, a President who’s more focused on building stadiums than football teams. This guy isn’t thinking about your offense, Ben. He’s thinking about sparkling new facilities and revenue streams. Are you really okay with your legacy being a pawn in his game?
Oh, and let’s not forget the “beloved” Chicago media and their puppet producers and bosses, who tell them what to say and do. They’re going to torch you the first time a trick play blows up, the first time your offense sputters for three straight weeks. You saw how they dragged you after last weekend. Imagine how they’ll treat you when your WR-option pass gets picked off in the red zone against Green Bay. Your wife is going to hear it at the supermarket. Your kids at school. It’s going to get ugly fast.
Ben, let’s be honest: This is a dumpster fire of an organization. You know it, and so do your friends in Detroit who have been there for the past four years. You were probably having beers while you were kicking our asses and making jokes about how untalented and undisciplined this team is.
You had something special in Detroit. Dan Campbell and Brad Holmes—run a tight ship. From top to bottom, everyone’s rowing in the same direction. Now you’re trading that for a Bears franchise where nobody’s even in the same boat, let alone rowing.
You know the talent isn’t there. You know the discipline isn’t there. And you know damn well Poles isn’t going to suddenly develop an eye for offensive line talent, a defense that wants to show up, or wide receivers who actually want to catch footballs instead of doing podcasts, radio interviews, and planning vacations.
Let me ask you this: You were so selective in a head coaching job for the past two years, making specific demands about staff and salary, that you even went so far as to blow off Josh Harris and his private jet when he offered you the Commanders job last year. And then there’s Tom Brady, who was reportedly willing to give you anything you wanted to join him in Las Vegas. So, what was the deal behind the curtain? What did the McCaskeys offer you that was so irresistible, especially when it seemed less than what these other teams had on the table?
But hey, maybe you’re playing the long game. Maybe you’re thinking, “I’ll cash in now, take my lumps, and bounce in three or four years with $40 million guaranteed.” Hell, maybe you’re hoping to pull a Mike Shanahan when he was with the Raiders—flame out here, regroup, and rewrite history somewhere else like Denver.
But here’s the thing: Shanahan had a backbone. He wasn’t afraid to tell Al Davis to go fuck himself. Are you ready to do that? Or are you just “another guy” cashing a check while the McCaskeys sell “hope on a stick” to a fanbase desperate for something, anything to believe in?
Let’s not kid ourselves. You’re walking into a mess. This team’s idea of a “plan” is to roll out a GM with the strategic acumen of a childhood actress, a President who’s more CFO than CEO, and ownership that hasn’t had a clue since George Halas was alive. The Bears are using you, Ben. You’re their shiny new toy to distract the fans while they fumble their way toward a new stadium deal.
And when it all goes to shit—because let’s face it, with this front office, it will—you’ll be the one taking the fall. Not Poles. Not Warren. Not the McCaskeys. You.
So here’s my advice: Run. Run like you’re calling a bootleg on 4th-and-1. Tell the Bears, “Thanks, but no thanks.” Wait for the right job—the one where you’re not working for a clown show. Because you’ve got the talent, Ben. You’ve got the vision. But if you hitch your wagon to this circus, you’re just another act in the show—and not the headliner.
But if you’re dead set on taking this gig, at least do it on your terms. Before you sign the deal, walk into George McCaskey’s office, look him in the eye, and say, “Here’s how it’s going to be. Real football people in charge, or I’m out.” Have a backbone, channel your inner Michael from The Wire, and tell them, “Nah, man, no thanks.” “No, thank you.”
If you can’t do that, then enjoy the money. But know this: When the losses pile up, when the media turns, and when your wife asks if it was worth it, you’ll have to live with the answer.
Good luck, brother. I hope the payday was worth your soul.
As of Today, the Chicago Bears are valued at approximately $6.4 billion.
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