Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [192]
“If Walter was in a salty mood, he could run over you and you were powerless,” said Doug Rothschild, a rookie free agent linebacker from Wheaton College. “You weren’t allowed to lay a finger on him. Meanwhile he’d stiff-arm you in the face and laugh.”
To Payton’s chagrin, Ditka decided early on to name Anderson—not Suhey—the starting fullback. It was the coach’s way of keeping his fading star in the lineup and, hopefully, happy. “Walter did not take that well,” said Covert. “Mike wasn’t ever going to sit Walter down, and at the end that’s probably what he should have done. Walter didn’t like sharing the backfield with Neal. He talked to me about it a couple of times. It wasn’t pure jealousy. It was more of, ‘I did this, this, and this, and I deserve more respect.’ But his prime was over. Factually, it was.”
Throughout his years in Chicago, one required only two hands to count the teammates Payton was especially tight with. In the early days, he spent considerable time with Roland Harper, Vince Evans, and James Scott. Later on, safety Todd Bell became a confidant—so much so that Payton was a groomsman in his wedding. Toward his final years, Payton and Suhey were inseparable. “Matt cherished and loved Walter, and Walter in return cherished and loved Matt,” said Johnny Roland, the team’s running backs coach. “Suhey was basically my coach on the field, and Walter just wanted to play. So when Matt talked, Walter listened. He trusted him to the death.” The relationship often evoked comparisons to Gale Sayers and Brian Piccolo, Chicago’s running back tandem from the late 1960s (their kinship was made famous in the aftermath of Piccolo’s death from cancer with the release of Brian’s Song, a 1971 ABC Movie of the Week). Like Sayers and Piccolo, one player was black, one was white. Like Sayers and Piccolo, one player was a flashy standout, one was gruff and workmanlike. Like Sayers and Piccolo, one player was a superstar, one was a supporting cast member. Seven years earlier, Payton had resented Suhey for being brought in as Roland Harper’s replacement. Over time, however, a genuine bond formed. “My second year in the league we flew back from San Francisco after a tough loss and got in at one in the morning,” said Suhey. “I was in my car getting ready to get something to eat, and he walked up and said, ‘Where are you going?’ I told him, and he said, ‘I’m coming.’ We went to a bar/restaurant called the Snuggery, and we had our first really good talk. We were from two different worlds, but we also related really well. That night was the beginning.”
Now, near the end, Payton was furious. His dream was to have one last glorious season in the sun, with his good friend leading him through the hole. Instead, the speedy, modestly physical five-foot-eleven, 210-pound Anderson was forced into the role. “Neal was a good guy and a great player, and he deserved to play,” said Suhey. “But he wasn’t a fullback. Not naturally.”
The Bears opened their season against the New York Giants at Soldier Field. Much was made of the Herculean matchup of the last two Super Bowl champions, which the Tribune called “the game of the year.” For Chicago, the 34–19 rout was wonderful. Mike Tomczak, the team’s starting quarterback, threw for 292 yards and two touchdowns and the defense compiled eight sacks, twice knocking quarterback Phil Simms out of the game. For Payton, though, the night was a disaster. He carried the ball eighteen times for forty-two yards, and caught three more balls for twelve yards. Excuses were made—the Giants were focusing on him; a sprained ankle suffered on a second-quarter sweep limited his mobility (Ditka: “A lot of guys wouldn’t have kept playing.”). Nothing stuck. As Payton struggled, Anderson soared. “Talk about hitting a hole,” said Keith Van Horne, the offensive tackle. “Neal hit it and—Whoosh!—he was gone. I never blocked for anyone with his type of speed.” Anderson ran for sixty-two yards on thirteen carries against New York, including a spectacular eight-yard burst past Lawrence Taylor, the Giants’ immortal