(CNN) -- What are we afraid of?





That's the one thing I still don't understand; the one question -- nearly a month removed -- I'd love to have answered.





What in the world are we so afraid of?





In its October 4 issue, Sports Illustrated released a seven-page excerpt from my new book, "Sweetness: The Enigmatic Life of Walter Payton," a biography of the Chicago Bears' running back. The short piece concerned Payton's post-football struggles, ranging from depression to infidelity to suicide threats. It was, admittedly, a jarring look at a man who, to most Chicagoans, served as a beacon of light. Throughout his 13 seasons as a Bear, Payton wasn't merely a phenomenal running back. He was an NFL icon; one of the faces (and blinding smiles) of the league.





Hence, to learn that Payton was -- what's the word? -- human, immediately rubbed many football fans (and, in particular, Chicago fans) the wrong way. In 17 years as a journalist, I've never received so many vicious letters, so many confrontational tweets, so many threatening e-mails. The general take (in sanitized terms): How dare you write a book about Sweetness when he's not here to defend himself? How dare you.





To be honest, I was initially taken aback. You devote three years to a project, only to be judged on a sliver of a sliver of the full body of work. I felt the need to defend my intentions and stand up for my honor and convince every single naysayer that "Sweetness" was a detailed, exhaustively researched biography that delves into the ... blah, blah, blah.





Now, I'm just mad.





This is what biographies are supposed to do. From Manning Marable's astonishing "Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention" to Richard Ben Cramer's "Joe DiMaggio: The Hero's Life" to Jane Levy's "The Last Boy: Mickey Mantle and the End of America's Childhood," portraits of our icons should be truthful, fair and--perhaps most important--unflinching. We should want and expect this. They are written neither to love a subject nor loathe a subject, but to fully understand a subject.





In other words, to provide a history lesson.





In the years I spent trying to grasp Walter Payton, I learned to love -- truly love -- a uniquely giving, empathetic, quirky man. The portrait of Payton that already existed in the popular consciousness had been an overly simplistic (ie: mindless) one: The hard-nosed gridiron warrior who cracked lots of jokes and always had time for the fans. Payton's background? No interest. Payton's motivations? Meh. Payton's struggles and conflicts and pains? No, thank you. So what if Payton's own autobiography, "Never Die Easy," was an ode to the Chip Hilton school of gosh-golly-gee selective storytelling? Hey, it made us smile and sounded awfully good.





Well, Walter Payton was so much more than good. Back in the fall of 1970, he was a key peg in the desegregation of the Marion County (Mississippi) School District; he was the black football player who -- by running 70-yard sweeps and walking with a quiet, confident dignity -- convinced skeptical white classmates (many of whom had never before spoken with a black person) that, hey, maybe this will work out OK.





He went on to star at Jackson State University, where his brightest moment came not on the football field, but as a finalist on the Soul Train National College Dance Championship (he and his partner, Mary Jones, finished second -- a setback that haunted Payton as much as his failure to score a touchdown in Super Bowl XX). While in college, Payton changed his birth year from 1953 to 1954, inexplicably hoping the extra youth would give him in edge in Heisman Trophy balloting (it worked wonders -- he placed 14th).





When he was drafted by the lowly Chicago Bears
What comments has Jeff Pearlman about his biography? was payton open to fans?
detailed, exhaustively researched always had time for the
question: What comments has Jeff Pearlman about his biography?, answer: detailed, exhaustively researched | question: was payton open to fans?, answer: always had time for the