Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [128]
Most of his complaints were valid, but the team was 3-1. “People at Walter’s level of performance are often moody and guarded, and Walter was no exception,” said Caito, the longtime Bears trainer. “There were times when you just left him alone and walked away.”
“When Walter got all quiet, all bets were off the table,” said Ted Albrecht. “It wouldn’t last for long, but when it did, well, you stayed away. Far away.”
This was the first time many teammates were exposed to their superstar’s underbelly, and they didn’t much care for it. Through his first three years in the league, hundreds of adjectives had been used to describe Payton, but never “selfish.” He played hard, he played hurt, he stayed in games until the very end. Yet perhaps winning wasn’t quite as singularly important to Payton as he’d initially let on. Even Harper, his blocker and best friend, was at a loss. “He wouldn’t talk to anyone,” Harper said. “He’d get in his own world, put those headphones over his ears, and ignore everything.”
Never great with the media, Payton was now avoiding the press altogether. He would agree to interviews, then fail to show up. Or he’d respond to lengthy questions with dismissive one- or two-word answers. Yes. No. Maybe. Don’t care. No comment. Pierson, thirty-four years old and the best of Bears beat writers, wasn’t one to let an athlete walk all over him. In the September 29, 1978, Tribune, he teed off. “Payton is acting like a very hollow person these days,” he wrote. “Writers and even some teammates are thinking of changing his nickname to ‘Sourness.’ Or at least to ‘Sweet and Sour,’ befitting his moodiness. Some wondered if he really did sign a new contract.”
“Walter didn’t like dealing with the press, and he let it show,” said Pierson. “You had to ask him the same question three or four times before you got an answer, and it usually wasn’t a good one. I think he took pride in being an opposite sort of guy—you ask him to do something, he takes the opposite route.”
Had Pardee still been coach, Payton surely would have been called into the office for a talking-to. “Just so I get this straight, Walter,” he’d likely say. “We’re three-one, and you’re moping. Really?” Armstrong, however, was no Pardee. He wanted to win, but he wanted to win with happy players. “Neill had great credentials, but he was too nice,” said Dan Neal, the Bears center. “Discipline fell off, because not as much was asked of us. Football coaches can’t please everyone, and Neill probably tried too hard.”
Chicago was the least-happy 3-1 club anyone had ever seen, and the outlook only worsened as the losses began to mount. Following the setback to the Vikings, the Bears dropped seven straight games, including humiliating showings against the lowly Buccaneers and Seahawks.
For Payton, there was a series of troubling incidents:
• In the days leading up to a matchup at Green Bay, Payton told a reporter from the Milwaukee Journal that the Packers were overrated and unworthy of their 4-1 record. Green Bay’s Steve Luke, the starting strong safety, was incensed. “I made a point that week of shutting down Walter and shutting down their sweeps,” said Luke. “Every player has one game from their career that sticks out. That’s mine.”
Though Payton ran for eighty-two yards on nineteen carries, he was merely an afterthought in the Packers’ 24–14 victory. Luke, meanwhile, returned an interception