Good morning, Monsters of the Midway.
In a few short hours, you will once again take to the gridiron and defend your home, your
fortress, Soldier Field. And defend her you shall.
Colonel Cutler, you now have the finest corps of officers and enlisted men surrounding you that you have seen during your time in this theater. No longer do you have to do it all on your own. Place your trust in Majors Marshall, Forte and Bush. Together you can, and you
will, do amazing things. Watching your battle plans unfold shall be a thing of beauty. Pay no heed to the degenerates guarding your front line, as we had to draft some town drunks in a pinch. Allow your own magic to flourish.
Colonel Urlacher ... my old war horse. Though you have endured many a campaign and you have the scars to show it, I have faith in you that you will continue to show the leadership, the strength and the resolve which you have so admirably displayed for the past many years. Continue to tutor young Private McClellin and Captain Roach, and provide the disruptions which will allow Major Peppers to rush forth like Hell itself unleashed.
General Smith ... just go get fucked and play in the corner with your challenge flag or something.
These ... Colts have a new field marshal, by the name of Luck. It is fitting that his first taste of the battlefield is in combat with your corps. Do not be shaken by his reputation, or his so-called hype. He is untested, he is young. He is
fresh meat, and you are
Bears. Do what Bears do.
And take the field knowing that when all is said and done, when the wounds are licked and the knees are taped, you will have accomplished one thing:
You will have made the Colts your bitch.
To your posts, gentlemen.