In responding to a chillier-than-a-Windy-City-winter market for his services, I believe the great linebacker was, in essence, making another two-word statement to the NFL's 32 franchises, this one of the unprintable variety.

Did you really expect Urlacher to go out any other way? Does it make sense that a fierce competitor, who once told me that after a game "win or lose, I'm up all night" in a self-flagellating stupor, would let his storied career bleed itself to an undignified conclusion?
While Urlacher may well have arrived at this decision after considering a multitude of personal factors — including, most important, the state of his body, which has more cause to be broken down than virtually any other skeletomuscular structure that has worn a football uniform this century — a business-driven blow to his pride clearly pushed him in this direction.
As I wrote back in March, after the Chicago Bears announced that his unbroken run with the franchise that drafted him had ended, Urlacher felt insulted by the team's lack of interest in his services.
Two months later, with no other offer he deemed satisfactory, Urlacher decided to put a stop to the slights in the same abrupt manner in which he once stuffed opposing backs on inside handoffs three days before his 35th birthday.