Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [219]
When Jarrett finished, his father rose and consumed him in a hug. Walter Payton strode to the podium, tears streaming beneath his sunglasses and onto his cheeks. He was overwhelmed. By his child. By the event. By the subplots. He had devoted so much time to pooh-poohing and minimizing the moment, and now that the moment was at hand, he found himself being hit by a tidal wave.
“Thank you . . . thank you,” he said as his voice broke and the applause died down. “You know, when I first got here, we made a wager who would be the first one to break down in tears and I was the first one to say that I wouldn’t and I was the first one to say how strong I was and everything else. As it goes to show that a lot of times when you are amongst your peers such as these great athletes, you try to be something that you’re not. And after hearing my son get up here and talk, I don’t care if I lose the bet.”
Payton proceeded to give an OK—not great—speech, packed with the requisite shout-outs to coaches like Charles Boston (“[He] took me under his wing and taught me the fundamentals of football.”) and Bob Hill (“[He] showed me what hard work and determination would do if you put forth the effort.”) and the standard acknowledgment that football is a team game, and were it not for so-and-so and so-and-so I would certainly not be here today. With his girlfriend of five years sitting two rows away, and his wife of seventeen years sitting one row away, toward the end of his remarks Payton provided people with what they expected: “I want to stand up here and say that in this point of my life, that Jarrett, Brittney, and your mom, you guys will not have to worry about anything in your life no matter what the situation or how it ends. Because just as running up that hill and trying to catch runners such as Jim Brown and Gale Sayers motivated me to do more than I thought I possibly could do, you three will motivate me to make sure that your lives are happy and fulfilled.”
The camera flashed to Connie, who nodded appreciatively. Lita, almost directly behind her, surely felt her heart sink. How many times had Walter told her that he couldn’t stand his wife? That he desperately wanted to leave her, but there were just too many complications? “It was a weird choice of words,” said Quirk. “But Walter had put on a show about his marriage for years. It came very naturally to him.”
When the ceremony finally came to a close, Payton was able to take a deep sigh of relief. He had survived. It wasn’t easy, but he had survived. With all eyes on his every move, he approached Connie for a hug and a kiss, then put his arms around his mother and his children. Lita, meanwhile, walked back to the hotel, alone. She plopped down onto a couch in the lobby, where she chatted with one of the few Payton acquaintances aware of her status. Holmes, meanwhile, returned to his room, still furious over the way Payton had ignored his family. After about forty-five minutes, his phone rang. It was Connie. “Bud,” she said, “I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you?”
“Sure,” Holmes replied.
“Well,” said Connie, “I’d like you to introduce me to Lita.”
Silence.
“Really?” said Holmes, who—along with most others—had no inkling Connie knew of Lita’s existence. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” said Connie. “I am.”
Moments later, Connie came to the McKinley Grand lobby and stood in front of a woman who was thirteen years her junior. “I introduced the two