Steve Serby NEW ORLEANS — There were Bears on the prowl that night, Bears named Jim McMahon and Jay Hilgenberg, partying hard at a local institution named Pat O’Brien’s, home of the Hurricane, a sweet-but-deadly drink that is guaranteed to sweep virtually all of your brain cells out to sea. This was early in the week of Super Bowl XX, long before Mike Ditka would impose curfew on Friday night, because it was well past midnight when I spotted McMahon and his group cavorting with Miss Hawaiian Tropic Oklahoma. I immediately rushed to a pay phone near the entrance and dictated the breaking news to an editor on The Post sports desk. The backpage headline for the last edition:...
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