Sweetness_ The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton - Jeff Pearlman [93]
“They told me not to worry, that I had a job locked up,” Grandberry said. “Then they cut me. I was destroyed. It took my spirit away. Walter actually apologized to me for taking my job, and I said, ‘You have nothing to be sorry about. You’re terrific.’
“Years later my dad said to me, ‘Yeah, you lost your job. But you lost it to Walter Payton. Who better to end your career?’ ”
Grandberry laughs.
“I hated to admit it, but Dad was right. Who better than Walter Payton?”
CHAPTER 12
ZERO YARDS
AT THE START OF EACH NFL SEASON, BEFORE GAMES HAVE BEGUN AND INJURIES have occurred and expectations fail to meet reality, optimism is an organizational requirement. As the mindless blather goes, “Every team is 0-0” and “With a few breaks . . .” and “If everyone lives up to their potential . . .” It makes no difference whether your franchise is plagued by a roster of talentless dopes, whether your coach is an alcoholic and your GM a heroin addict, whether you haven’t won since Washington crossed the Delaware.
This, at long last, will be the year!
As the 1975 season opener approached, the city of Chicago felt like their Bears were on the rise. These were the new Bears. The young Bears. The better-than-before Bears. The potentially play-off-bound Bears who had languished in the depths of the NFC Central for far too long. Sixteen rookies made the opening-day roster. Ten starters from the disastrous ’74 club were cut. In a piece titled “Bears are putting it all together,” the Tribune’s Don Pierson welcomed in the season by noting that, “With a new attitude, a new general manager, new coach, new players, and a proven old formula, a new era of success cannot be avoided.”
On the afternoon of Sunday, September 21, the new Chicago Bears debuted in front of a sellout crowd of 51,678 fans packed into Soldier Field. In the lead-up to the game, the Tribune’s Ed Stone wrote a glowing profile of Payton, hyping the rookie as the team’s savior and including this dandy of a quote from the naïve newcomer: “Give me time, I’ll give ’em a new Sayers.”
In case any of the longtime holdovers thought things had changed, however, they were quickly reminded the Bears were the Bears. Two hours before kickoff, as the team was warming up on the field, a thick cast-iron sewage pipe exploded beneath the home concrete locker room, spreading a gusher of liquid waste. By the time the maintenance crew plugged the hole, six inches of brown sludge coated the floor. “It was a nightmare,” said Bob Newton, an offensive lineman. “The whole room flooded, and we had to take all our gear across Soldier Field and dress on the visiting side.”
“That was our greeting to Chicago in 1975,” said Fred O’Connor, the backfield coach. “A foot of sewage.”
It turned out to be the day’s highlight. Though the Colts had finished 2-12 in 1974, their new coach, Ted Marchibroda, knew enough about Chicago’s limited abilities to draw up a two-point defensive game plan:
• Let quarterback Bobby Douglass throw all day.
• Suffocate the rookie running back.
“That was it,” said Joe Ehrmann, a Colts defensive tackle. “The entire goal was to stop Payton, who was supposed to be this stud, and have them have to pass.”
“They were just a horrible team,” added Tom MacLeod, a Baltimore linebacker. “The coaches told us, ‘Watch out for the kid.’ So we did.”
The weather was pleasant, with temperatures in the mid-fifties and the majority of players wearing only pads and T-shirts below their jerseys. A raucous ovation greeted the Bears as they took the field for the opening kickoff. Payton was euphoric. It had been a long, injury-marred preseason, and he often questioned whether this day would actually come.
The Bears lost 35–7.
When P.A. announcer Chet Coppock said, “The Bears thank you for your attendance,” deep into the fourth quarter,