CHICAGO — Bears fans like me love the brutes.
The crazy ones — and the mean ones, guys who punished opponents physically regardless of the score — and took great pleasure in it.
Growing up, I cheered "The Hit Men" Gary Fencik and Doug Plank, "Samurai" Mike Singletary and "Mama's Boy" Otis Wilson, the "Colonel" Richard Dent, Dan "Danimal" Hampton and Steve "Mongo" McMichael.
But not one of those guys could live up to the legend (or at least the nickname) of Bears great, Ed "The Claw" Sprinkle — "The Meanest Man in Football."
Legendary Bears coach and owner "Papa Bear" George Halas said Sprinkle was the best pass rusher he'd ever seen.
Sprinkle, who lived in south suburban Palos Hills, died last month. He was 90 years old.
I had never heard of "The Claw" until after his death when a pal forwarded me an obituary that quoted extensively from a Nov. 25, 1950, Collier's Weekly story by Bill Fay, the guy credited with dubbing Sprinkle the NFL's meanest player.
So on Monday, I headed to Harold Washington Library to read the Sprinkle profile, which starts with the story of a game between the Bears and the Iona prison team in Grand Rapids, Michigan, in which "The Claw" used a trademark tripping move to take out one of his own teammates (a rookie) to allow the inmates — some who were playing "an awfully long season," so to speak — to forego the humiliation of being shut out.
That was one of Sprinkle's several hallmark moves along with "chucking" (grabbing a player by his jersey to throw him off stride), "spinning" (grabbing a jersey to spin a player to the ground) and a good old-fashioned clothesline, which earned him the nickname "The Claw."
In the 1946 Championship game against New York, Sprinkle got credit for knocking one Giants players out of the game, breaking the nose of another and helping separate the shoulder of a third player, according to the Collier's story.
Sprinkle's pass rush is credited with pressuring the Giants' quarterback into making a poor pass that was intercepted and returned for a touchdown that all but locked up the title for the Bears.
Halas is quoted as saying Sprinkle was the "best pass rusher I've ever seen."
Halas even allowed Sprinkle to wear No. 7, the same jersey number Papa Bear — who was also known as "Mr. Everything" — wore when he was the Bears owner, coach and player.
"Ed Sprinkle wore the No. 7 with distinction, as did George Halas before him," Bears chairman George H. McCaskey said the day after Sprinkle died. "He was a real rough-and-tumble guy who made a name for himself around the league with just how competitive a player he was. … He will be missed."
Sprinkle was an NFL champion, played in four Pro Bowls and was named to the NFL's 1940 All-Decade team, but was never inducted into the NFL Hall of Fame, which he considered a great injustice, according to a December 2013 story in the National Football Post.
"My personal opinion is that politics played into getting players into the Hall of Fame that didn't deserve it," Sprinkle was quoted as saying. "I feel like I deserve to be in the Hall of Fame. It probably won't happen."
"The Claw" never thought his aggressive style of play made him the "meanest" player in the NFL by a long shot.
He once told a reporter that NFL players in his era played rougher because there were fewer spots on teams and they had to work harder, so they did. And sometimes people took a beating.
"I never really played dirty football in my life," Sprinkle once said in response to the article, according to ChicagoBears.com. "But I'd knock the hell out of a guy if I got the chance."
In the Collier's story, Fay wrote that Sprinkle learned how to apply the "Bears' golden rule: Do unto others before others do unto you."
Sprinkle's daughter, Susan Withers, told me her dad used to put it this way: "It was better to give than to receive … in the NFL."
After playing for the Bears, Sprinkle retired to the south suburbs.
He ran Ed Sprinkle Tile and Carpet in Palos Hills — a sign near the door with a little bear and the No. 7 reminded customers of his playing days — and nobody ever called him mean.
After the carpet shop closed, Sprinkle owned a bowling alley in Chicago Ridge where Withers and her brothers worked growing up. He coached his boys, Alan and Steven, in youth baseball and football and remained friends with some of the guys he played with on the Bears, especially quarterback George Blanda.
"My mom and dad and George and his wife would travel together. He also was friends with Bill Bishop and Sid Luckman," Withers said.
For the last 12 years of Sprinkle's life he lived with his daughter and son-in-law, David Withers, in Palos Hills.
Even though Sprinkle's eyesight and hearing were failing due to his age, he always watched Bears games.
"Ed loved the Bears. We watched a lot of games together," David Withers said.
"He'd say how much the game had changed and that if any of his teammates danced in the end zone that Halas would fine them and never tolerate any of that. He also said that Sid Luckman was the greatest passer of all time."
Sprinkle lived to be one of the oldest surviving Bears players of his generation and died surrounded by family who loved him.
"The last 12 years it was wonderful to have dad to talk to. He was very intelligent. He gave advice, input, but never told you what to do. That was your decision," Susan Withers said.
"It was always so nice to see him every morning when we woke up and every day when we came home work. And [he] really loved our little dog, Rufus, who always sat by my father and was good company for him."
Some days, she would catch her father reaching his hand that once was his legendary "claw" under his chair to slip Ol' Rufus table scraps.
"I'd say, 'What are you feeding Rufus, Dad?'" she said. "And he's smile and say 'Nothing, nothing.' Oh how he loved that little dog."
As things turned out, the "Meanest Man in Football" was a sweetie, with a heart of gold.
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