Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [173]
“Every time we had a game in Florida, some Bears fans were going, too—and the Sunday night before that Miami game I think I saw just about all of them out there somewhere,” Steve McMichael, the veteran defensive end, wrote in his book, Tales from the Chicago Bears Sideline. “I think we started out at Hooters and it just denigrated from there.”
As if the Monday Night Football matchup weren’t hyped enough based upon the presence of the undefeated Bears, the media labeled it as a battle of the decades. A Miami radio station came up with a song about defrosting the Refrigerator. A Miami TV reporter visited the city’s zoo to interview a bear and a dolphin. “Reporters fell from the sky like a seven-inch snow,” Singletary wrote in his autobiography, Calling the Shots. “We were completely covered. They waited for us in our lockers and called our homes; the practice field was staked out like the Democratic National Convention.”
Immediately before kickoff, Chicago’s players glanced across the field. Lining Miami’s sideline were all the old legends from ’72, arms folded, expressions stern. “It was like they were trying to put the voodoo on us,” said Ken Taylor, a rookie safety with the Bears. “They’re standing there with their legs kind of spread apart like Superman or something, and they got their big arms folded like they are measuring us up. It was all just kind of weird.”
With McMahon out for a third straight game with an injured right shoulder, the start went to Fuller, who found himself confused by Miami’s defense and frustrated by his receivers’ slippery fingers. Most shocking was the sight of Ryan’s defense, thought to be impenetrable, being shredded by Marino, whose forty-eight touchdown passes one season earlier set an NFL record. Back at the University of Pittsburgh, Marino had roomed with Covert, the Bears’ offensive tackle. A couple of days before the Dolphins game, Ryan sauntered up to Covert and told him, “We’re going to blitz your asshole buddy this week and knock him on his ass.”
“If you do,” Covert replied, “he’ll kill you.”
Ryan ignored the warning. Marino, blessed with the league’s quickest release, killed him.
The Dolphins led 31–10 at halftime, and in the locker room Ditka and Ryan—enemies on the sunniest of days—exchanged a couple of wildly thrown punches before being separated. Ditka began screaming at Ryan early in the second quarter, wondering how much longer he was going to cover Nat Moore, Miami’s speedy wide receiver, with a linebacker. Ryan colorfully advised the head coach to back off. “Ditka was right,” said Dan Hampton. “He was basically saying, ‘Hey Buddy, quit being an asshole and put a nickel back in there on Nat Moore.’ ”
All the while, Payton sat by his locker, boiling. Even though Miami ranked last in the league against the run, and even though Payton had cleared a hundred yards in a league-record seven straight games, Ditka didn’t hand him the ball until late in the first quarter, with the Dolphins leading 10–7. For some reason, the Bears were leaning on Fuller, a castoff from Kansas City. “We have the number one running game in football, and Miami has the worst run defense,” said Hampton. “So what does genius Ditka do? We throw the ball.”
“I could have told you they would lose that game,” said Holmes, Payton’s agent. “Everyone on that team was all swelled up, cocky, and thinking they walked on water. Even with Walter, I could tell the fire wasn’t there. They all wanted the stardom the Fridge was getting, and there was a ton of jealousy. You can’t win with that hanging over a team.”
Early in the fourth quarter, with the score 38–24, Fuller sprained his ankle and McMahon—who had begged Ditka to start the game—was inserted. He marched Chicago down the field, but threw a costly interception with 6:12 remaining to seal the Bears’ fate. When Chicago regained possession, McMahon ignored the coaches and repeatedly handed the ball