Paul Sullivan: When a shirtless coach and a free hot dog rallied an entire city. Only in Chicago.

CHICAGO — It’s been a rough month for Alinea and chef Grant Achatz.

Not only did Achatz’s iconic Chicago restaurant get demoted from three stars to two by the Michelin Guide, but it’s now in danger of falling behind The Wieners Circle as the place to see and be seen.

As The Wieners Circle’s foul-mouthed cashier Poochie might say: “Tough (bleeping) luck, you (bleeping bleeps).”

Everyone was there Tuesday for the big day at The Wieners Circle — the guy wearing 1985 Bears drip, people dressed like hot dogs and plastic mustard containers, various shirtless men, and, of course, a dog in a Caleb Williams jersey.

It was another free hot dog giveaway by the North Side hot dog stand, courtesy of owner Ari Levy and the “shirtless maniac” who made it all happen, Chicago Bears coach Ben Johnson.

An offer from The Wieners Circle to give away free dogs if Johnson removed his shirt during or after a game came to fruition last Friday when Johnson took it off following the Bears’ win over the Philadelphia Eagles, leading to Tuesday’s frenzied feast of free frankfurters.

Though Johnson wasn’t on hand to witness the celebration resulting from his exhibitionism, there was, naturally, a Ben Johnson imitator who shed his shirt for the multitude of TV cameras and reporters.

“Ben is obviously the cultural icon of Chicago right now,” said Earl Johnson, a 43-year-old Wicker Park resident who is no relation to shirtless Ben. “He’s completely changed the city.”

The faux Johnson said the free hot dog was not the real draw. More important, he theorized, was showing the Bears “that we’re also on this ride with them” until the end.

“What if they hold a promotion like this and only four people show up?” he asked.

Like many others on hand, Earl Johnson also showed up back in late September when The Wieners Circle held their first giveaway after promising free dogs if Williams threw four touchdown passes against the Dallas Cowboys.

That successful giveaway prompted Levy to come up with his next great idea — more free dogs if Johnson showed off his six-pack. It took two months and eight more Bears wins for Johnson to answer the call to glory.

Tuesday’s giveaway was even bigger than the first. The video of the shirtless Johnson in the Bears locker room had gone viral and made national headlines. An internet meme showed a statue of a shirtless Johnson erected outside the South entrance of Soldier Field. Not since a shirtless father and son ran out on the field and attacked a coach at White Sox Park in 2002 had a bare-chested man garnered so much attention in this town.

It could only happen in Chicago.

With wind chills in the single digits, people lined Clark Street on a half-shoveled sidewalk that was filled with slush and very difficult to navigate. The line wrapped west around Drummond Place, but everyone polled seemed to agree it would be worth the wait.

Some killed time by chanting “Green Bay sucks,” which seemed to warm them up a bit. They passed by a trash can that, for some reason, was nicknamed “Aaron Rodgers.”

Almost everyone had their phones at the ready, waiting to get a photo of the marquee — “We got a new Mayor Johnson” — and perhaps to get a video of themselves getting insulted by the cashier.

The famous Poochie, the queen of profane insults, was not working Tuesday. But her partner in grime, the equally foul-mouthed Regan, was up to the task, swearing like a Streets & San worker on a St. Paddy’s Day binge:

“Bear down, mother (bleeps).”

“Put some money in the (tip) bucket, (bleep).”

“Good luck with your (bleeping) child support, you (bleep).”

“If you don’t move it, I’m going to be cracking your (bleeping) head like a (bleeping) coconut.”

Those were the polite insults.

Regan also offered to put some things on the hot dogs that no one would put on a hot dog. The crowd ate it up, though not literally, thank goodness.

Where else but Chicago would someone be willing to freeze their tail off in a long line and have their manhood challenged for a free hot dog?

Some were on hand to get attention. Employees of the Chicago Dogs minor league team handed out free Dogs caps and brought their mascot, a giant mustard bottle nicknamed “Squeeze,” who was called a “big yellow (bleep)” and ordered to get out of the way. A fire truck from Engine No. 78 in Wrigleyville parked in front and blasted “Bear Down, Chicago Bears” at a billion decibels. An alderman showed up to give his support, or perhaps to get on the 5 o’clock news.

It was the kind of Chicago sports celebration that reminded one of the days when a certain coach from a certain town had everyone under his magic spell.

Could Ben Johnson turn into the second coming of “Da Coach,” Mike Ditka?

“Oh yeah, I honestly think so,” said Bob Keen, a Logan Square resident wearing Bears-colored Zubaz and a Rozelle headband in honor of 1980s Bears quarterback Jim McMahon. “He’s got a long way to go because Ditka is a legend in this town, not just for winning, but for the character and the way he related to the city specifically.

“Ben Johnson has a different angle on it than Ditka, but he’s a man for his time. I can see him as a thinking man’s Ditka, if you will.”

Earl Johnson, the Ben Johnson imitator, was not yet willing to put the Da Shirtless Coach on the same pedestal as Da Coach himself.

“Probably not,” he said. “I mean, a Hall of Fame coach, the 1985 Bears, the (Super Bowl) shuffle? Win a Super Bowl, and then we’ll talk. But this is something different. We’re not there yet, but I like what’s happening.”

It’s too soon to refer to Ben Johnson as “Ditka-esque,” but he’s already making an impression. Johnson’s “good, better, best” mantra was repeatedly uttered by those in line on Tuesday, and someone even managed to give it a Wieners Circle twist.

“Good. Better. Best get your (bleeping bleep) out the (bleeping) way, you Green Bay (bleeps).”

It was enough to make a grown man cry.