Chapter Forty
Payton
Sunday morning I woke dreading the decision I knew I was going to have to make. The Storm were set to play the Bears at Soldier Field, and I knew that my mother was going to be furious when she found out that I was sitting in the visitor’s box with Dax. He and I had had a tense conversation on Friday night, but we’d managed to find a middle ground that allowed us to continue doing what we seemed to do best.
I rolled over and found him lying on his back with his hands behind his head staring up at the ceiling. Waking up next to Dax was something I enjoyed. Whether he was sleeping or awake, I could tell that there was something going on in his brain, and I was constantly trying to understand what he was thinking. He didn’t seem to mind my questioning, and that often led us into passionate discussions that ended only when one of us could no longer keep our hands off the other. I smiled as I reached out and rested my hand on his chest.
“What are you thinking?”
“Just wondering about how today’s game is going to turn out,” he said.
“I thought you didn’t care about football,” I teased as I moved closer and rested my cheek against his chest.
“I don’t,” he said, lightly kissing the top of my head. “I’m just curious about how the Storm are going to perform in Chicago, but away from their home turf.”
“I imagine they’ll perform the same way they do anytime they are away,” I said as I traced a wavy line on his skin with the tip of my finger, and felt him shiver.
“If you start that, we’re going to be late, you know,” he said sternly, but with a smile.
“Mmm hmm,” I said as I tipped my face up and kissed my way up his jaw line so I could whisper, “It’s fashionable to be late.”
Dax closed his eyes for a moment, nodded, and then quickly flipped the covers aside and got out of bed.
“Hey, where are you going?” I cried.
“We’ve got a game to attend, lady,” he said heading for the shower. “Get your priorities straight, will ya?”
I laughed as I pulled myself out of bed and went to make us coffee and breakfast.
A few hours later, we were seated in the visitor’s skybox at Soldier Field watching the Storm take their place on the sidelines as the Bears waited in the home tunnel just out of sight. I felt torn between the underdogs I’d grown to love, and the victors I’d grown up adoring. Gram had begged off the game saying that she didn’t want to watch the two teams she loved compete. I completely understood.
The kickoff gave us a clear indication that this game was going to be a brutal battle for the hearts and minds of Chicago fans. The Bears, determined to assert themselves as the victors early on, began battering the Storm, knocking them hard and celebrating every play. The fans went wild as the Bears held the Storm back from the goal line through the first and second quarters. By the end of the first half, the Storm had managed to score two touchdowns and was leading the Bears 14-10.
As the halftime show began, I noticed a small skirmish taking place down near the goal line. Several security guards bounded down the stadium steps as a fight broke out between fans from the opposing teams. This wasn’t unheard of, and in many ways, it was very Bears-like. The Bears represented the rough and tumble way of getting things done, and the Ditka era had solidified the belief that the Bears were the league team that best represented the working-class values of dedication and hard work. And there was pride and tradition at stake in this game.
As I scanned the stadium, I realized that fights were breaking out all over and the security personnel were having to do much more than usual as they rushed to try and break up the skirmishes. I looked over and saw Dax watching intently, too.
“This isn’t good,” I said quietly.
“Nah, it’s just folks blowing off steam and asserting their top dog status,” he assured me. “This kind of stuff goes on all the time where I grew up. I wouldn’t get too worried about it.”
I nodded, but I had the sneaking suspicion that he didn’t quite believe what he’d said. Something else was going on, and as the game headed into the second half, the fans seemed to become more agitated. The teams took the field in a cacophony of sound that mixed cheers and boos, and as the third quarter progressed, the energy in the stands increased. At the beginning of the fourth quarter, the Bears drove hard for the goal line and crossed it, sparking a deafening roar from the fans. The score was now 14-17 with the Bears in the lead.
The Storm offense took the field, and Johnny Riggs gathered the guys in a huddle as he tried to give the play over the noise from the crowd. They hustled into formation and Riggs swung his head from right to left as he shouted the countdown then grabbed the ball from the center and dropped back, looking for an opening. The Bears defense, fortified by the crowd’s noise, ran toward Riggs as a solid line and sacked him. I winced as I saw his head hit the ground as the enormous defensive line piled on top of him. It took a while to remove the bodies, but once they were off, Riggs slowly raised himself up to a sitting position and shook his head. Jamal Williams offered him a hand and pulled him up off the ground, and stood facing the quarterback.
“What’s going on?” Dax asked.
“I’m guessing that he’s trying to figure out if Riggs is okay,” I said. Hits like those were hard on a quarterback and with all of the new information about traumatic brain injuries flooding the game, I knew that even the guys who were wiling to risk it all were worried about the after-effects of such hits.
“Should they be pulling him?” Dax asked as he stood looking out over the field with a worried expression. “I mean, I should I go down and tell Nick to pull him?”
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” I warned.
“Why not? It’s my investment, and I’m responsible for protecting it,” he argued.
“Yeah, but they’re Nick’s players and he will not appreciate you interfering,” I said, knowing that there was no way I could stop Dax if he chose to intervene. “Just wait and see what happens.”
“This game is so fucked up,” he said, turning away from the window.
“No more so than any other,” I said. “Besides, they know what they’re getting into, and they’ve got a right to make the choice for themselves.”
“You think brain injuries are a choice that players should have to make?” he asked with a shocked look on his face.
“No, I’m just saying it’s part of the game, and players accept the risks,” I replied.
A sudden increase in the noise coming from the crowd drew our attention and we watched as Riggs walked off the field accompanied by the team trainers and two players. Dax turned toward me, and I said, “You’re getting your wish.”
“Whose going in for him?” he asked.
“Jesus, you really don’t care about this team, do you?” I spat.
“Don’t get mad at me,” he growled. “I told you this team was just an investment, not some kind of childhood fantasy.”
“But you’re worried about the players’ health,” I protested.
“Only because it affects my bottom line,” he replied coolly.
“You’re an asshole,” I shot back.
“And you’re overly emotional about a game,” he said as I stopped talking and seethed quietly. Whatever connection there had been between us was perilously close to being cut as I listened to his cold assessment of the men who played the game I loved.
We spent the rest of the fourth quarter silently watching the Bears take control of the field and drive to the goal again. When they couldn’t quite reach the end zone, they aimed for a field goal and upped their lead to 14-20. Nick sent the offense led by Martin Gaddis, the second-string quarterback, and the Bears fans booed loudly as they were denied the chance to watch Riggs be vanquished once and for all. Gaddis did his best to connect passes with the receivers, but the Bears defensive line was in control and the Storm had to punt the ball away. The Bears ran down the clock on their final possession and as the time ran out, the Bears fans erupted in a celebration while the Storm fans headed for the exits.
I looked over at Dax who was on the phone with the head of security, arranging an escort to get us to our car.
“Do you really think that’s necessary?” I asked rolling my eyes.
“Actually, yes, I do,” he said. “Geo texted and said the crowds are out of control down there and he was wondering whether he should come back later and pick us up.”
“It can’t be any worse than any other game,” I protested. I’d seen some rowdy fans do some wild things in my life, but I’d never seen the Bears fans get out of control — at least not in a way that the security teams couldn’t quickly control. “Turn on the news; I’m sure if there’s something really bad going on, they’ll say something about it.”
Dax grabbed the remote used to the control the various amenities in the skybox and flipped on the widescreen television. A reporter for WLS stood just outside of the stadium giving an account of the situation as fans streamed by shouting obscenities at one another. Behind the reporter, a fight broke out and two police officers quickly moved in to break it up as the crowd cheered the combatants. I watched in horror as a group of young men wearing Bears colors clashed with a group in Storm gear and the reporter was shoved to the ground as the men began punching one another, but the cameraperson managed to stay upright and continue recording.
“Dax, we have to stop this,” I said as the fight grew bigger and spilled out into the parking lot.
“Wouldn’t that be your mother’s job?” he asked dryly.
“Someone has to do something!” I shouted as a bystander was hit with a flying bottle and crumpled to the ground.
“I’m not sure what it is you expect me to do,” he said as the camera swung around to catch a group of obviously drunk men rocking a security vehicle as it tried to moved out of the crowd.
“Stop them!”
“Payton, I’m not sure that’s possible at this point,” he said as we both stood staring at the screen, watching the violence unfold.
We weren’t able to leave the stadium until the Chicago Police Department got the crowd under control several hours later. The damage had been widespread as fans of the Bears and the Storm clashed and then took their beefs out into the city as they looked for ways to show their opponents who was boss. A handful of people had been transported to emergency rooms across the city to be bandaged and stitched up, and several cars had been burned after fans had found beatings unsatisfying, but the rioting had been contained by the police and security.
Geo told us that he’d driven away from the fray when he saw the fans come streaming out of the stadium and had parked a few miles down Lake Shore Drive and waited for the pandemonium to subside. I’d wanted to go down to the training room and check on Gus, but Dax had said the security guards had sealed off all access to the team locker rooms and wouldn’t open them up until the parking lot had been cleared.
At home, I turned on the news and wasn’t surprised to see my mother standing in the Bears’ stadium office giving the press a statement. She was wearing a black skirt and a gold blouse and her hair and makeup were, as usual, impeccable, but when I looked closer, I could see dark circles under her eyes and lines around her mouth that hadn’t been as pronounced the last time I’d seen her. She was stressed. I sat down on the edge of the sofa, turned up the sound, and watched my mother do what she did best — spin the story.
“Today we witnessed a tragic clash between fans of the beloved Chicago Bears and the new NFL franchise. This incident is yet another in a long list of attempts by wealthy outsiders to undermine the deep abiding loyalty that Chicago fans have for the Bears. I have spoken with Commissioner Goodell and voiced my opinion, and the opinion of many other long-time Chicago residents, that the Storm should be sanctioned for its fans behavior. He has told me he is considering action against the team, but will need some time to read the reports from the CPD and the security team at Soldier Field. I would like to appeal to the better nature of the Bears fans, and urge them not to engage in any activity that is unbefitting of the Bears. I would also like to tell the outsiders who have brought this thuggish violence into the heart of our beautiful city that we will not stand for this kind of behavior or violence. I would also like to call on Mr. Connor, the owner of the Storm, to step up and take responsibility for the actions of Storm fans by absorbing the cost of the damage done to the stadium during the game. When you are a guest in someone else’s home, you try to leave it exactly as you found it, and I’m sure Mr. Connor’s sense of honor will enable him to do the right thing.”
I shut off the television and turned to find Dax staring at the blank screen. He didn’t say a word, and when I stood up, he turned and walked into his office, slamming the door behind him. I sunk back down on the couch and held my head in my hands as I tried to understand what had just happened.
Bit by bit, my own mother was destroying my chance at happiness.