Scorecard

What Makes a Champion? Loteki supernatural being, the papillon that took best-in-show at last week's Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show in New York, has had the makings of a champ since he was whelped in 1990. Here's how he stacks up against two other top dogs.
	John Elway	Evander Holyfield	Loteld S.B.
Age	38	36	8
Size	6'3", 215 lbs.	6'2½", 218 lbs.	9¾", 6 lbs.
Division	AFC West	Heavyweight	Toy
Bloodline	Son of former Stanford coach Jack Elway	Son of former restaurant cook Annie Holyfield	Son of bitch
Payday	$53,000 bonus for winning Super Bowl XXXIII	$20 million guarantee to fight Lennox Lewis	Year's supply of Pedigree dog food for winning Westminster
Celebration	Hoisted trophy	Hoisted belt	Sat in trophy
Constant companion	Terrell Davis	The Lord	Chew toy
Sports hero	Roger Staubach	Sugar Ray Leonard	Glenn Robinson
Next career	Motivational speaker	Motivational speaker	Stud

Walter Payton's Plight
A Hard Burden to Bear

A small, elderly looking man appears at the door of his office in suburban Chicago. He's stooped, his skin a bit shriveled. "And who are you?" he whispers. The softness of his voice betrays his identity. This is Walter Payton.

On Feb. 2 Payton, 44, announced that he is suffering from primary sclerosing cholangitis, a rare disease in which the ducts that drain bile from the liver become inflamed and blocked. His doctor said that if Payton didn't have a liver transplant within two years, he would die. Payton then flew to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., where a week of tests brought more bad news: The disease is advancing faster than his doctors had thought. Last Friday, Payton told SI that without a transplant he will die by the end of this year.

Payton appeared skinny and frail to television viewers during his press conference two weeks ago. In person he looks worse. His eyes, so wide and alert during his 13 years as the Chicago Bears' tireless running back, are bright yellow with jaundice. His cheeks are sunken, his shoulders coat-hanger thin. The man called Sweetness weighed 202 pounds during his playing days. At the press conference he was reportedly 185. Now he appears to weigh no more than 170.

Sitting at a large mahogany desk, Payton looks exhausted. He hasn't slept well since his disease was diagnosed last month. "I'm not afraid of dying," he says. "Everybody has to die." He pauses uncomfortably. "I'm afraid I'm not going to be here to see the things I feel I have the right to see: my son playing college football, my daughter graduating from college, my kids having kids."

As his condition worsens, Payton might qualify for rush status and get his transplant within a few months. Eighty-six percent of liver transplant patients survive at least a year after the operation, but there are no guarantees. As of Monday, Payton was one of 12,200 people on the waiting list, and the fact that he is the NFL's alltime leading rusher has no bearing on his fate.

Of his latest setback the Hall of Famer says, "It's like you're moving the ball down the field and a flag's thrown. Oh, god, what's the penalty? Fifteen yards. You take the 15 yards, call the next play and go on. It's all you can do. The official has thrown the flag; he's not going to take it back."

Hundreds of letters arrive at Payton's office each day. Envelopes are all over the place; cards are taped to the walls. Some of them contain home remedies—recipes that could supposedly cure his ravaged liver. Some are notes of encouragement from transplant survivors. Others are from former teammates like Willie Gault, who sent a basket of fruit. The mail that affects Payton the most, that makes him cry, comes from children.

He picks up a scribbled letter from a nine-year-old boy who has cirrhosis of the liver. He reads it aloud—cheerful words from a sick boy to a man five times his age. "Christopher says I shouldn't be scared," says Payton, wiping an eye. "God will take care of me."

Stadium Sabotage
De-Lighting The Crowd