As you can imagine, there is very little I take seriously.

But like the man said, I might be simple, I take it easy sometimes. But I can be stubborn when I’ve made up my mind.

And I’ve made up my mind to put the Crazy Columnist routine on the back burner for a week. I’m that upset about the garabge I’ve been hearing about Walter Payton.

I’ve heard people give lip service to his legend, then cry out for Thomas Sanders in their next breath. I’ve heard people whining about how he can’t turn the corner anymore, that he’s lost a step. That he should have retired after last season.

That Walter Payton is embarassing himself.

All right, here goes—and I’m trying to stay calm.

If there could be one person who could play in the National Football League for 12 seasons and not lose a step at age 33, it would be Walter Payton.

If a man could spend over a decade doing a job 11 big men were trying to stop him from doing and possibly perform at the same level at age 33 as he had at 21, it would be Walter Payton.

This is the man who has missed one game in all the years we’ve been watching him. The man who played most of the 1983 season with a knee that should have been operated on. The man who dislocated his big toe in 1987 and played the very next week.

This is the man who had nerve damage in his right shoulder toward the end of last year, but not even a crucial fumble in the playoffs could make him admit it to the public. Or make excuses.

Those of us who have trouble walking the day after playing touch football in the park can only wonder what God put into Walter Payton.

But nothing could stop time from taking away some of Payton’s abilities. He has lost some speed, some quickness. The bottom line is no man—not even Walter Payton—has the legs at 33 he had at 21. Especially not a man in the NFL.

But what has to be looked at are the things Payton hasn’t lost, the things that still make him capable of working out of the Chicago Bears’ backfield or any backfield in the league.

Strength. Payton has always been unbelievably strong, both physically and mentally. He can still knock anyone—from the beanheaded Lawrence Taylor to the classy Howie Long—clean on his can. You may see Payton taken down one-on-one low, but no one has or will ever take him high without help, and lots of it.

Grit. Who saw Payton’s ankle turn completely over in the season opener? Then you also saw him get up on his own and go back in before taking himself out. As gifted as Neal Anderson is, we’ve already see him leave games with injuries more times in a season and a half than Payton has in 12 and a half.

Class. Think about the Chicago Bears without number 34, because Payton’s number was as good as retired long ago. Like the passing of George Halas—the abrasive but golden-hearted Papa Bear—four years ago, the Bears will lose a big piece of their heart and soul.

Now think about what you’ve lost, if you’re one of those people who’s been walking around calling for Payton to sit down. You’ve lost respect for the one man in football—and one of the few in the public eye—who truly deserves and is responsible to every bit of respect he is given.

e is what you call an inspiration. He’s shown us the work ethic of a Chicago spot-welder. He has shown that character can coexist with talent in a young man’s body, surviving in a profession where men are struck down by anything from drugs to damaged body parts to destructive egoism.

Payton told us in July this would be his final season. Don’t be foolish enough to think Walter Payton is embarassing himself in his farewell tour. And don’t be surprised when he contributes to the Bears’ return to the Super Bowl.

By the way—it’s Friday. Bears’ game Sunday at the Ultimate. Let’s savor Sweet Walter while we can.