Walter & Me (12 page)

As you can imagine, Coach was getting frustrated because he knew what we were up to, but he just couldn’t stop us. I think he didn’t like two knuckleheads flaunting it in his face right there for all the other players to see. He called a team meeting and tried to make it seem like he wasn’t going to take it anymore, but didn’t yet know who was doing it. “I know some of y’all are slipping out at night,” Coach said to the team. “If I catch you slipping out, I’ll send you home to your folks.” Walter and I knew better. We knew Coach knew who it was, and we knew he didn’t want to catch us.

We kept going up and down that tree, thinking it would never end. Then Coach Hill finally won out. He didn’t just cut more of the limbs off this time. That crazy man had the entire tree cut down. We were like,
Well, I guess that’s it then.
No more tree meant no more tree-climbing, so we knew we were finally beat. The stump is still over there today, a very short but amusing monument to the antics of Walter and Eddie Payton. That’s one bad-ass tree stump.

Coach cutting down that tree was probably the first time I realized that all good things come to an end eventually. And just like that tree, Payton & Payton would have to come to an end, too. Funny thing is that sometimes, when something good comes to end, something even better begins. Walter was fixin’ to break out during the rest of his days at Jackson State. But the question is, was it because I left, or was it because a girl named Connie showed up?

7. Throwin’ Out the Old

Have I yet told you that Coach Hill was a hard-ass? Well, he was. Have I mentioned he pushed us football players a bit too far at times? Well, he did. Did you think I would miss Coach Hill’s brutal ways when I left Jackson State? Well, I didn’t. Not in the least. Still, I was hoping that he might miss me, at least a little, on the field. I guess it’s hard to miss someone when someone better comes along. As it turned out, he still had my little brother, and Walter was about to explode. Coach knew Walter was fixin’ to turn into the best player he’d ever seen. The best player to ever put on a Jackson State uniform. The best player the state of Mississippi had ever produced. Coach just had one problem: Walter was distracted. He wasn’t sure how to get his mind off that girl who rejected him. Walter wanted to move on from all that mess, but he just didn’t know how. Lucky for Walter, our hard-ass coach was a softie with the ladies.

Coach Hill didn’t have any problem getting women to like him. Once he was divorced, it was open season. He’d been dating a woman from New Orleans named Betty, and that woman had a niece who Coach thought was a pretty cool girl. Coach had met her a few times on trips to see Betty, and in his eyes, she’d be quite a catch for some lucky young man. Well, one day Coach saw Walter on campus moping around, dwelling on the fact that he’d been kicked to the curb on account of his skin being too dark. He was always wallowing in despair over that situation and would sometimes even go around trying to be in the right place at the right time so he could “run into” that girl on campus. Coach looked at his depressed star running back and he thought about Betty’s niece. Then he put two and two together. The best way to get Walter out of his rejection-induced funk was to introduce him to someone new. Someone with personality. Someone pretty. Someone who had it all. Someone who could make Walter forget all about that other girl. Coach introduced my baby brother to someone named Connie.

It might’ve taken Connie a little while to warm up to the idea of meeting Walter (especially when she first saw a picture of him), but once she did, the two of them really hit it off. Coach Hill knew exactly what he was doing. He had picked a good one for his prized player. Perhaps a perfect one. Connie proved to be an instant Payton funk eraser, and Walter was back to being happy. He now only had eyes for a girl from New Orleans, and he only had two words for that girl who had rejected him: “Who dat?” And you know, I think that other girl turned out to be heartbroken by Walter’s sudden change in direction. But hey, what goes around comes around, right? And Connie was coming around more and more as she and Walter started developing their relationship. She was pulling on his heartstrings, and Coach Hill was pulling some strings of his own. He talked to someone who talked to someone, and they all agreed they wanted to keep Walter happy. It wasn’t long before Connie was enrolled at Jackson State.

With that other girl off his mind and Connie on campus, Walter was out of his depression and back to giving Coach Hill what he had wanted all along: a focused stud running back. And not only was Connie now Walter’s one and only, but with me gone, the football field was all his, too. What wasn’t gone, at least for me, were the great memories of our one year playing football together. Perhaps Coach Hill and Walter didn’t think much about it at the time, but I was picturing plays from the previous year as if I was still on the team. I often thought about how Walter and I, depending on the formation, had the freedom to switch places. The thing is, I’d rather run to the right and then left, and Walter would rather run to the left and then right. There was a play we ran that was designed to originally go right, but if we saw the defense cheating toward that side, our quarterback could read it and change it to a sweep the other way. Since the play would be going left, Walter would want to run it, so we’d sometimes just trade places. Walter would holler, “Switch!” and he’d take the pitch and run it out. The quarterback didn’t even need to know who was going to run the ball or which one of us he was going to pitch it to. It was no worry to him. He just knew it was a sweep and that he’d pitch to the trailing tailback, whether he was 5'7" or 5'10". If it was me, it was me. If it was Walter, it was Walter. Either way, it was gonna be good.

I often found myself thinking about how that Jackson State team with Walter and me was about as cohesive a group as you will ever see in college football. When you take a good look along the offensive line we had, you can’t help but be in awe. I mean, we had guys like Ed Hardy (who was drafted by the 49ers), Emanuel Zanders (who played for the Saints), and Leon Gray (played 11 seasons in the NFL). Another kid on that line was Otis Stricklin, and he was probably even better than Leon, in my opinion. He just wasn’t big enough to get attention and play in the NFL. Still, I think he was better. Or maybe I’m just partial to little guys. I often found myself looking back at it then. It was a year and a time in my life that meant a whole lot to me, and I’ll never stop thinking about that. You know, I think that season meant a whole lot to all the other guys on that team, too, Walter included.

When I left Jackson State, a part of it came with me, and a part of me stayed behind. That part of me, the spirit of a young and cocky senior back who just knew he could conquer the world, will always be running the fields at Jackson State. What I didn’t leave behind, though, was my shadow. When I was gone, Walter was out of my shadow once again—once and for all, in fact. The Jackson State Tigers were no longer
our
team. It was now Walter’s team. And for a time there, it looked like he
was
the team.

With me gone, Walter became the lead running back, the punter, the place kicker, and even threw the halfback pass several times. And everything he did, he did top-notch. While Walter was engaging in what was the opposite of a sophomore slump, I was out there giving the Canadian Football League (CFL) a shot with Ottawa. And calling it a “shot” is just about right. I only lasted three months or so and decided to come back to Jackson State to work on my bachelor’s degree, which I didn’t finish when I ran out of football eligibility. So, there I was, back at school, and I wasn’t going to be on the field. It was very different for me, that’s for sure. I wasn’t casting a shadow anymore, and I even started to notice that Walter’s shadow was creeping its way toward me. Maybe I tried to ignore it, but that didn’t stop it from moving ever closer. During his first year without his big brother, Walter was the second leading scorer. And I’m not just talking Jackson State. And I’m not just talking the SWAC. And I’m not just talking Mississippi. And I’m not just talking the South. I’m talking the whole nation. Walter scored the second-most points in all the land. He also managed the highest single-game scoring total in college football history when he scored 46 points in a single game. Now, just pause for a minute and do what I like to do. Close your eyes and just think about that. Okay, wait, don’t close your eyes. I want you to keep reading. So, just keep your eyes open, stop for a bit here, and think about what an amazing thing Walter did. 46 points. From one man. In one game. And now think about how ironic it is that in the Super Bowl that Walter helped bring to Chicago, the Bears scored 46 points just like Walter did in that one game at Jackson State in 1972. Only Walter didn’t get a single point in that Super Bowl.

Whether Walter should have gotten a shot at a touchdown in that Super Bowl is something I’ll let you all talk about. Maybe we’ll touch on it later in this book. What I want to get back to right now, though, is how Walter was nothing short of unstoppable the rest of his time at Jackson State. He was like a runaway train without the confinement of tracks. His insanely quick plant-and-cuts allowed him to change his direction faster than he took to Connie. His nuclear explosiveness let him tear through the line of scrimmage, steamrolling would-be tacklers like they were still a bunch of little boys on the playground. His power in the open field enabled him to outrun most anyone in pursuit, as if he was still stealing plums from the Garden of Eatin’. All of that added up to define Walter’s style as a running back during his second year as a Tiger. He was so instinctive, so automatic, so natural, so in the zone. He didn’t have to think about it or reason it out. He just was. My little brother quickly became the most intuitive runner I’d ever seen or would ever see carrying a ball. Anywhere. Any level. Ever.

He was so good the rest of the way at Jackson State that fans could’ve simply called him “The Best.” That would have been fitting, but that didn’t become his nickname. Too obvious, perhaps. Well, he had long left “Bubba” behind, and just calling him “Walter” wasn’t sexy enough for what he was doing out there, so he needed something else. Sometime soon after I graduated, he somehow picked up one of my old nicknames, “Little Monk.” The thing is, that really fit me much better than Walter, since I was the little guy. Plus, he was just becoming too good to follow in my footsteps. So, he was only “Little Monk” for a little while. Then something as sweet as Connie rolled his way once again. It was a nickname that would stick like honey. More heroic than his high school nickname “Spider-Man” and somehow more decadent than “Sugarman.” It was a name unlike anything before used to describe a football player. “Sweetness” may’ve started out as something the other guys called Walter as a way to pick on him for his soft, high-pitched voice, but it soon developed into a moniker of pride for my brother. It was a nickname that matched his voice, yes, but it ended up matching the way he played even better. As a reporter once said about Walter, “He runs so sweet that it gives me cavities just watching him.” I think there was a boom in business for dentists around Jackson State at the time, because Sweetness was there to stay. Walter embraced it, he loved it, and he never shied away from what would become one of sport’s greatest and most-recognized nicknames.

Another reason the name “Sweetness” fit Walter so well was that he started leading the Tigers in their pregame prayer. Before each game, Walter would bring the team before God, and this wasn’t something Coach Hill told him to do. Walter took over the pregame prayer out of choice. He wanted to do it. Now, remember, of course, that we’re talking about the same Walter Payton that some folks in the media have been saying was not religious at all. Well, Walter was obviously religious at Jackson State, and I can tell you for sure that in the same way he didn’t lose many games there, he also did
not
lose his religion anywhere along the line. Sweetness never wavered as a believer and follower of Jesus Christ, and I’m confident that if you believe in Jesus Christ, too, then you’ll one day see for yourself that I’m right.

One thing I wasn’t right about, I have to admit, was what I was going to do after leaving Jackson State. I expected to go off and create yet another shadow for Walter to one day step into on the next level, but that turned out to be more of a wish and a prayer, I suppose. And God had a different answer for it than I did. I thought I’d end up in the NFL or at least would light the CFL on fire. Well, when the NFL didn’t call me for a workout and the CFL just plain didn’t work out, I soon found out that God’s answer to my prayer was a blessing I didn’t even ask for. Though I wasn’t yet living my dream, I got to watch Walter finish his last two years at Jackson State. I gave him his space while I was there, of course, but I still got to hang out and work out with him. And yes, I had a front row seat to witness him break all of my records. Okay, “break” is too soft of word. He smashed what I did. During his junior season in 1973, Sweetness rushed for 1,139 yards, led the country in scoring with 160 points, was voted the most valuable player in the SWAC, and was named to the Black All-American team. You’re reading about it now, but I got to see it with my own eyes.

And you know, being right there and being his brother, I got to see more than football from Walter. I wasn’t playing with him anymore, but I was still living life with him. And let me tell you, the football field wasn’t the only place where he could play. In fact, he could’ve easily been the captain of the All-American team of off-the-field mischief, had there been one of those teams. Walter knew how to have fun and get into some serious trouble all at the same time. One of his favorite pranks was going around campus and letting the air out of two tires on a vehicle. He’d find a car that was parked, just sitting there, minding its own business, not hurting no one, and just waiting for someone like Walter to come along. Once he was sure there was nobody around or watching, he’d approach the car all stealth-like. He’d quickly bend down out of sight and release the air from the front right tire. Then he’d move around to the other side without standing up and let the air out of the back left tire. He’d then stand up, walk away, and find a spot close enough to the car to see it but far enough so as not to be seen. He’d sit and watch and wait for the owner to come back. Once that poor soul came strolling along, Walter would chuckle at knowing that in a matter of minutes, he’d be watching that car waddle away.

Some other parked cars suffered worse fates than that. If Walter could find a couple of teammates to help him (and he always could), they’d walk around until something teeny-tiny on four wheels was staring right at them. Those guys would pick up the smallest car they could find, like a Volkswagen or something, and they’d set it somewhere it didn’t belong. They’d put it on a sidewalk, in front of a fireplug, between two trees, or somewhere like that. When the owner came back, he wouldn’t be able to find the car at first. When he did finally locate it, he could at worst have a ticket for parking in front of a fireplug, but at best he’d be scratching his head about how the damn thing ended up where it was. And the whole time, Walter and his teammates would be—yep, you guessed it—chuckling like little kids. Walter would do anything to get a good laugh.

Now, there are some stories that went a little beyond just good ol’ laughter. We can’t talk about all of those stories. Or I should say, I won’t talk about them. Some of things we did—uh, I mean, some of the things
they
did—will go with me to my grave. But there are enough funny stories that we can talk about, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. The main character in this next one is Sugarman. Remember him? You know, Edward “Sugarman” Moses, who played alongside Walter in high school. Well, he came to Jackson State with Walter, as you know, and they put him in a room with me and Walter during their freshman year. He got to go up and down that tree with us from time to time, but being in that room with Walter and me wasn’t all good for Sugarman. I’ll never forget about how Walter and I’d wait for him to fall asleep. He’d always go to bed earlier than us, and…come on now…in a room with Walter and me, that’s just a big mistake. A few minutes after he was off in dreamland, we’d go to work. On more than one occasion, Sugarman woke up with his bed soaking wet on one side and his blanket on the floor. He would scramble to get it cleaned up, and I don’t think he was ever completely sure whether he actually wet the bed or the two Payton boys had done it.