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.
Simply the best
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.
A true hero
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 Chicago and understand this city, and lived here during Payton's career, can you understand why we worshipped him. Those of you who did know exactly what I mean.
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 New Orleans and a blip on the radar like William Perry did, we understood why he was upset. We were also upset. We hurt for Walter.
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.
Memories, so many memories
The Kansas City run.
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 San Diego.
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.
