Commentary : It’s Payton Riding High Now, Not Riggins

For His Royal Sweetness, Walter Payton, a new world began opening its doors last Sunday as his Chicago Bears won their first playoff game in 21 years.

For John Riggins, the Washington player most robed in glory for the past three seasons, those same doors might have started to close.

“I think I have to relinquish my crown as Mr. January to him today,” Riggins said of Payton.

When the Bears needed Payton in their 23-19 victory at Robert F. Kennedy Stadium, he ran for 104 yards, passed for a score, caught a pass and blocked so hard he even broke one Redskin’s shoulder.

As Payton, 30, rises with the tide of an ascending team, Riggins, 35, must face the prospect that his star may fall with his battered team’s fortunes.

When it was time for The Riggo Drill Sunday, when it was time for the diesel horns to blow and the stands to sway in the fourth quarter, when it was time for Riggins to lead Washington to a game-winning touchdown (he scored twice in the third quarter) in this NFC semifinal game, nothing happened.

Three times, the Redskins got the ball in the Bears’ territory--starting at the 36-, 40- and 45-yard lines--and only once was the ball given to Riggins.

“I didn’t have the confidence we could move the ball with John,” Redskin Coach Joe Gibbs said. “I felt our best shot was passing.”

“We weren’t doing enough (on the ground) to give the coaches confidence,” Riggins said in his postgame press conference.

Later, however, he told Ira Rosenfeld of the Associated Press: “I just kept waiting for the call, waiting for them to give me the ball. You tell me what happened.”

In all, Riggins gained only 50 yards on 21 carries against a 4-6 Bear defense that was, in a sense, a compliment to him. Chicago’s clamp-and-gamble defense is an extension of the theories that the Raiders used to thrash the Redskins in Super Bowl XVIII.

Riggins, dressed in overalls, suspenders and cowboy boots, kept his good humor at points. “Of course, it was still December today,” said Riggins, who had rushed for more than 100 yards in a record six straight playoff games, most of them in January. “I tried to round it off (get to January), but it just wouldn’t go.”

But Payton did go, and when it counted most on offense, he was the man the underdog Bears looked to.

“He’s like Superman,” said Redskin defensive end Dexter Manley. “He’s got his motor going 125 miles per hour on every play. . . . You look in his helmet at those eyes and say, ‘Where is this guy comin’ from? Where do you find people like this?’

“He wanted this game more than we did.”

In his 10 NFL years, Payton has set most of the career rushing records that really matter, gaining more than 13,000 rushing yards and 17,000 all-purpose yards. Until last Sunday, however, it would only be the slightest exaggeration to say his Bears teams had never won a meaningful game.

“Riggins’ teams never won big until he was in his 30s,” said Payton. “Might be hope for me yet.”

Sunday afternoon, Payton and Riggins were faced with very similar challenges, defenses geared almost entirely to stop them. Safety Curtis Jordan said he “walked up” to become an extra linebacker to stop Payton on two-thirds of all plays.

Neither man had room to run; both were blasted repeatedly. The difference between Payton’s 24 for 104 and Riggins’ 21 for 50 might be the difference between one-of-the-better runners ever and the best ever.

In football, the aphrodisiac for a running back is victory. It makes the pain and fear at the game’s core almost bearable. Even with victory a great runner sometimes wonders why he plays.

Riggins, for instance, once retired for a year. He and Payton have been tackled over 6,000 times. “I still don’t know if I’ll retire,” Riggins said Sunday. “Been asked a million times. I haven’t even decided how to think about deciding yet. I have plenty of time now.”

In the Bears’ den, Payton hardly seemed able to comprehend what had happened. He spoke about how he’d never watched other teams in the playoffs on TV, always gone hunting, instead. He dissected his touchdown pass--he has eight touchdowns on nine career completions--and said, “When you see somebody that open, it scares you. Your brain says, ‘Don’t underthrow. No, don’t overthrow.’ ”

Eventually, Payton snapped open his huge tape deck and made the team’s choice of victory music: an album called “Suddenly” that seemed to match his running style and another called “An Innocent Man” that seemed to match his face.

As Payton’s music machine poured out “Love on the Run,” Bear tackle Keith Van Horne looked at the 5-foot-10 Payton, who appears tiny among NFLers, and said, “I hope we can take him all the way.”

“This is a first,” Payton murmured, beginning to smile a bit. “It’s hard to put into words. I hope the feeling is going to escalate into something I can’t even deal with.”

After a shower, Payton’s joy seemed to soak in along with the soap and heat. “Wheeeew, yessss,” he squealed. “I think I’m going to need a drink.”

Payton and Riggins, so different in style, yet so similar in their basic toughness, would be lucky if they could share that midnight drink.

Riggins, though his own glory run may be winding down, could tell Payton exactly how it feels when you finally taste a pleasure that’s been so long deferred.

It’s pure Sweetness.