If you want to see a Chicago Bears fan’s face turn a specific shade of purple, just mention the name Charles Martin. Honestly, it’s been decades, but the wound is still wide open in the Midwest. Most people know the clip—the grainy 1980s footage of a defensive lineman basically suplexing a quarterback into the turf—but the context around that day in 1986 is even weirder and more calculated than just a "late hit."
Charles Martin wasn't just a guy who lost his temper. He came to Soldier Field that day with a literal hit list.
The Towel That Changed NFL History
Before the game even kicked off, Martin was seen on the sidelines wearing a white towel tucked into his waistband. This wasn't for wiping sweat. On it, he had scrawled the jersey numbers of five Chicago players: 9, 34, 83, 63, and 29.
Basically, he was hunting.
Jim McMahon was number 9. Walter Payton was 34. Willie Gault, Jay Hilgenberg, and Dennis Gentry rounded out the list. It was a pre-meditated statement of intent that most modern fans would find insane. In today’s NFL, you’d be suspended for a season before the first whistle blew for something like that. Back then? It was just "Packers vs. Bears" intensity taken to a dark, jagged edge.
The Hit Heard 'Round the World
The actual incident happened in the second quarter. McMahon threw an interception—a ball caught by Mark Murphy—and the play was effectively over. McMahon was just standing there, hands on his hips, watching the return.
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Then came Martin.
He didn't just shove him. He wrapped his arms around McMahon, lifted him off the ground, and slammed him shoulder-first into the rock-hard artificial turf of Soldier Field. It was at least two or three full seconds after the ball was gone. Maybe more. Referee Jerry Markbreit, who was right there, later said it was the most violent act he’d ever seen on a football field.
Markbreit’s reaction was legendary. He grabbed Martin by the arm and told him he was ejected. When Martin tried to argue, the ref reportedly told him, "If you don't come with me, I'm going to let the Bears kill you."
Martin looked at the Chicago sideline, saw the literal mob of players wanting his head, and decided the locker room was a much safer place.
Why the Charles Martin Hit Still Matters Today
People often forget that the 1986 Bears were arguably better than the 1985 "Super Bowl Shuffle" team. They were 10-2 at the time of the hit. They had a defense that was statistically more dominant than the year before. But when Martin slammed McMahon, he didn't just cause a penalty; he tore McMahon’s rotator cuff.
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The Bears' season essentially died on that turf. They ended up starting Doug Flutie in the playoffs, and the chemistry just wasn't there. They lost in the divisional round to Washington.
For many in Chicago, Charles Martin is the reason the 80s Bears aren't a dynasty with three rings.
A Precedent for Discipline
Before this, the NFL was pretty lax on on-field violence. This was the era of the "Bounty Bowl" and head-slaps. But the brutality of the McMahon hit forced Commissioner Pete Rozelle to act. Martin was suspended for two games.
That sounds like nothing now, right?
But at the time, it was the first multi-game suspension for an on-field incident in the modern era. It set the stage for how the league handles "non-football acts." Martin became the blueprint for what the league would no longer tolerate.
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The Man Behind the Number 94
Charles Martin was a massive human being, 6-foot-4 and nearly 280 pounds, nicknamed "Too Mean." He didn't take a traditional path to the Packers. He played at Livingston University (now West Alabama) and had stints in the USFL and CFL before landing in Green Bay.
The tragedy of the story is that his life off the field was as turbulent as his play on it.
- Alcoholism: Martin struggled with severe alcohol abuse for years.
- Legal Troubles: He was arrested for disorderly conduct and was known for getting into bar fights.
- Health: The years of abuse took a toll. He died in 2005 at the age of only 45 due to kidney failure.
It’s a grim ending to a career defined by a single, ugly moment. Even Green Bay fans often distance themselves from him. It wasn't "Packer football." It was a coach, Forrest Gregg, who encouraged a "win at all costs" mentality that eventually spiraled out of control. Mike Ditka, the Bears coach, never forgave Gregg. He believed the hit was coached, not just a player going rogue.
Actionable Insights for Football Historians
If you’re looking into the legacy of the Green Bay Packers or this specific era of the NFL, here are a few things to keep in mind:
- Watch the Full Game Footage: Don't just watch the 10-second clip of the hit. Watch the lead-up. You can see the tension building for a quarter and a half before the explosion.
- Research the 1986 Bears Stats: Compare their defensive numbers to 1985. It helps you understand why the hit felt like such a robbery of a potential dynasty.
- Check the Suspension History: Look at how the NFL’s disciplinary policy evolved after 1986. You can draw a direct line from Charles Martin to the massive fines and suspensions players like Vontaze Burfict received decades later.
The story of Charles Martin isn't a happy one. It's a cautionary tale about what happens when a rivalry turns into genuine malice. He remains one of the few players in NFL history whose name is synonymous not with his stats or his wins, but with a single second of violence that changed the course of two franchises forever.
To understand the Packers and Bears rivalry today, you have to understand why number 94 is still a curse word in Chicago. It wasn't just a late hit; it was the end of an era.