Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [186]
Together as a team we have a dream.
Everyone will stand together.
If we hold hands in this great land.
We could make life a whole lot better.
‘Cause the people are the world we are the ones.
Everyone should get involved.
If we stand together and lock our hands.
Our problems can be solved.
Blessed with laughably bad lyrics and the inarticulate Perry, the “Rappin’ Together” cassette single sold a couple of thousand copies before finding itself in Illinois’ scattered bargain bins. “Walter was happy with the project,” said Pitzele. “And if the space shuttle [Challenger] hadn’t crashed the same week it was released, it would have been a huge hit.
“But,” Pitzele said, “it wasn’t.”
Though Walter Payton felt as if he were finally getting his due, reality as a professional football player can be harsh.
On April 29, 1986, with the twenty-seventh selection of the first round of the NFL Draft, the Chicago Bears selected Neal Anderson out of the University of Florida.
Neal Anderson—the running back.
It was, of course, inevitable. At some point the Bears had to start grooming Payton’s successor, and Jerry Vainisi, the team’s fourth-year general manager, rightly determined that the time was now. Despite all the praise and accolades coming Payton’s way, he wasn’t the same player he had been in years past. He was slower, more mechanical, less willing to deliver a hit. Still great, still tough, but no longer transcendent. “Walter had played eleven years, and even he knew we needed a running back,” said Vainisi. “He was somewhat uncomfortable with it, especially because Neal was very good and chomping at the bit to play. Walter had a lot of pride.”
So did Anderson. Florida’s all-time rushing leader in yards, touchdowns, and attempts, the twenty-one-year-old Graceville, Florida, native was the first top pick of the Bears to ever miss his introductory press conference in the name of academics. “He’s a scholar,” an irked Mike Ditka said in explaining Anderson’s absence to take two final exams. Anderson further annoyed the organization by holding out for most of training camp. When he finally signed a four-year, $1.3 million contract, Anderson reported to the Lake Forest complex and was ordered by the other running backs to fetch them doughnuts.
He steadfastly refused. As a freshman at Florida back in 1982, Anderson was told all first-year players were required to shave their heads. “It was a Gator tradition, but I wasn’t having it,” he said. “Some of the upperclassmen, these big linemen, broke into my room one night when I was sleeping. They had a pair of trimmers, and they decided they were going to hold me down and cut my hair. It didn’t happen. I had a knife, and I made some threats. It didn’t make me any friends, but I believe what I believe.”
With the Bears, Anderson once again stood his ground. Jelly, cream, chocolate sprinkled—didn’t matter. Neal Anderson would fetch no man a doughnut. “Even for Walter,” he said. “I’m a stubborn person, and it’s not my job to get you your morning sweet. It’s my job to play football.”
Throughout the season stories were written about the old Bear taking the new Bear under his wing; about Walter and Neal forming a potent one-two duo for a team that thrived upon running the ball. The whole bosom buddies narrative was fictionalized. “I don’t think Neal ever bought into Walter,” said Jay Hilgenberg, the veteran center. “He wanted to be his own guy.” Payton eyed Anderson wearily, like a lion guarding his food. Anderson mostly stayed out of his way. “I can’t say Walter embraced me, but he wasn’t mean to me, either,” Anderson said. “For a while the running