Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [80]
Payton apologized, and promised Holmes he was done acting like a juvenile. “You’re my agent,” he said. “I trust you. You tell me what to do, I’ll do it.”
Holmes nodded. The problem was, he wasn’t quite sure what his client should do. Payton had already skipped his introductory press conference, a transgression that left Finks, Pardee, and the legendary Halas furious. Two days later, Payton was still missing in action. Under Holmes’ directive, he returned none of the Bears’ calls, leaving the organization to look hapless and, to a certain degree, pathetic. It was all part of a plan: Halas had publicly called the Bears’ draft “our team’s best in a decade,” which served to excite a habitually disappointed fan base. In other words, the Bears had to hammer out a contract with Payton. They absolutely had to. When a Jackson-based NBC reporter tracked down Payton, the running back followed Holmes’ script to a tee. “There are other leagues, and I have to give them consideration, too,” he said. “I’ve already been contacted by the Canadian Football League. If an offer comes up that I can’t resist, that’s part of life, because I’m in it not only for the love of the game but for the money.”
Was Payton genuinely interested in moving to Canada? “Not a chance,” said Holmes. “It was all a ploy.”
On February 2, a full five days following the draft, Payton arrived in Chicago, but not as the Bears had hoped. After ignoring dozens of calls and Western Union telegrams from the team, Holmes was contacted by Brent Musburger, at the time an up-and-coming sports reporter for the local CBS affiliate. The station asked Holmes if he’d be willing to bring his client to Chicago for a one-on-one sit-down interview. “We’ll send a plane for both of you,” Musburger said. “Then put you on the air.”
Holmes liked it. Payton liked it. Here was a way to set the agenda; to let the people of Chicago know that Walter Payton wanted to be a Bear, but the organization wasn’t making an effort to sign him (a complete lie—how could an offer be made if Holmes refused to pick up the telephone?). “It was a good strategy for them,” said Musburger. “At the time the Bears were thought of as a very cheap operation. The best thing Walter could do was make it sound like he was itching to come play here.” The agent and the football player boarded the turboprop jet at Jackson’s airport, and en route worked out a devilish plan. Told by Bob Hill that his new client owned a perverse sense of humor, Holmes thought it’d be fun to introduce themselves to the Windy City as a couple of small-town bumpkins. “Walter and I made up this big scenario,” Holmes said. “I was gonna be an ignorant lawyer, and Walter was going be an even more ignorant, dumb black who just barely got out of the fields and could barely read and write. Walter was all for it.”
The plane landed at Meigs Field. It was a typical winter day in Chicago, with fierce winds blowing off of Lake Michigan and several feet of snow covering the ground. By design, Payton was the last person to exit the aircraft. He stuck his head out the door, crinkled his nose, and screamed, “Uh-uh, no way. I ain’t playing in this mess. What is that stuff? Is that cotton?”
“No Walter,” Holmes said. “That’s snow.”
“Snow!” said Payton. “Well, I ain’t ever seen that before.”
“Boy,” bellowed Holmes, “get your ass off that airplane!”
“Uh-uh,” Payton replied. “I ain’t stepping into that mess. Mama told me I could come back to the house if I don’t like it here. I wanna to go on back home now, Mista Bud.”
Payton finally made his way from the plane to an airport hangar, where the interview would be conducted. Upon meeting Musburger, Payton repeatedly referred to him as “Mista Mooseburger.”
“Walter was cutting up, using ‘nigger’ every other word, just watching the shock cross people’s faces,” said Holmes. “They must have thought this guy from the woods of Mississippi was some