• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Physically, Walter could have played against the Steelers. And I suppose I could have overlooked his faking the injury. But I saw it as an opportunity to make an important statement to everyone about what we expected.”

That Sunday, Payton stood on the sideline in his uniform as the Bears battled the Steelers in what the Tribune’s Ed Stone rightly termed a “morbid” mismatch. Though it was hard watching his team slog through a 34–3 embarrassment, what upset Payton most was Adamle making his first NFL start.

As a white, undersized (five foot nine, 198 pounds) running back, Adamle had spent much of his five years in the NFL trying to prove he was worthy of more than special teams play. Yet in two seasons with the Chiefs, then another two with the Jets, he never exceeded 303 yards or two touchdowns. There was always a bigger name (Ed Podolak in Kansas City, John Riggins in New York) in front of him, as was now the case in Chicago. Yet at long last, thanks to Payton’s phantom malady, Adamle was getting a shot. With dozens of family members and friends on hand, he gained 110 yards on seventeen carries, the best game for a Bears running back since Gale Sayers’ retirement. Harper, a rookie also making his first NFL start, added eighty-six more.

Throughout the afternoon, Payton did and said the right things. He patted Adamle atop the helmet, applauded his effort, told him to wait for his blocks and steer clear of Jack Lambert, Pittsburgh’s terrifying linebacker. Inside, he was devastated. “You could watch him sitting there and know he was upset,” said Caito. “But that was the whole idea. He should have been upset. Great players are selfish. They want the ball.”

Throughout his life, Payton bemoaned the afternoon in Pittsburgh. He told anyone within earshot that Jack Pardee had been wrong to keep him glued to the sidelines. “He liked saying, ‘Bud, I could have played! I could have played!’ ” said Holmes. “And I liked saying, ‘Walter, you fucked it up! You fucked it up! ’ ”

Did the lesson stick?

In thirteen seasons, Payton never missed another game.

Decades before extensive broadcast coverage made the sport ubiquitous, there was something genuinely magical about ABC’s Monday Night Football. The commentators—especially the cantankerous Howard Cosell—were national icons, and Pop Warner, high school, and college players dreamed of one day appearing on the telecast. From the first time he glanced over the Bears’ 1975 schedule, Payton had anticipated breaking out on Monday night against the Vikings at Soldier Field. He imagined all his old friends glued to the television in Jackson State’s Sampson Hall and back home in Columbia, Mississippi.

Instead, it turned into one of the worst nights of his life.

Because of his 110-yard performance against the world champion Steelers the previous week, Adamle got the start again. He opened the scoring with a fourteen-yard draw play for a touchdown. “I can’t believe it’s the Mike Adamle we were watching with the Jets,” Cosell raved. “He’s suddenly getting an opportunity with the Bears and proving he’s a big-league runner.” Payton was a backup for the first time since his freshman year in college, as well as the team’s new kick returner. His special teams gig began well, as Payton fielded his first NFL kickoff and ran it back forty-three yards. Three plays later, however, Payton took a pitch from Huff, swept around the right corner, bolted down the field, twisted, ducked, swiveled—then fumbled when Minnesota’s Terry Brown knocked the ball loose. “He was just making a great run,” a disgusted Pardee said afterward. “In making the second effort he exposed the ball.”

The Bears lost, 13–9.

Payton, who carried only ten times compared to Adamle’s fourteen, was down. His NFL dreams had never involved working as a backup and returning kicks. “If they want me to run, I’ll run,” he told Joe Mooshil of the Associated Press. “If they want me to block, I’ll block. If they want me to catch passes, I’ll do that. And if they want to