Even as a kid, I hated football. A skinny, shy kid who wore glasses and grew up without any male role model mentors, being a likely target for brutality just did not appeal to me. My disinterest in the sport continued during my tenure on the Birmingham City Council where I was routinely given 50-yard line front row seats to every game played at Legion Field, which the City-owned. As president of the Council, I sometimes sat in on some of the negotiations at the Park Board for use of the facility and met Bear Bryant more than once without him sparking my enthusiasm for the sport. I always gave away my tickets and resisted the persistent attempts by Councilman Jeff Germany to get them from me so he could scalp them. I especially liked giving away my Alabama-Auburn tickets to grateful and stunned recipients; like the cashiers at Western Super Market or waitresses at Bogue’s or the attendants at my dry cleaners and other regular haunts of mine. So, it came as a surprise; no, more of a shock when I was put in a position to save a professional football team where I could not name a single player.
short-lived athletic period.
The announcement that the USFL is making a comeback and that the New Jersey Generals and the Birmingham Stallions will again play against each other brought back a flood of memories. The only game I ever attended when the Birmingham Stallions were first established, playing in the mid 1980’s, was when they played the Generals and I was asked to sit in the skybox with their owner, Donald Trump of whom I had never heard ( and wish I never had). I did not drink beer or hard liquor or do drugs so was very restless and could not wait for the game to end. I didn’t care who won. As I was finally able to leave, I noted in my head that this guy was a narcissist, sicko asshole to be avoided at any cost in the future. But not to worry. What were the chances we’d ever meet again?
Fortunately, the Stallions did very well, earning recognition for Coach Rollie Dotsch and team president Jerry Sklar with the team being named as the USFL’s team of the year. But regrettably, the economics of running a professional team was not as successful. They were required to be backed by a $1.3 million letter of credit and their primary owner and chief financial backer, Marvin Warner, could not attract new investors or make more loans. So, Sklar, facing a critical deadline to stop operations, approached the City at a desperate last moment asking us to buy a $100,000 stake in the team and provide a $900,000 credit line to keep them in business. He offered as collateral, the field house they had built at the stadium and said they would allow Birmingham high school teams that played at Legion Field to use it. Without the million-dollar loan, they would be forced to fold and be the first team in the struggling new league to collapse perhaps starting a domino effect with many teams to follow.
The day of the Council vote was not a joyful day for them. There was lots of negative energy and rumbling. The Council had never approved a deal like this, and the mayor seemed less than enthusiastic about making it. (Although in fairness, it was always hard to know exactly what the mayor thought where he regularly suppressed overt enthusiasm for even his own ideas and projects.) The vote was 5 to 4 against the loan with my voting “yes” on the agreement and resolution.
As a mostly dejected crowd left the chamber, Councilman Germany, also a “yes” vote, left with them and disappeared. (He always had somewhere more important to be.) At the same time, Miss Nina (Miglionico) who sat to my left as the Council’s most senior member and a “no” vote on the loan, turned to me and asked why I had surprisingly voted “yes.” “Everyone knows you are not a football fan, so why did you do that?” she asked. “It’s simple,” I replied. “No, I do not like the idea of owning part of a football team or loaning money to private for-profit enterprises, but the city has obtained a million dollars worth of positive publicity from having this team in Birmingham and our kids adore their players. And I hate the idea that this will end as it is announced that we are going to be the first team in the Country to go under and collapse. I’m sick of Birmingham always failing. I still dislike football, but I love the City and want to do what is right for it.no matter my personal feelings.” Then I joked, “Oh well, I guess it’s back to tractor pulls and wrestling at Boutwell or Ernest Angley crusades for live entertainment.”
She got that look on her face that I had seen only a few times before and stunned me when she said, “If you can find a way to reconsider the issue, I will change my vote.” I told her it would require a little manipulation of Roberts Rules of Order ( a copy of which she had given me after a bitter argument in my first week on the Council where I insisted that we adopt rules of procedure after she ran over me for the 50th time and refused to follow any semblance of parliamentary procedure. I still have the book with her inscription and pledge to do better! She often reminded me to use it when I took over from her as Council president.)
But there was another problem. Jeff Germany was nowhere to be found in the building and without his vote, the measure would still fail, even with her changed vote. I signaled Vicki Rivers, the Council administrator and told her to see if the Stallions’ management could use their influence with law enforcement to find him. (They had lots of clout they had earned by hiring off-duty police and troopers as security at games.) Sure enough, a state trooper spotted Jeff’s car on the way to Montgomery. (Jeff had lots of cousins, mostly attractive females, that he liked to visit on a regular basis that caused him to miss lots of city meetings. But with Arrington’s blessing, he would be re-elected no matter how poor a job he did). The trooper pulled him over and delivered the message that he was desperately needed back at the Council chamber without knowing the details of why. Later, Jeff would say he almost died of a heart attack when he was stopped and given a police escort back to town. (He may have thought he was being arrested for running a prostitution ring.)
The Council meeting became one of the longest in history as I delayed and delayed with every maneuver I could think of as we waited for Jeff’s return. And as soon as he stepped foot in the room, I called the issue back for reconsideration. Without Miss Nina objecting, there was no one to point out that it was being done by someone not on the prevailing side. This time, the issue passed 5 to 4 and joy was restored to “Mudville”, so to speak.
Suddenly the City was part owner of a football team, and I was an unlikely football hero.
And it happened that the team and its management would be honored at their awards banquet at the Meadowlands in part for getting the City to buy into this enterprise. Mayor Arrington asked me to go and represent the City at the event. Apparently, he also was not a huge football fan. The City bought me a cheap ticket on People Express and I made arrangements to stay with my longtime friend Steve Callahan, a very successful NY attorney who had worked for me in a campaign for governor of Georgia which Jimmy Carter won. Steve had been Georgia’s outstanding teenager and worked in the Governor’s office for a short time before heading to Yale. He now lived relatively close to Trump Tower where Donnie and his first wife Ivana were hosting a pre-event cocktail party. I was ready and proud that I was saving the City money and off I went.
The only person I remember meeting at the Trump cocktail party was Ivana, who was pleasant and gracious. I remember saying to her as we made small talk that she could have been Greek (as in Midas) with all the gold embellishments in her apartment’s unique décor. Fortunately, she laughed and blamed it on Donald’s taste for the dramatic. I also remember wondering how someone as nice as she appeared to be could live with a total narcissist, ego-driven jerk? But I was not there to give marriage advice. The party ended without incident and spent the next morning at the Egyptian collection at the Metropolitan where there was less gold in King Tut’s collection than in Trump’s.
The time for the banquet finally arrived and I dressed in the same tuxedo I had worn years earlier when I had been invited by my friends, Bill and Jennifer Nethercut, to attend an Explorer’s Club banquet hosted by Lowell Thomas at the Waldorf. That one was lots more fun. They had a mini dirigible that flew around the chandeliers at the great hall and a guy that jumped into a large glass container of water and held his breath for a world record. ( I don’t remember how many minutes exactly, but it seemed like an eternity before he splashed out and gasped.) I think he set it, but not certain he survived.
The banquet was a blur, but I remember kind words for the City bailing out the team and being asked to stand and be recognized like anyone other than Marvin Warner really cared!. I also remember meeting Doug Flutie who was a foot shorter than me. I knew he played football but would have failed the test if anyone had asked me for which team. Herschel Walker was also there, and I knew he was important to many Alabamians, but do not remember thinking that one day this guy should run for the Senate from Georgia. I also do not remember ever being in the same room with as many outsized egos; unless you count the time I visited a Council meeting when Carol Smitherman was president. ( “Yes, honorable and noble Councillor pro tem Abbott, you are recognized”. “Your Excellency, Madame President. Can I now present my most amazing and distinguished report on how many receptions and bar-b-ques I have attended this month without introducing one blessed thing to benefit the many citizens I met along the way?” Great meetings.
I happily returned to Birmingham and at the Council meeting gave my own “excellent” report on the events which I called a boring success. After answering a few questions, Russell Yarbrough complained that it had cost more for my taxi from Newark to Trump Tower than it had to fly there. I tried to explain that I had no control of transportation costs and had saved money but not staying in an expensive New York hotel near the Trump Palace. But added that I would try to do better next time we loaned a football team money.
John’s excellent sports adventure was over and life returned to normal, and the issue faded only to be found in the “morgue” files of the Birmingham News. Ultimately the team folded, and lawyers worked out what assets the city would get for its money. Birmingham high school football teams got a state-of-the-art field house and a lot of used football equipment. Of course, the Birmingham Board of Education had traditionally spent a small fortune on football and any one of them might have given the Stallions a run for their money. ( I think one of the Stallions’ footballs was used by Tom Brady in a Patriot’s game. But by that time, it had lost a lot of air.)
I still hate football but occasionally watch a game on TV, though I will not attend in person. After all, no game can be as exciting as was that meeting where a pro football team almost died prematurely. And except for a last-minute Hail Mary pass by Miss Nina it would have.
And I learned a lot from this bizarre experience. Mostly that people will do the right thing if given the chance and can change their minds on an issue if properly appealed to and given facts, especially if they make decisions with their minds and hearts and not their egos. God forever bless Miss Nina.
I also learned that there is more than one way to be a jock. Think I’m going to grow some stubble, wear a helmet, and eye-black as I do other writings. What do you think?
( To document anything said here, check out the Birmingham News files at the Birmingham Public Library or call Donald Trump.)
john katopodis: the path well travelled 