Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [161]
Unlike Payton, who rarely voted and never talked politics,16 Brown dove headfirst into social causes. He spoke out forcefully about the plight of black athletes and infuriated many by supporting Muhammad Ali when the boxer avoided serving in Vietnam. “Jim really stuck his neck out,” said John Wooten, a former teammate. “There were a lot of people that hated Ali, and because Jim supported Ali they now hated Jim.” Brown founded the Negro Industrial and Economic Union, a group that provided funding to hundreds of black-owned businesses, and condemned the bigotry that plagued America.
Having watched from afar as black athletes like Jackie Robinson and Joe Louis swallowed their tongues and accepted abuse from whites, Brown promised himself he would never follow suit. “My attitude was, in no way was I going to be that way,” he said. “In no way did I ever feel that I would accept discrimination.”
When asked about Payton’s intelligence, friends focus on his ability to read people and gauge the mood of a room. “Walter’s skill was in the power of observation,” said Mark Alberts, a future business partner. “He could look over someone and perfectly understand him.” Brown, on the other hand, was bright and worldly, quick with an opinion and well-versed in books and newspapers. He dared people to challenge his opinions, and cherished the look of befuddlement as he rattled off numbers and facts.
Brown retired from football at age twenty-nine to pursue a career in acting, and though the move saved his body from more abuse and provided him with a successful second career (Brown’s film credits include The Dirty Dozen, Three the Hard Way, and Mars Attacks!), there was a part of the man that couldn’t fully let go. He routinely expressed disdain—and disgust—toward the so-called “modern player,” what with his fancy gear and thick pads and stuffed wallet. “My feeling is you’re a sportsman or a capitalist,” he told the Tribune’s Sam Smith. “I was a sportsman and played the game to win, not for records. We didn’t stay in the game to set records. It was a question of dignity and true performance. Today, players want a million-dollar salary and won’t play because their big toe is hurt.”
When Payton ran over the Dallas Cowboys for 155 yards in a Week 5 loss, the anticipation of history was palpable. He needed a mere sixty-seven yards against the visiting Saints the following Sunday to finally become the NFL’s rushing king.
In the days leading up to New Orleans, Payton was regularly prodded about Brown. It was predictable stuff—the media wanting sound bites about his admiration for the great hero. Payton, however, refused to comply. Yes, he was aware that Brown played in twelve- and fourteen-game seasons, and that he set his mark in fewer carries. But, to Payton, Brown was pathetic. When asked by Michael Janofsky of The New York Times whether he respected Brown, the answer was short and pointed. “Next question,” he said. Would Brown be invited to the Saints game? “If he wants to come, that’s fine with me,” Payton said. “I have no control over that. It’s up to the Bears’ organization. We’re trying to keep this as professional as possible. My job is to get the record; I’ll leave the details to the organization.”
In other words: No.
Though he was but twenty-six years old in 1984, Jeff Fisher was beginning to feel the wear and tear that is high-level football. A reserve safety and kick returner with the Bears, Fisher had played four years at USC, and now was in his fourth—and final—season in Chicago. Some teammates suffered sprained