Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [69]
The Mavericks arrived in Mississippi on the afternoon of October 4 and spent the night at the Ramada Inn, a short drive from Memorial Stadium. On the evening of the game (scheduled to begin at eight P.M.), the team took a bus to the stadium, only to be greeted by hundreds of Jackson State diehards. “We went there and everyone was black,” said Ravenell. “The fans, the cheerleaders, the players. We were mainly white, and our players had never been in that sort of setting. I’m black, so I wasn’t affected. But they were intimidated. Normally our team would be all pumped up before a game. This time, nothing was said. We were surrounded by tens of thousands of black faces, and we were afraid.”
“We had no chance,” said Daenhauer. “None.”
The Mavericks won the opening toss and elected to receive. Their offense took over on the twenty-nine-yard line, and Bowenkamp, a Kansas State transfer starting in place of the injured John Smolsky, jogged onto the field. Hewgley called for a swing pass to Ravenell out of the backfield. Bowenkamp took the snap and rolled right. With Ravenell covered by Tate, the quarterback tucked the ball and turned upfield. POP! He was clocked by Brazile, a six-foot-four, 240-pound linebacker who would later be nicknamed “Dr. Doom” during a fabulous ten-year NFL career. Bowenkamp crumpled to the ground before Brazile’s hand grabbed his shoulder pads and jerked him upward. “White boy,” Brazile growled, “don’t you ever run this way again.”
The Mavericks punted, and moments later Young scored on a twenty-yard romp through the middle of UNO’s defense, kicking off an offensive explosion unparalleled in the history of Memorial Stadium. The Tigers led 48–0 at halftime, with Hill having decided early on that the day would be devoted to Payton and his Heisman hype. The highlight film—black-and-white and grainy—serves as an ode to a great runner at his absolute greatest.
“My best safety was a kid named Mike McDermott—a real tough guy from Colorado,” said Daenhauer. “Walter broke through the line one time, and Mike hit him squarely in the chest . . . just unloaded on him. Walter ran right through him like he wasn’t even there. I’d never seen that before.”
“There was one play when Walter Payton was running, and he was going to my right down the sidelines,” said Jim Sledge, a defensive tackle (and Ted Sledge’s sibling). “My brother was going full steam at him, and he stiff-armed him right in the chest, knocked him back, and scooted another fifty yards.”
The Tigers won 75–0, the most lopsided game in college football that season. Payton carried the ball eighteen times for 183 yards and six touchdowns. Afterward, UNO’s players expected to receive a stern browbeating from their coach. “There’s nothing I can really tell you after a game like that,” Hewgley said, his voice near a whisper. “We got our butts handed to us by a superhero.”
Four days later, the Associated Press named its National College Back of the Week. According to an AP article, among those considered for the award were Andrew Johnson of the Citadel, Joe Washington of Oklahoma, Walt Snickenberger of Princeton, and Billy Waddy of Colorado.
The winner was chosen by unanimous consent: Archie Griffin.
“Walter,” said Hill, “never got his due. Never.”
Indeed, overlooked in the aftermath of the 75–0 rout was a monumental achievement: With the six touchdowns against Omaha, Payton scored his 410th career point, breaking the NCAA record. So lightly regarded was Jackson State and the SWAC by the national media that John Husar of the Chicago Tribune dismissively wrote toward the end of his weekly column that Payton “apparently has broken the record—his school claims.” The old mark, set by Dale Mills of Northeast Missouri, had stood for fifteen years. “The record meant a lot to