Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [16]
Out on the sandlots, the game had come easily to Walter—run fast, run hard, score. But now there were whistles blowing, coaches yelling, designated plays to follow. “The first time I got the ball in practice and heard all those footsteps coming, I panicked,” he wrote in his 1978 autobiography. “I had visions of getting ground into the turf under the weight of a half-dozen huge upperclassmen towering over me, so I scooted to daylight and ran for my life.” Walter, however, was running the wrong way. He scored for the opposing unit.
Boston stormed onto the field and lectured his new back. He demanded the play be run again. This time, Payton scooted through the wrong hole, where he was met by an oncoming linebacker. “I just stopped,” he wrote, “in embarrassment.” Despite the miscues, Boston had a soft spot for the green running back. Payton was physically gifted and eager to learn. He didn’t talk trash, wasn’t lazy, and never took a play off. “He was fun to have there,” Boston said. “You liked being around him.”
Even with a regal last name and an increasingly statuesque body, Walter was handed nothing. With Eddie’s departure, Boston made it clear that the number-one halfback would be Everett Farr, a modestly talented senior with limited moves but an energetic approach. None of Walter’s friends remember him complaining or being especially upset. Boston pulled him aside and assured him his day would come. In the meantime, he bided his time by starting at strong safety and checking in for Farr when the senior needed a breather.
In 1968 the Green Wave finished 7-3. Late in the season, in a game against Marion Central, Farr broke his foot, and Payton stepped into the starting lineup. His impact was minimal. According to memories, he scored four or five touchdowns and ran for anywhere between two hundred and four hundred yards. In his autobiography, Payton wrote of starting the first game of the season and being named to the league All-Star team. Neither recollection was real. “He was good,” said Moses, who also played running back. “But we all had to learn the game.”
Those in the know, however, couldn’t contain their excitement. In Walter, Boston saw a bigger (Walter was five foot six as a junior, Eddie had been five foot four), stronger version of his brother. He was also significantly more versatile. Walter punted the ball beyond forty yards. He could kick twenty-five- to thirty-yard field goals. He tackled well, and was a knockdown defensive back. In his coach’s mind, Payton had It—that certain undefined something that separates great from very good. “He was bursting with ability,” Boston said. “If you knew football, you knew that much.”
When Walter returned for his junior year at Jefferson, there was little ambiguity about the identification of the school’s star athlete. Along with continuing his drumming in the concert band (he had given up marching band for football), Walter ran the hundred-yard dash for the track team, and played forward in basketball and shortstop in baseball.
Carrying the football, however, was Payton’s gift. Boston favored the T-formation offense, and his junior class of players presented some titillating possibilities. The new quarterback was Archie Johnson, an honors student and future valedictorian who possessed a strong arm and quick feet. The left back was Moses, a small, spindly boy who happened to run like lightning. The right back was Michael Woodson, as quick as they came. And lining up directly behind Johnson, technically as the fullback, was Walter Payton.
“We were really frightening,” said Johnson.
Just how good was Payton as a high school junior? On October 30, 1969, the Columbian-Progress actually ran his portrait above the following paragraph:
Walter Payton, a Junior [sic] at John Jefferson High School was chosen Player of the Week