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Robertson said he and Payton were friends dating back to college, which is unlikely, considering Payton was a senior at Columbia High when Robertson was a senior at Southern. He said he loved and respected Payton, and that the entire “motherfucking dead man” episode that night was blown out of proportion. The facts speak differently. Following the game, the Tribune’s Cooper Rollow approached Robertson’s locker. He was quickly rewarded. “Wally Chambers is the poorest excuse for an All-Pro I ever saw,” Robertson said. “If we ever meet again I intend to see that he gets his. The same thing goes for Walter Payton. He clipped Bill Simpson on one play. There was no excuse for it. If I ever get a chance I’m gonna end his career.”6

For the first time anyone could remember, Payton was shaken beyond quick repair. He returned to the locker room after the game and paced back and forth, tears welling in both eyes. Here was the immature Mississippi kid struggling to deal with the reality of NFL brutality. He refused to speak to the press, dressed without showering, and left the stadium. He later confided in Harper that, were this the way professional football worked, he could do without. Cheap hits were one thing. Threatening an opponent’s life was another. “This isn’t for me,” he said. “I don’t play football to hurt people.”

The following April, Robertson ran into Payton at the Grand Prix of Long Beach. When he extended his hand for a conciliatory shake, Payton turned away. “When I saw that response, I thought ‘Is it my breath? Did I date your sister?’ ” Robertson said. “I yelled at him, ‘If you’re still upset over the fight your team caused, we’ll have another fight right here.’ It was bullshit.”

Payton walked off, leaving Robertson in his dust.

As long as there are football fans in Chicago, there will be debates involving Walter Payton. Was he better than Jim Brown and Gale Sayers? Which was his best season? Can the Bears even possibly win without him?

The answer to one pressing question, however, has long been resolved. Namely, what was the most incredible run of Payton’s career?

It came on November 13, 1977. Leading up to the game the Bears were, once again, floundering. Stubborn to a fault, Pardee tuned Gillman out, reverting to the predictable run-run-run philosophy that resulted in few points and a bored-to-death fan base. “If you were a receiver you were either a right receiver or a left receiver,” said Baschnagel. “The only time you’d venture to the other side of the field was if you were in the slot. It was very, very archaic, and then they brought in Sid Gillman—and nothing changed.”

“Shit, we’d watch film of Chicago’s offense and laugh,” said Dave Roller, a defensive tackle with the Packers. “It was junior high–level crap.”

With the exception of Payton, whose 937 rushing yards through eight weeks led the NFL, little was going right. The Bears were coming off a 47–0 loss at Houston that Pardee called, “the worst thing I’ve ever been associated with in any form.” The team’s record dropped to 3-5.

Next up was a matchup with the Chiefs at Soldier Field. With two wins in its first eight games, Kansas City had stamped itself as a hapless ball club in the midst of a downward spiral. Throughout the early 1970s, the Chiefs were the pride of the AFC, a model organization built upon deep drafts and canny transactions. Unfortunately, like many franchises that enjoyed sustained success, Kansas City couldn’t let go. With three thirty-two-year-old linebackers (Billy Andrews, Willie Lanier, and Jim Lynch), as well as thirty-four-year-old Emmitt Thomas at cornerback, its defense doubled as a home for aged, broken-down ballplayers. “We were hurting,” said Andrews. “We couldn’t stop anyone.” Four opposing backs had already cleared a hundred yards, including Cleveland’s Greg Pruitt’s 153 two weeks earlier, and the word was out: Pound the Chiefs, they’ll inevitably break.

With this in mind, quarterback Bob Avellini handed off to Payton again and again (by the end of the game Payton would