By Kyle Jorrey
Sports Editor
It finally happened.
After years of hoping and praying that the day would never arrive, the inevitable took place this past weekend. Dallas Cowboys’ running back Emmitt Smith surpassed Walter Payton to become the league’s all-time leading rusher.
And while NFL players and fans paid tribute to an extremely talented athlete and a “stand-up” guy who’s destined for the Hall of Fame, I looked on in frustration and sadness.
“Why?” you ask. Why would I root against an athlete like Smith, a guy who always worked hard on the field and in practice, never verbally attacked his teammates or his opponents and rarely ever did more than lift a finger after scoring a touchdown.
Well, it’s a story, a love story, and it goes back to 1989, the year I first fell in love with football. A little guy with messy hair, dressed in those pajamas that had the slippers built in (you know the ones), plugged to the TV screen every Sunday morning. And it was all thanks to a guy named Payton, and I never watched him play a game.
Now I won’t get too sentimental here, but let’s just say, I started watching the sport because of him. Though he retired in 1987, his accolades were well documented, and it was through the miracle of NFL Films that I got to know the guy they called “Sweetness.” Payton was the league’s best back for more than 10 years, eventually beating out legend Jim Brown to become, at that time, the sport’s all-time leading rusher.
He also had records for most yards rushed in one game and most total yards in a season — only the total yards record remains but Jerry “when am I ever going to retire” Rice is quickly approaching. He did all this while playing on sub-par teams throughout most of his career, unlike Smith.
Payton is the reason I became a football fan, the reason I became a Bears fan, and the reason I spent my entire childhood dreaming of becoming a running back in the NFL. If you are a sports fan and you’ve ever had a favorite player you know what I’m talking about.
I read all his biographies, collected all of his cards and always wanted to be him when we played two-hand touch. When he died prematurely in 1999 of a cancer-related disease, I cried.
Needless to say, I always held hopes that Payton’s all-time rushing record would never fall, never wanting to heed to the statement — records are made to be broken. I wanted dearly for my boyhood idol to always go down as the league’s best running back, so much so, I reduced myself to a shameless antagonist.
When the indescribably talented Barry Sanders retired three years ago, just 2,000 yards off the record and after only nine seasons in the league, I cheered. When Smith suffered a season-ending knee injury a few years back, I even had the nerve to smile.
And as I watched Dallas play the Seattle Seahawks this weekend, a small and evil part me quietly hoped there was a sniper sitting in the stands. Not to kill Smith, of course not, but maybe just wound him a little. Yes, I must to admit the obsession was getting pretty scaring and pretty pathetic.
But after watching Smith make the record-breaking run, a surprising thing happened as the camera flashed to Payton’s family. They were smiling, and so was everybody else.
I realized then that if anyone were to take Payton’s record, it ought to be Smith. And as the celebration ensued and the TV showed old videos of “Sweetness,” a sense of serenity came over me.
It was time to give up my childhood obsession and give Smith his credit. Payton may not be the league’s best running back anymore, as far as the stats go, but he’ll always be to me. It was a changing of the guard, and it was time for me to grow up and accept it.
October 31, 2002