It has been pointed out by the Cranky Medium that this is the anniversary of the passing of one of the true greats in the field of sports: Walter Payton.
Not only was he a fine athlete, but Payton was also described by all who knew him as absolutely worthy of his nickname, Sweetness. During and after his sports career, he worked for a number of local and national charities and organizations, especially those for children. By a freak occurrence, I had the good fortune to attend an event at which he was a featured guest, only a couple of years before he left this mortal coil, and my impression, even from across the room, was that the legend was well-founded. He was a really swell guy.
But, I think, the greatest accomplishment in his life (and beyond) was that he was the primary reason my Pop forgave me my betrayal, my quietly supporting da Bearss over the Pack. I was supposed to be Starr struck, a Lombardi loyalist, a Favre follower for the rest of my life, but in my late adolescence I was lured away by the Windy City's hustle (their Shuffle, not so much, for all that Payton shone in it). I do not regret my choice (barring certain recent Super Bowl games).
Payton made it all right.