Number nine came by his goofball rep honestly--wearing wrap-around shades and a Mohawk, hanging from a 25th-floor balcony in Hawaii, inventing ROZELLE Sportswear as a way to flip the bird to the N.F.L. commissioner--but Chicago Bears quarterback Jim McMahon is not a cartoon character. He's just a spontaneous guy.

The ever-present sunglasses hide a right eye that can't adjust to light. He stuck a fork in it when he was six. The Mohawk was teammate Willie Gault's attempt to salvage a self-service trim the quarterback had botched. His balcony-hanging days are over; that Spider Jim act left McMahon with a mild case of acrophobia. And the ROZELLE headband was simple civil disobedience--a shot in the eye for a shot in the eye.

The gonzo Q.B. is a solid, suburban family man with a fierce drive to win and an unusual love for the fun in football. He's a flea flicker in a league full of draw plays, Huck Finn in pads and a helmet. Kevin Cook huddled with him during Chicago's Super Bowl season in a Bears locker room dominated by a banner reading, EITHER BE A LEADER, BE A FOLLOWER OR GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WAY. Soon after they settled in, Bears guard Kurt Becker, McMahon's road roomy, butted in.

Becker: Can I ask him a question? Jim, what do you and your roommate do the night before a game?

Becker and McMahon: Jack off!

McMahon: Don't write that.

Becker: I got you! I knocked your number nine.

Q 1

PLAYBOY: When did you and Becker start butting helmets after touchdowns?

Jim McMahon: Walter Payton scored on a run and Becker was the guy pulling around to let him in. Kurt stuck his arms up. I stuck mine up. We slapped hands, looked each other in the eye and just butted heads. From then on, that's what we did after a score. It got to the point where we'd talk about it the night before a game: "I'm gonna knock your fuckin' ass out tomorrow." "No, I'm gonna knock you out." Some of those hits hurt -- he's got a lot of power, a big man like that. But after a score, you're all pumped up. You've got to do something. Finally, the coaches told Becker to stay away from me.

Q 2

PLAYBOY: Tell us something we don't know about Payton.

Jim McMahon: He's the biggest jokester on the team. He'll walk out the door and throw cherry bombs back into the room. Or we'll be sitting in a meeting and he'll be real quiet, watching films, and then he'll scream, just yell at the top of his lungs. Scares the shit out of everybody.

Q 3

PLAYBOY: What happens during a game that the fans can't see?

Jim McMahon: Stuff goes on at the bottom of a pile-up [fakes punches] -- guys will be giving you one or two. Grabbing your nuts. You get a lot of shit at the bottom of a pile. And spit -- a lot of spit. There're some sick people on this team. I ran a quarterback sneak one game, and Becker was the right guard. He was just lying there. So I said, "I'm gonna shove this ball up your ass, Beck." He said, "Fuck you," and the ref was going, "Hey, you're on the same team." Becker said, "Fuck him, he hasn't done nothing all day." I don't know what the other teams think of us. Three years ago, we were down in Tampa Bay. The play was over and I was walking back to the huddle. All of a sudden, boom! Becker clubbed me in the side of the head. I said, "You son of a bitch" and kicked him right in the ass. The Tampa Bay guys were just looking at us, "What the fuck? You guys are on the same team."

Q 4

PLAYBOY: Why do you spit on your own guys?

Jim McMahon: We enjoy it. They spit on me, I yell at them and spit back. It's a good time.

Q 5

PLAYBOY: ou suffered a lacerated kidney in a game with the Raiders. What colors do you get in the toilet bowl after something like that?

Jim McMahon: Purple. You don't want one of those. I've blown my knee and hurt my shoulder, but nothing felt like that. Straightened me up. The guy hit me from behind, turned me around, and another guy hit me in the side. After it happened, I got up and threw an interception. At half time, I couldn't sit down. I thought I'd just bruised something, but the pain was getting worse. I tried to play the second half but couldn't even call the play in the huddle. Finally, l took myself out of the game, sat on the bench for about five minutes. By then, I was cramping up, bending over. So I went to the locker room and tried to piss. Nothing but blood. I freaked out: "Hey, get my ass to a hospital!" But then l thought, Well, shit, if I don't shower now, I won't shower for a week. It took me an hour to take a shower; then they got me to a hospital. That thing was torn in two places, and the bottom piece of it was torn off. I don't know why it didn't just erupt.