Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [165]
Ditka and his coaches were elated. The Raiders bullied the NFL, and the Bears punched them in the mouth.
Without McMahon, the Bears—tough, fierce, hobbled—crawled through the remainder of the season, finishing 3-3 behind the mediocre quarterbacking of Steve Fuller and, briefly, Rusty Lisch and Greg Landry. That they held on to win the division is a big tribute to a swarming defense, and an even bigger tribute to the marvelous play of Walter Payton.
At age thirty-one, Payton was enjoying one of the best years of his career. He was named the NFL’s Player of the Month for October, and although he struggled through a couple of poor games in November, it was primarily because defenses (no longer having to worry about McMahon) were back to stacking the line and daring Chicago to pass. On November 25, the Bears clinched their first-ever division title, beating the Vikings 34–3 behind Payton’s 117 yards. As he walked off the Metrodome turf, the normally boisterous purple-clad crowd now silenced, Payton slowed to a saunter, soaking in in the moment. “I’m just going to enjoy it,” he said. “It hasn’t sunk in yet. It’s strange.”
Payton’s season was remarkable—he ran for 1,684 yards and eleven touchdowns, earning his seventh trip to the Pro Bowl. What elevated it to phenomenal, however, was that—physically—he was no longer the same player he had once been. The lifespan of an NFL running back is, on average, 2.6 seasons, and with good reason. Through ten seasons, Payton had endured an ungodly number of hits. As contemporaries like Earl Campbell, Wilbert Montgomery, and Billy Sims began to slow down (or collapse completely), Payton somehow sucked up the pain and kept churning out yardage. Hardly a burner at age twenty-one, Payton at thirty-one possessed below-average speed and good, not great, maneuverability. The slashes and twists made famous from earlier days rarely took place anymore; the flamboyant runs decreasingly a part of the package. Johnny Roland, the running backs coach, sought to reduce Payton’s load from sixty-five plays to between forty-five and fifty. The star refused. “It’s almost like the speed didn’t matter,” said Keith Van Horne, a Bears offensive tackle. “Walter could cut back if he needed to, but he became a hole runner, which means he found the holes, rushed through them, and then attacked anyone in his way. He was so rugged, so tough, and so determined. That’s why he lasted.”
Through all the amazing performances Payton coaxed out of a declining body, one game stands out. It took place at Soldier Field on December 9, 1984, with the Bears hosting the Packers in an intense-yet-meaningless late-season matchup. Because of injuries to McMahon and Fuller, as well as the early-season release of Avellini, Chicago was forced to turn to Lisch, a devoutly religious twenty-seven-year-old best known as the man Joe Montana had once replaced as the starter at Notre Dame.
Lisch was an inconsequential player who opened eyes a week earlier when, in the midst of a game at San Diego, he responded to a Ditka browbeating by refusing to return to the game. “I asked Ed [Hughes, the offensive coordinator], ‘Where’s Lisch?’ ” Ditka said.
“He’s not going back in,” Hughes replied. “Said you can’t talk to him like that.”
Ditka approached the quarterback, who was sitting alone on the bench, arms crossed. “Please go back in the game,” the coach said. “I didn’t mean that stuff. You’re a great kid.” Lisch returned, the Bears lost, and the following Tuesday the quarterback brought the coach a gold crucifix.
Lisch started against the Packers, and evoked visions of Kim McQuilken’s heyday. He completed ten of twenty-three passes and, in the words of the Tribune’s Bernie Lincicome, “If Rusty Lisch were the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dike, the coast of Holland would now begin somewhere around the middle of Westphalia.” With the first half drawing to a close and a play-off birth wrapped up, Ditka made a quarterback change. He pulled Lisch and replaced him with the day’s listed backup—Walter Payton.
Walter Payton?