Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [109]
Late into the third quarter, with his stat line reading forty-nine yards on thirteen carries, Payton took a handoff, cut to the right, and was sandwiched by Jackson, Gradishar, and safety Bill Thompson. Payton felt his right ankle tweak, and he crumpled to the ground in pain. It took Fred Caito, the Bears’ trainer, less than a minute to diagnose a sprain. Payton’s day was over.
As their lone superstar gingerly walked from the field, Chicago’s fans let loose a long, powerful cheer. In the chilling silence that ensued, they watched Payton retreat to the bench, slump under a coat, place his head in his hands, and sob. Pardee strolled over to pat Payton on the back. “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he told him. “You’re a champion.” The man questioned for his toughness only four months earlier had stepped up. Never again would anyone ask about Walter Payton’s drive.
The Bears lost, 28–14. Payton lost, 1,503 yards to 1,390 yards. (He did, however, surpass Gale Sayers’ single-season team rushing record.) Though loathe to admit such an emotion at the time, Payton craved the rushing title. In his mind, Simpson was the galloping gazelle from Southern Cal and he was the small-town kid from Mississippi. It was David vs. Goliath, only with the wrong ending.
“It was, I guess, the low point of my career,” he later said. “So much had been made of the fact that I had a chance to beat O.J. Simpson out for the rushing title. When I found myself lying there on the field and knew I had failed, it was like I didn’t want to get back up . . . I’m a competitor. Being injured, not finishing the game, was eating inside of me. I didn’t know how to cope.”
That night, with the ankle still throbbing, Payton coped. He hosted his mother, agent, and college coach at his one-bedroom apartment. Together, the four, along with Connie, laughed and hugged and talked old times.
When the evening finally came to an end, an exhausted Walter Payton went to bed.
He didn’t sleep a wink.
CHAPTER 14
THE STRANGEST RUN
HIS WORDS POSSESSED MEANING.
That’s one of the intriguing parts of young Walter Payton. He talked quietly and infrequently enough for members of the Chicago media to often wonder whether the twenty-four-year-old ever spoke at all. Hence, when Payton opened his mouth and made a bold declaration, the sentiment wasn’t to be taken lightly.
That’s why, as occupants of the Bears administrative offices stared down the front sports page of the November 1, 1977, Chicago Tribune, their jaws dropped.
PAYTON’S GOAL: QUIT IN 1 PIECE
By Ed Stone
Walter Payton is concerned enough about the long-range physical toll on him that he plans to retire from pro football after three more seasons.... “There’s just so much torment and brutality you can send your body through,” he explained. “I want to get out of pro football with all of the physical ability I came in with.”
Dating back to his early high school games, Payton refused to grant defenders the pleasure of bearing witness to his pain. Immediately after being hit, he jumped to his feet, patted the opposing player on the rear, and sprinted back toward the huddle. “I hated that,” said Jeff Siemon, the Vikings’ four-time Pro Bowl linebacker. “You’d stick him with a great shot, feel amazing about yourself . . . and then here’s Walter, smiling and congratulating you.”
Those who paid close attention to the Bears over Payton’s first two seasons, however, knew the running back was taking a hellacious pounding. His arms and legs were often blue-and-purple canvases. His calves throbbed. “The yards he gained were all because of his talent,