Who: Legendary Chicago Bear tight end and head coach.
Worthwhile links:
http://www.mikeditka.com/
https://ditkasrestaurants.com/
http://www.profootballhof.com/hof/member.aspx?PLAYER_ID=57
Breakdown: When Ditka was hired to coach the Chicago Bears before the 1981 season, Payton reacted with a shrug. In his first six seasons with the team, Payton came to realize that his dreams of NFL glory would probably not come true, and Ditka would merely be the next coach to mess things up.
Yet Payton quickly came to appreciate Ditka’s commitment to discipline and righteousness, and the two formed a unique—and life-lasting—bond.
Pearlman’s take: I met Iron Mike at his restaurant in downtown Chicago. We sat at the bar, and in our 50 minutes together he must have downed, oh, 12 cups of coffee. Ditka cried while speaking of his late friend, which I found extremely touching.
I also found it fascinating how, all these years later, Ditka still feels the sting of forgetting to get Payton a touchdown in Super Bowl XX. I was prepared to ask him about it, obviously, but Ditka brought the subject up without prompting. Instead of being defensive, he proceeded to beat himself up over the miscue. I left our chat feeling bad for the man.
From Sweetness: The coach stood before his new players, a Dallas Cowboys Super Bowl Ring adorning a finger on his left hand. He glared sternly toward Bob Fisher, a reserve tight end who was wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap while nibbling on the end of an unlit cigar. “Lemme make this clear,” he scolded. “There’ll be no hats, no sunglasses, and no tobacco in my meetings.”
Fisher, who would fail to make the team, felt two inches tall. Following the rant, Ditka asked the players to stand one by one and introduce themselves. Receiver James Scott, back after a disappointing year in the Canadian Football League, tiptoed into the room midway through and took a seat near the back. “Typical of Scottie,” said Fred Caito, the trainer. “He thought he could do whatever the hell he wanted.”
Not anymore.
“You!” Ditka yelled. “Who are you?”
Scott stood. “James Scott,” he said. “Wide receiver.”
“James Scott, wide receiver— get the fuck out,” the coach snarled.
“You’re late, and I don’t do late.”
Scott froze, dumbfounded.
“James Scott, I’m not kidding,” Ditka said. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.” He called for Caito. “Fred, go grab one of those big garbage bags and empty James Scott’s fucking locker out.” Ditka and Scott stepped into the hallway, where the high- pitched screaming could be heard from miles away. After five minutes, Ditka returned. Scott did not. His possessions were, literally,
tossed into the street. Two days later, with his tail between his legs, Scott apologized. “That was exactly the right message,” said Caito. “That we were no longer going to put up with the bullshit.”
Ditka stepped back to the front of the room and the meeting officially began. He ordered all the players to tell a teammate, “I love you.” The commandment was met with awkward silence.
“Do it!” Ditka said.
I love you . . . I love you . . . I love you . . . I love you . . .
“This is a team, and a team is a family,” Ditka said. “We stand up for one another, we fight for one another, we defend one another, we love one another.” He proceeded to declare that the Chicago Bears were going to win the Super Bowl. “It’s not my plan,” he said. “It’s my reality.”