Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [214]
In the summer of 1991, Murray—financially strapped, in debt to Orthwein for thirty million dollars, and facing further lawsuits from creditors—sold Orthwein his share in the Patriots and asked him to replace him as managing general partner of the St. Louis effort. Orthwein begrudgingly agreed, then told Clinton he needed to be the one making the final decisions. “With this amount of money I have to be in charge,” he recalled saying to Clinton. “But I think we can work together.”
This is when the bottom began to fall out. Clinton had spent too much time and too much money to surrender control. He didn’t like Orthwein, didn’t trust Orthwein, didn’t want Orthwein involved in any manner. When Orthwein reminded Clinton of the so-called golden rule—the person with the most money makes the rules—Clinton lost it. In a meeting that took place six weeks before the NFL’s expansion vote, Clinton told Orthwein that he was an unnecessary burden, and that he, Jerry Clinton, would approach the league by himself and make a solo pitch for ownership. “You know what?” Orthwein responded. “I’m going to give you the opportunity to find another partner, to find another money partner. OK? If you don’t want me as a partner, and don’t like what I have to bring to the table, then I’m going to give you the opportunity.”
“Great!” Clinton yelled. “I want it! I’m gonna take it!”
Payton watched the exchange and said nothing. He later recalled it as the moment he first knew St. Louis was doomed. “I saw the whole thing crumbling right there,” he said. “I just kind of sat there and said, ‘Guys, I think we all have a common goal, which is to get this team.’ ”
On September 9, 1993, the partnership announced that Orthwein was stepping down, leaving Clinton in charge. “Frankly,” Clinton said, “I think our current partnership structure is stronger as a result of these recent moves.”
Payton was incensed. He called Clinton and chewed him out. “What the fuck are you thinking?” he screamed. “What did you just do to my dream? What the fuck did you just do?”
A flustered Clinton tried explaining his position, but to no avail. He went, hat in hand, to every wealthy person he knew, selling an opportunity nobody saw as an opportunity. A couple of weeks later, when it became clear he couldn’t get the proper financing, Clinton shuffled aside so that E. Stanley Kroenke, a wealthy real estate developer from Columbia, Missouri, could step in, take the lead, and save the day. Kroenke told Payton that he was still wanted and needed, and the ex–running back offered his support. “I’m with you,” he said. “If you can get this done, I’m with you.” Payton’s words hid his feelings: Hope was dead. He thrust most of the blame upon Clinton, whom he no longer spoke with. Not all that long ago, Clinton had paid nearly sixty thousand dollars of his own money to place a full-page advertisement in USA Today highlighting Payton’s place among the St. Louis ownership group. Now the two were enemies. “I honestly think Walter was brainwashed by the other group,” Clinton said. “I don’t know how else to explain it.”
On October 26, 1993, Kroenke, Payton, and company gathered at the Hyatt near Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, where the NFL was holding its expansion meetings. Each city—St. Louis, Charlotte, Jacksonville, Baltimore, and Memphis—had its own suite, and the two NFL officials in charge of the expansion decision, Roger Goodell and Neil Austrian, went from room to room, listening to the pitches. The St. Louis presentation was, even with Payton’s impassioned plea, a disaster. “You know what, guys, get this shit together,” Goodell said. “This is ridiculous. You’re there if you can cut the squabbling.” The NFL announced that one of the teams would be given to Charlotte, but the decision on the other