It's hard to believe it has been 10 years since "Sweetness" died on Nov. 1, 1999. Even those of you who never saw him play know I'm talking about Walter Payton, and therein lies the true measure of the man. There's been Babe, Ali, Michael, Magic, maybe two or three other athletes in history who are universally recognized by just their first name or a single nickname that says all you need to know about the man.

Shortly after Payton's death, the folks who own, run and play in the National Football League realized that his bronze bust and exhibit at the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton wouldn't be nearly enough to honor and recognize him. So, they renamed the NFL's Man of the Year Award, given annually to the player who best combines excellence on the field with outstanding humanity off it, the Walter Payton Award. That's who Sweetness was.

Most of you who've read us for a while know by now I'm a "Chicago snob," having lived there all my life except for a few years at college in Ann Arbor, Mich., and I believe without a doubt the Windy City is the greatest city in the world. But imagine how intimidating it must have been for a 20-year-old kid from Columbia, Miss., a town of roughly 7,000 about two hours outside of Biloxi, when he arrived in Chicago as the fourth player chosen in the 1975 NFL draft?

While it was the beginning of a love affair that continues to grow stronger every day, it turned out Chicago wasn't anywhere near big enough to hold Walter as he dominated the NFL over the next 13 seasons and became a beloved household name in every corner of America.

Just how good was Sweetness? On Oct. 19, 1975, the Bears played the Pittsburgh Steelers in the fifth game of Payton's rookie season. He had suffered a thigh bruise the week before against the Detroit Lions, and against Payton's strongest objections and complaints, his rookie head coach, Jack Pardee, refused to risk his prized young running back and made him take the day off. Over the next 12-plus seasons, 186 regular-season games and nine playoff games, Payton never missed another contest.

What Brett Favre has accomplished with his current streak of 277 consecutive regular-season games played and counting is astonishing, and nothing can diminish it. But ask yourself this: How many times during each of those games has he actually been hit? Payton carried the ball 3,838 times and caught 492 passes in his 190 regular-season games, an average of almost 23 touches a game. And with the exception of the 125 touches that climaxed in the endzone, he was hit as violently as possible on every single one of those 4,205 plays. Additionally, Payton was one of the greatest and nastiest blocking backs of all time. No player has ever sought out the bone-rattling collision like he did. Over 13 seasons, he missed only the fifth game of his rookie year. Perhaps another way to look at it is this: Had Mike Ditka been his coach that first year, he would have played 13 seasons and never missed a game in his entire career, a claim not even Favre can make.

For even more perspective, consider the great running backs of the last 10-15 years in the NFL. Terrell Davis, Jerome Bettis, Curtis Martin, Marshall Faulk, Eddie George, Edgerrin James, Garrison Hearst, Shaun Alexander, Larry Johnson, LaDainian Tomlinson, etc. With the obvious exception of Emmitt Smith, what do they all have in common? Every one of them faced a significant drop-off or was nearly done after anywhere from six to nine seasons. Sweetness was the best, because Sweetness was the toughest.

But all of that and the records aside, it was Sweetness the man that makes his loss so hard to bear and his legacy and legend so worth honoring and preserving. Walter Payton was one of the most gracious men I've ever known. He was also one of the kindest, smartest, most giving, most accomplished and absolutely the sweetest. And that's why even 10 years later we miss him more today than yesterday, and I suspect less than we will tomorrow.

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