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Ehlebracht and Pinckney were guided to the club’s roped-off VIP section. John showered the men with free drinks and food, but couldn’t remain silent about the legendary running back’s presence. “We sit down, and people are all over us, taking pictures, asking for autographs, pointing, shouting,” said Pinckney. “Tim had introduced me to this beautiful girl as Walter Payton, and she was all over me. At one point the two of us walked to the dance floor, and all the people parted like the Red Sea. They wanted to see Walter Payton in the flesh.”

After posing for a handful of pictures with the club’s owners, Pinckney and his new lady friend drove to his room. “We start getting it on, and quickly our clothes are off,” he said. “She’s incredibly beautiful—Latin American, hot as a person can be. A ten out of ten. At one point the woman actually screams, ‘I can’t believe it! I’m getting laid by Walter Payton!’

“Well, it’s five A.M. and I need to take her back to her car at the club. We’re driving and she’s asking me if my life is like this all the time—clubs and parties and women and all. I’m starting to feel guilty. How can I let this girl walk away thinking she got laid by Walter Payton? So before she gets out of the car I say, ‘Listen, I have to tell you something important.’ ”

“What is it, Walter?” she replied.

“My name is not Walter Payton,” he said.

“What are you talking about,” she said. “Who are you?”

“Michael Pinckney.”

“No, you’re Walter Payton, the Chicago Bear. Walter Payton.”

Pinckney opened up his wallet, removed his Maryland driver’s license, and handed it to her.

Silence.

“You bastard!” she screamed. “You fucking bastard.”

The woman stepped out of the vehicle and slammed the door.

“That’s a true story,” said Pinckney, who was cut before the season started. “One hundred percent true. The power of Walter Payton got me laid by the hottest girl I’d ever seen.”

The power of Walter Payton is the power that accompanies athletic superstardom. It’s the power fame has upon people. The power to eat for free whenever one chooses. The power to gain easy access to any club, any bar, any restaurant, any theatre. The power of Walter Payton makes people scream and squeal and leap and cry. It makes them crave access. Any access. A nod. An autograph. A handshake. One second. One hour. One night.

The Bears once traveled to London for an exhibition game. Payton anticipated a week of blissful anonymity. “Then we get out of a cab in London,” said Shaun Gayle, a Chicago defensive back, “and he was mobbed.”

“I once got Walter a Rolex that he wore all the time,” said Ron Atlas, his friend. “Well, he lost it and he was devastated. I told him I’d find out if the watch was insured. I called the place where I bought the watch, and they in turn called Rolex. The thing wasn’t insured, but two days later Rolex FedExed him a free watch. Just because he was Walter Payton.”

When used in pursuit of righteousness, the power of Walter Payton was a beacon of blinding light. Throughout his career, Payton visited dozens of sick children in hospitals, hugged countless strangers, brightened more days than one could count. “He was an ambassador,” said Matt Suhey, his longtime teammate. “Walter wore his celebrity and his notoriety with class and dignity. The NFL’s Man of the Year Award is named after him, and it’s very appropriate.”

And yet, the power of Walter Payton could also be utilized in less altruistic ways. Fame inevitably warps and corrupts, and the celebrities able to resist its charms are few and far between.

Once upon a time, when Payton was a struggling Bears rookie trying to survive in a foreign city, he only had eyes for his future wife, Connie Norwood. They spoke nearly every day, often for hours at a time. Her photograph adorned his locker, and even as he watched veteran teammates treat their spouses like tattered rags, he refused to follow suit. Payton, alongside teammate/ best friend Roland Harper, was a strict adherent to the teachings of the Bible, including the seventh commandment (Thou