Month: June 2018

Birmingham gets back in the pro football business

I want the team to be called the Birmingham Battalion and their color scheme should be Army green, black and silver.

Out of Left Field is written by Scott Adamson and appears now and then. Follow him on Twitter @adamsonsl

Right now I’m thinking Army green helmets, but then again, silver hats always look nice.

Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Birmingham today became the seventh city to land a franchise in the fledgling Alliance of American Football, joining Atlanta, Orlando, Memphis, Salt Lake City, Phoenix, and San Diego.

It already introduced its coach (longtime NFL assistant Tim Lewis) but soon the team will need a name and colors and I’ve already provided those.

You’re welcome.

Of course more than that, the team and league will need a lot of luck, and about all I can do toward that end is send my well wishes, promise to buy AAF-branded apparel, and hope there are plenty of four-leaf clovers in their path.

The eight team league (there is one more franchise still to be named) will start play next February, the week after the Super Bowl. And for a Birmingham boy, this will be the sixth outdoor pro football team I’ll be able to call my own.

And I hope it beats the odds, because my hometown teams have had extremely short shelf lives.

Let’s take a trip down memory lane, shall we?

It’s no secret that the Birmingham Americans (1974) of the World Football League were my first and greatest love. As a 13-year old kid, I didn’t know it was a business – I thought all these guys loved me so much they wanted to show up at Legion Field and play for me whether they got paid or not.

Of course the WFL limped to the finish line that year, and even though the Americans won the World Bowl, the bloom was already off the rose by the time the season ended.

The WFL actually folded after its first season, but reorganized as New League Incorporated (doing business as the WFL) for 1975.

The Americans were replaced by the Vulcans, which had new ownership but the same colors and many of the same players. My dad even owned $25 worth of stock in the franchise, so I felt like a big shot.

I felt like less of a big shot when the WFL folded for good in October, 1975.

Then came the Birmingham Stallions (1983-85) of the United States Football League, a good team in what, in my opinion, was the best non-NFL league to be formed since the American Football League.

It had big names and big talent, and its spring schedule meant it didn’t have to go head-to-head with pro football’s ultimate juggernaut.

But …

New Jersey Generals owner Donald Trump convinced the other owners to move to the fall and put all the USFL eggs in an antitrust suit basket.

It won the suit, collected three dollars in damages, and never played again after July, 1985.

I like to think the USFL would’ve survived and thrived had it stuck to its original plan, but it was killed by stupidity. And once it folded, I was pretty jaded about leagues that didn’t have “NFL” as their acronyms.

Having been a New York Jets fan since I was seven, I figured I’d just stick with Gang Green the rest of my days and not get emotionally involved with any of these fly-by-night circuits that parachuted into the Magic City.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t curious – and sometimes even quietly hopeful.

By the time the World League of American Football (1991-92) came along, I was already working for a newspaper and actually covered the Birmingham Fire. Since the league was funded by the NFL I thought it had a chance, and it did live on for years as NFL Europe (and later NFL Europa).

But American cities were only around for two seasons and, quite frankly, it never captivated me. I don’t recall a single memorable game or performance.

Now when the CFL expanded to the United States and the Birmingham Barracudas were founded in 1995, I did allow myself to get excited. Not only was I a longtime fan of the Canadian game (with a rooting interest in the Hamilton Tiger-Cats), but the CFL was an established league.

I was sure its foray into the Lower 48 would be a great success and the Cudas – while sporting a ridiculous nickname – would give me a “home” team in the “Longer, Faster, Wider” circuit.

Nope.

Except for the Baltimore Stallions (reborn as the Montreal Alouettes) the CFL’s expansion in the U.S. was a failure, and Birmingham was one and done.

And that was when I basically washed my hands of pro football in The Ham.

When the XFL came along in 2001 I didn’t care, and when the league folded after one season I still didn’t care. I covered the Birmingham Bolts but can’t say I particularly enjoyed it; I thought the league as a whole was a sleazy misfire.

Now, however, I’m retired from sports writing and have time – once again – to formulate kinships with teams.

So I’ll give the AAF a chance.

I’ll embrace its rule changes (no kickoffs, no PAT kicks) and trust that the league will stock its rosters with the best available talent.

And when AAF officials explain how this league will work even though all others like it have failed, I’ll listen politely and hope they’re right.

And then I’ll wait patiently for the announcement of the Birmingham team’s nickname.

I’m really looking forward to going to Legion Field and yelling, “Charge, Battalion, charge!”

Birmingham is adding a new team and a new league to its pro football history.

At the crossroads of being healthy and not caring

I try not to feel old, but I’ve reached a point in my life where I can’t help it anymore.

Brain Farce is written by Scott Adamson. It comes out basically whenever he feels like writing it. Follow him on Twitter @adamsonsl

I’m 57 and a half, which is a really high number (especially when you add the fraction).

And having lived this long, I now have to make a choice about how I want to spend my remaining years.

Do I exercise and watch what I eat, or do I cease to give a rat’s arse and simply enjoy myself?

Four years ago I went for my annual physical and was told that my cholesterol levels were too high. If I couldn’t bring them down naturally, I’d need to take medication.

I wasn’t crazy about that plan.

I’m not much of a pill-popper, and I’d forget to take them, anyway.

So, the option was to “eat healthier,” and I was starting to think I needed to do that anyway because I had put on a lot of excess weight.

The weight gain bothered my not because of the spare tire around my stomach; I’m not a body snob. People come in all shapes and sizes and if you’re happy with how you look, that’s all that should matter.

However, my face couldn’t handle the expanded flesh. It’s cartoonishly round, and any extra weight alters my appearance dramatically.

In the early stages of weight gain I resemble a squirrel storing nuts, which is kinda cute in a Hanna-Barbera way.

But I knew I had to make a change when Mary and I went to a Yankees-Braves game and were accosted by one of those ambush photographers who takes your photo the minute to walk into the stadium.

When I saw my face in the picture, I looked like Elvis Presley.

And I’m not talking about the young, cool, handsome Elvis who took Natalie Wood on motorcycle rides and wowed her with his quivering lip, but the old, sweaty Elvis sitting on the Jungle Room john at Graceland.

Thus, I was inspired.

Not only did I start walking several miles each day, I ate the “right” foods. There was no bread, no cheese, no chocolate and no sweets, and since I was a vegetarian, meats were already out of the rotation.

By the time I went for my physical a year later, I had dropped nearly 40 pounds and my cholesterol was at a healthy level.

But …

I had taken things too far.

True, I didn’t look like “Last Call Elvis” anymore, but instead I looked like an underfed Steve Buscemi, with slightly better teeth.

I was painfully thin, which caused my neck to wrinkle and make me appear much older than I actually was.

So, I decided maybe it was time to relax my diet a bit.

I started eating biscuits again and, damn, I had forgotten how good biscuits were.

And then instead of steering clear of the bakery at the local supermarket, I started spending some quality time there – at first, just sniffing.

But then I noticed that strawberry cake slices were there for the taking, as was sourdough bread.

And cinnamon rolls?

Yep … I dove into them like Jabba The Hut (assuming Jabba The Hut ate cinnamon rolls. If he didn’t, he was a dumbass).

I also discovered something called lemon squares. Other than lemons and graham crackers, I’m not entirely sure what they’re made of, but whatever it is, it’s sexy good.

Next thing you know I’ve put 20 pounds back on, and I like it because my face is somewhere between Elvis Presley and Steve Buscemi. I call it the Elvis Buscemi face, and I’m damn proud of it.

Sadly, though, my cholesterol has once again started to rise, which means if I want to avoid pills I have to start controlling my diet again.

And that leads me back to the beginning of this column.

At 57 and a half and happily married, I no longer have to go on dates or seek out mates, so perhaps I shouldn’t be overly concerned with my appearance.

And as for staying in tip-top shape, is there any real point anymore?

I’m pretty sure if a professional soccer team was interested in signing me, they’d have done so by now.

Hell, if I choose to sit on the futon all day and snack on Twinkies dipped in pure grain alcohol, I should get a pass, right?

On the other hand I do want to have quality of life in my “golden years,” so hopefully there’s a way I can make this Elvis Buscemi thing work.

To that end, I’ll now sign off, put on my walking shoes and try to put in at least three miles this morning.

But I’m not going to promise that later on I won’t eat a biscuit.

Or a cinnamon roll.

Or a lemon square.

Maybe just the lemon square.