Bears coach Ben Johnson is driven by his quest to entertain — and embarrass

It’s coming, right? Has to be.

The flash. The fun. The new flavor of the Chicago Bears offense.

Some time on Monday night, Ben Johnson will seek his ideal moment. He’ll assess the game situation and look for his opening. Johnson knows what the people want and what Bears fans now expect. Some well-timed and well-coordinated gadgetry. A little razzle-dazzle.

This is Johnson’s debut as an NFL head coach. With one of the league’s charter franchises. Under the “Monday Night Football” spotlight, in a division game against the Minnesota Vikings at Soldier Field.

Certainly he understands the need for stage presence.

So it’s coming, right? Something innovative and exhilarating to get the football universe buzzing?

Bears assistant head coach Antwaan Randle El scowls playfully at how obvious the answer is. “Of course,” Randle El says. “I mean that’s part of this, right?”

Johnson grins but, perhaps a little out of character, is more reserved.

“We’re still working through all that,” he says. “We’ll see what we can cook up.”

By now, it has been well established that ingenuity is Johnson’s calling card, a primary fuel source for the next-level offense he built with the Detroit Lions and is now trying to replicate in Chicago. But to be clear, all the creative flair that helped make the Lions’ highlight montage so riveting the past three seasons — and particularly last year when Detroit scored an NFL-high 564 points — is only a fraction of the story.

Dive deeper into Johnson’s coaching credo and it becomes obvious there are layers to his ideology as an aggressive playcaller and detail-obsessed mastermind of efficient yet explosive football.

Johnson is at once motivated to assault defenses from every angle — and with zero letup — while putting on a compelling show. He also understands that the only way to accomplish those things at a high level is to demand that every detail be executed just right.

“Offensive football,” Johnson says, “is about precision. I don’t think you can let things slide.”

On his first full day at Halas Hall in January, on the morning Johnson met quarterback Caleb Williams face-to-face, he sandwiched a non-negotiable directive between the greetings and pleasantries. Before Johnson could begin teaching and developing his talented young quarterback, Williams needed to understand what makes his new coach tick.

“You can see the competitiveness in his eyes,” Williams said that afternoon, “the fire in his eyes.”

The fuel for that blaze — a competitive inferno, really — is Johnson’s intentional, almost perverse desire to attack opponents. Quickly, continually and without mercy.

For a coach so often lauded for showcasing the intelligence and problem-solving skills of Sherlock Holmes, Johnson also has a much more savage side to him. Think Anton Chigurh from “No Country for Old Men.”

So, yes, the naturally affable Williams had to quickly understand that Johnson needed him to sharpen his own competitive edge.

“Sportsmanship,” Williams told reporters that day, “is for the end of the game — when you shake hands and are respectful in those ways. But when you’re on the football field? You want the other teams to feel as if you’ve embarrassed them.”

For Johnson, those comments served as an early moment of pride. Message delivered. And message received. Embarrassment is indeed a goal.

Nearly three months earlier, with the Lions five victories into an 11-game winning streak, Johnson’s unrelenting aggressiveness made headlines when Packers safety Xavier McKinney found himself taken aback during video preparation for Detroit’s offense.

The Lions were coming off a 52-14 throttling of the Titans, which came two Sundays after a trip to Dallas produced a 47-9 whupping of the Cowboys. During that fireworks show, the Lions ignited a reverse flea-flicker for a 52-yard touchdown pass to tight end Sam LaPorta.

Later, deep into the second half and with Detroit ahead 37-9, Johnson pulled even more deception off his call sheet, dialing up a nifty hook-and-ladder — from quarterback Jared Goff to receiver Amon-Ra St. Brown to, yep, right tackle Penei Sewell.

And while that near-touchdown was negated by a penalty, the intent was obvious.

The Lions Express, it seemed, had no brake pedal.

“I think they try to embarrass people,” McKinney said. “Personally, I’m not a big fan of that — trying to embarrass someone. I don’t really respect that. It is what it is.”

Indeed it is. And, from a karma standpoint, perhaps dangerously so.

But not only is Johnson unapologetic about that M.O., he embraced McKinney’s criticism. Almost sent a “thank you” note.

“To me,” Johnson says now with a wide grin, “that was the greatest compliment I could have gotten. All year long. Like, ‘You know what? You’re right. You’re 100% right.’”

For Johnson, the goal has always been to establish that dominant mindset, to have his offense maniacally hunt the end zone on each possession — regardless of time and score. Without everyone first embracing that attitude, little else is possible.

The quest to embarrass may sound harsh. But understand this: the NFL offers the highest level of cutthroat competition imaginable. It requires hostility. Thus Johnson has never sought approval for his wish to humiliate the opposition.

“People may get bent out of shape about that,” Randle El says. “But at the end of the day, no one should walk into a game saying, ‘We’re going to try to win this by 1.’”

During one of Johnson’s first meetings at Halas Hall, he asked his new players what could be better than scoring 30 points. The answer, of course, was scoring 40-plus.

Last season, Johnson’s Lions scored 40 points six times and topped 50 twice, including a 52-6 thrashing of Jacksonville in November in which they amassed a franchise-record 645 yards.

“We’re trying to score a touchdown every single time,” Johnson says. “And sure, everyone says that. But it’s a little different to live that way. It doesn’t matter what the score says. That’s our mission. And if we come off the field and we’re not doing that, then we failed.”

Is it any wonder then that during the Bears’ second preseason game against the Bills, general manager Ryan Poles sat convinced Johnson was going to tack on a sixth touchdown in the final minutes of an August exhibition his team was leading by 38 points?

Instead, with the Bears inside the red zone, Johnson killed the final two minutes off the clock with three kneeldowns. Poles laughed, wondering if someone had gotten to Johnson. The Bears GM is confident that decision was an outlier.

Poles, too, has heard directly — and often — about Johnson’s weekly thirst to embarrass opponents. And like Williams, he quickly came to understand how serious Johnson is about that.

“It’s one thing to say it,” Poles said. “It’s another to prepare to do that. And I think when that is your mentality, the bar goes up. It’s not like we’re just trying to get by. We want to be dominant.”

That’s a big reason Johnson’s training camp practices this summer were so intense and physical. It’s why, on the night before the Bears hosted a joint practice with the Dolphins, Johnson enlivened the team meeting with a clip from UFC 239 in 2019. At the opening bell of the welterweight main event, Jorge Masvidal ambushed Ben Askren with a flying knee to the jaw, scoring a five-second knockout that was as swift as it was devastating.

Bears players watched and understood Johnson’s intent. They were equally energized to arrive at Halas Hall the next morning with the same footage looping on TVs across the facility.

“Ben was trying to rile guys up. No question,” safety Kevin Byard says. “The message was clear. That was the kind of tone he wanted set.

“And that was a mentality moment for us. It was like, ‘This is our first time as a team going against another team. So I don’t care if it’s practice or a game. They’ve come to our house and we have to set the tone. Just like this dude did in this fight.”

Not coincidentally, the Bears quickly established themselves as the aggressors in that day’s practice, flying around with competitive purpose and tenacity and, at a minimum, leaving the Dolphins taken aback by their aggression.

Message delivered. Message received.

Without hesitation or contrition, Johnson concedes he can be, to put it nicely, a bit of a competitive pest. “Yep,” he says. “That is real.”

It’s at the core of most everything he does. But Johnson also remains cognizant of why the NFL’s popularity has become what it has. This is, after all, still an entertainment industry. So that, too, remains a principal motivator.

Last season alone, 12 Lions players from five offensive position groups scored touchdowns covering the full spectrum of creativity and pizazz.

Who doesn’t appreciate a little entertainment?

“I can’t say that’s the end-all be-all when it comes to creating a game plan,” Johnson said. “We want to win first and foremost. But if we can add some cool little wrinkles in the meantime, then why not?”

Last season, Johnson’s offense scored 68 touchdowns, matching the total the Bears’ offense posted in 2023 and 2024 combined. Overall, Detroit also averaged 409.5 yards per game, a number the Bears topped only once.

That’s the credibility Johnson carried into Halas Hall. Which is why Bears players have been so receptive to his intense manner and incessant demands for concentration and precision.

“The most credible thing in our league is the tape,” tight end Cole Kmet says. “You put on his tape and it shows. The concepts work. And even when we’re out here practicing and there’s a (screw)-up, you can see the concept works if everyone just handles just their responsibility.”

That’s the code to unlock the world of imagination Johnson enjoys so much. Attention to detail is mandatory — at the highest level. That applies to the depth of the running back, the aiming point for an offensive lineman, the split of a receiver. It’s operational command from the quarterback and route precision from pass catchers.

Says Randle El: “You detail everything. Over and over and over again. And if we consistently master the detail, it all fits like a puzzle.”

Yes, Chicago, this brand of imaginative, artistic, explosive football could soon be yours — once the Bears pass through the necessary checkpoints in building their offense with the fastidiousness Johnson demands.

Perhaps soon running back D’Andre Swift will throw a touchdown pass to tight end Colston Loveland the way David Montgomery hit LaPorta for a score against the Titans last season.

Perhaps offensive tackle Darnell Wright will snare a TD catch like veteran lineman Dan Skipper did for Detroit in December.

Perhaps Rome Odunze and Olamide Zaccheaus harmonize for some hook-and-ladder brilliance the way St. Brown and Jameson Williams did on a 41-yard Lions score against the 49ers in Week 17.

And maybe even Caleb Williams can catch a TD pass. Last September, Goff secured his first career touchdown reception on a throwback pass from St. Brown.

That type of excitement should be coming, right?

Eventually, Johnson says.

“That gets developed over the course of time,” he says. “Trust is the No. 1 thing. And that’s what we’re in the midst of developing. It’s ‘Who can we trust to do what we ask and to a level where teammates can trust each other?’ Because to do all that fun, creative stuff, we need guys who are willing to do all the right things we ask them to. That’s where the magic starts to happen.

“We’re not quite there yet. But I would love to start pushing.”

Twenty-four days before Johnson hit the Bears with his now-renowned “Stumblebum” trickery at Soldier Field last season, he tried to outwit Matt Eberflus’ defense with “Mighty Duck.” That play’s name was a nod to the University of Oregon, where Sewell starred. And if everything with “Mighty Duck” unfolded the way Johnson envisioned, Sewell was set to become the centerpiece of a Thanksgiving magic trick.

Yes, a 6-foot-5, 335-pound offensive lineman was cleared to take a pitch and throw a rollout pass. But the Bears were in Cover-2 and the play was dead on arrival.

“I was trying to time it up,” Johnson says, “against any other coverage but that.”

Thankfully for the Lions, as cornerback Tyrique Stevenson and linebacker Tremaine Edmunds dropped in coverage, Sewell did as taught. He protected the play, kept the football and did his damndest to barrel over every defender in his path.

Linebacker Jack Sanborn became the victim of a vicious stiff arm. Defensive end Austin Booker charged at Sewell but bounced off. On the back end of the defense, Byard’s eyes widened as two additional Bears closed in.

“I remember thinking, ‘Somebody get this big (expletive) on the ground before I have to get in there and get a stiff arm,’” he says.

Eventually, four defenders corralled Sewell for a 1-yard loss. Still, perhaps never in the history of Ford Field has there been a sack of a Lions player that elicited such boisterous excitement.

On the ninth snap of the opening drive, the Lions had sent a message. The entire building shook.

“The crowd responded just like I thought they would,” Johnson says.

Byard knew in the moment the Bears were going to have to match the Lions’ boldness and fire for the entire afternoon. And he realized the defense suddenly had so many additional thoughts to sort through — about where the Lions’ attacks might originate and who all might potentially touch the football.

In retrospect, as his own relationship with Johnson grows, Byard appreciates what “Mighty Duck” signified. And he admires the cocksure way Johnson calls plays.

“I would almost say it’s borderline disrespectful,” Byard says. “But I mean that in a good way. It’s from a place of ‘I believe in us.’”

With fearlessness and high-level play-calling feel, Johnson’s operation at the chessboard has become compelling. It’s rooted in his detailed early-week study of the opposition and his attempt to identify a defense’s rules and exploit those. Johnson’s devotion to continual self-scouting also offers strategic intel.

“It’s not revolutionary,” Johnson says. “It’s, ‘What is the opponent practicing during the week? What do we think their coaches are telling their players? And how can we use that information against them?’”

Oh, and for those wondering what the next frontier might be, it’s worth noting last season’s Lions ran five plays in 2024 that incorporated downfield laterals. That included the aforementioned 41-yard Jameson Williams TD in San Francisco; another 21-yard score by Jahmyr Gibbs; plus two other plays that went for first downs.

For Johnson, the challenge of refining and perfecting schoolyard chaos has lightbulbs popping in his brain.

“There’s something there that’s still untapped for the entire league,” Johnson says.

In his smartphone photo library, Johnson keeps a snapshot from spring 2019 as a reminder.

The picture was taken at Hollywood Beach in South Florida. Pristine blue water. Sunny sky. Just a perfect May day.

At the time, Johnson was 33. His wife, Jessica, had recently given birth to their second child, Kennedy. They were living in paradise. And with his coaching career in a holding pattern, he had an abundance of free time.

“It should have been the best time in my life,” Johnson says.

Yet the emptiness he felt during that period was as jarring as anything he’d experienced.

“Because something I loved got ripped away from me,” he says.

In January of that year, Johnson was dismissed as Dolphins receivers coach, collateral damage after the organization fired head coach Adam Gase. When another opportunity didn’t immediately materialize, Johnson was shaken, occasionally wondering if he had his cue to follow the family path into teaching.

By May, he had grown both restless and disgruntled.

“Spring football had started,” Johnson says. “OTAs were starting up again. And it’s just … you’re missing out. You’re missing out on what was a big part of who you were. It’s being around the locker room and inside the building and with all those guys. It’s having a professional purpose.”

Johnson has never forgotten the contrast between that Hollywood Beach beauty and the inner darkness he felt. He still regularly shows and explains that photo to players as a cue to retain gratitude for their opportunities.

But that entire experience — with Johnson landing with the Lions in September 2019 as a quality control coach — also changed him and stoked his ambition. Admittedly a people pleaser for much of his life, Johnson made a Sinatra-like vow to attack the rest of his career his way.

“It’s a big reason I’m not afraid anymore,” he says. “Maybe before I was worried about getting fired or worried about failure. Now it’s, ‘No. I’m gonna cut loose. I’m gonna cut loose everything on that plan we put together. If it works, great. And if it doesn’t and I have to hear the repercussions? That’s fine as well. But we’re going to go down the right way.”

To Johnson, the right way is the aggressive way. The detailed way. The entertaining way. He hopes all that will be on display when the Bears open the season with Monday night’s big-stage, bright-lights game.

After that? Johnson will return to Detroit for a spirited Week 2 reunion.

Something attention-grabbing has to be coming, right?

The curtain is starting to rise. The anticipation is palpable.

“Let’s go have some fun,” Johnson says.

It’s obvious he means that — so long as his definition of fun is fully understood.

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