Authors: Jeff Pearlman
Sweetness (87 page)
There has long been a myth that Halas was succeeded in right field by Babe Ruth. It was actually Sammy Vick who took over for Halas.
In a July 22, 1979, note to a peer, the
Tribune
’s Ron Sons recalled watching Robertson that night. “My definite impression,” he wrote, “was that Robertson was riding a high stronger than Pepsi-Cola at the time. He may not remember what he said.”
Said Rives: “I like Bob, but he was a typical sissy kicker. I’m true to my word—if he misses the kick, he never has any kids.”
As he grew older, Payton’s stance softened. In an interview with ESPN’s Roy Firestone in 1989, he said: “The reason it happened is it was a small town and people were not aware as to certain things . . . It wasn’t a case of racism. It was just a small-town atmosphere. People didn’t know what was wrong.”
When asked about the Bears not hiring Walsh, Mike Ditka said: “What happens if Bill comes to Chicago? I’ll tell you this much—nobody would even know who I am, and I’d be tending bar in Dallas.”
An interesting side-note: To augment his income, Payton signed an agreement with the Playboy Club to speak at a luncheon on the Monday afternoons following home games.
One of the great tragedies of Payton’s life took place a couple of years later, when he accidentally locked Sweetness out of the house on a cold winter day. The dog froze to death. “Walter,” said Ron Atlas, his friend, “was crushed.”
Keeping with his oft-quirky ways, Payton never did hold the postseason press conference he had promised reporters.
He rushed for 161 yards and threw for seventy-seven yards against the Saints. “I never saw anything like Walter in that game,” said Al Harris, the Bears linebacker. “There was a play where he was running toward our bench, and Walter wound up his arm like a bolo punch, and this defensive back for New Orleans [Dave Waymer], he hit this dude . . . you know how in a movie a boxer will wind up his whole arm like a propeller. Walter wound up his arm and threw a forearm. I was sitting on the bench and they were two yards from the sideline, and [Waymer] came flying through the air and landed by my feet. Remarkable!”
Harper, his closest friend on the team, was finally cut; Halas, the man who drafted him, died at age eighty-eight.
“He invited me to come work out with him,” recalled Billy Sims, Detroit’s star halfback. “Oh, boy, did I make a mistake. He’s running these crazy hills with thirty-pound weight packs on his back, and I just want to avoid throwing up.”
Author’s note: When I asked Jarrett Payton, Walter’s son, whether his father had been a Democrat or a Republican, he shrugged. “Honestly,” he said, “I don’t know.”
Later in his life Payton also tested positive for Epstein-Barr virus, but never appeared to suffer from any symptoms.
Not everyone with New England was so confident. Said Les Steckel, the Patriots’ quarterbacks and receivers coach: “I thought about calling the commissioner’s office and asking if we could play with twelve guys of ours on the field. I’m not sure whether we would have won—but I definitely think we’d have had a shot with thirteen.”
Technically, some of the fault lies with McMahon. The handoff was designed to head toward the weak side of the defense, but the quarterback called the wrong formation. “Walter was furious with McMahon about that,” said Bud Holmes. “He never said it to his face, but he blamed the fumble on him.”
Yes,
that
Sean Payton—the coach of the New Orleans Saints.
Billy Kohler is now twenty-four and living in Orlando, where he works construction.
During his time at Mayo, it was also determined that Payton was a carrier of Hepatitis C, a viral disease that leads to swelling of the liver. However, according to Dr. J. Steve Bynon, head of the liver transplant center at the University of Alabama-Birmingham, Hepatitis C and primary sclerosing cholangitis are unrelated. “Hepatitis C can be very serious,” Bynon said. “But it has nothing to do with PSC. They are separate entities.” During his stint as a patient at Mayo, Payton acknowledged to confidants that he had known of the Hepatitis C for more than a decade, and that he probably contracted it as a result of knee surgery following the 1983 season. The disease, however, is often difficult to detect, and for years Payton refused to tell anyone—even loved ones—that he was a carrier.
I was the
Sports Illustrated
writer. I’ve never forgotten sitting across from Payton that day.
