by Barry Rozner, Daily Herald / Paddock Publications
For weeks,
we'd heard talk that Walter Payton had cancer and that his chance to get a
liver had passed.
But it wasn't
until Friday night that we received word that Walter was dying. They said it
could happen in a matter of days. Maybe even hours.
No chance,
I thought. He would never overshadow a Sunday of Bears football, just like he
refused to acknowledge his illness in January so as not to cast a pall over the
Super Bowl.
And, sure
enough, he waited until Monday morning to reach the ultimate end zone. In the end, as in the beginning and the
middle, Walter was the ultimate team player.
Personal recognition never was important to Walter, but being recognized
for what he did on the field remained vital to his existence. It hurt him that
his game didn't get the credit it deserved.
But he knew
it was out of his control so Walter got over it, even if the rest us squirmed
every time we heard Jim Brown or Emmitt Smith lauded
and applauded, ad nauseam.
Perhaps in
death, Walter's place in history will become crystal clear and beautifully
accurate. And he will truly rest in
peace.
The last
time I spoke at length with Walter Payton about his career was in November
1997, but he was clearly uncomfortable looking back. That wasn't Walter's
way. He kept changing the subject
because Walter always preferred to look ahead.
"Tell
me about that Cubs pitching staff,'' he said at least three times. "Why don't they ever have any pitching?''
And he
still remembered that when I was a peanut vendor at Soldier Field, I used to
wait for him near the tunnel hours before the game and give him a "Reggie Bar.'' "Man,
that was my lucky candy bar,'' Walter laughed. "They never should have
stopped making those things.''
Walter was
sometimes caught from behind on the football field, so perhaps that's why he
didn't spend a lot of time peeking over his shoulder. Even when he heard he would never get a new
liver, which meant certain death, Walter did not look back.
He said,
"Where do we go from here?'' "Courageous'' is too simple of a
word to describe Walter Payton, but it's the best one I can think of right now.
This is a
difficult day to push nouns against verbs and have them make sense, especially
when a man so young dies during what should be the best time of his life,
watching his children become adults.
We are sad for
him and - selfishly - sad for ourselves.
Only if you
grew up in
Walter was
part of the family, and Sundays were our days together. He made that one day of
the week the best day of the week. When the Bears were on, it was Walter time.
When the Bears won the Super Bowl, it was Walter's Super Bowl. When Walter
retired, Sundays simply didn't mean as much.
When he
didn't get to score a touchdown in
I'm not
ashamed to tell you he was my hero growing up. If you watched him as I did, the
following needs no explanation. If you are too young or weren't here when he
ran the football, I suggest you get yourself some tape.
Please
allow me to tell you what I'll remember…..
The
The stiff arm. The limp leg.
The punishment.
Walter over the top.
Benching more than any player on the team.
Being helped off the field in tears in the 1976 finale after hurting his
ankle and losing the rushing title to O.J. Simpson.
The 1977
CBS highlight package set to the song, "Nobody Does
it Better.''
The 84-yard
TD run against Philly in the '79 playoffs that was
called back.
Seeing him sitting alone at O'Hare after a miserable 1980 season, eating
a bowl of chili on his way home to see his mom.
Playing the entire 1981 season with a separated shoulder - and never
missing a play.
The TD throw to Pat Dunsmore against the
'Skins in the 1984 playoffs.
In 1985, he
ran 324 times for 1,551 yards - and his longest run was 40 yards.
His smile
as they finished off the Rams in the NFC Championship.
His arm around Jim McMahon on the sideline near the end of Super Bowl
XX.
Sitting on the bench alone after his final game.
The way he dropped the ball after scoring a touchdown. And how he learned to spin it.
How he
refused to run out of bounds.
Waiting for
him to get the corner and then turn up field and bury a DB.
How his
opponents never had a bad word to say about him.
The way he handled it with class when his record-breaking run in 1984
was overshadowed by the Cubs' Game 5 loss in
The way he always placed the ball forward after being tackled.
(He once told me he got an extra 3 inches every time he placed the ball
forward after being tackled. He figured he did that about 330 times a year and
over 13 years that's an extra 1,072 yards. He thought that was hilarious.)
When he ran
70 yards to chase down a cornerback after an interception and knock him out of bounds
on the 1-yard line.
How he
always said, "Tomorrow is promised to no one.''
And how he
played every play and lived every day like it could be his last.
And finally...
Thank you,
Walter, for so many great days and so many wonderful memories.
Rest in
peace, Walter Payton, for you have nothing to prove. You are and always will be
the greatest who ever lived.
May God be
with you.