Scott Adamson, Author at Adamsonmedia.com

Spring football, 1971

Barring an unexpected development, the United Football League is set to return next year, marking four consecutive seasons of “offseason” professional gridiron action.

That’ll break the original United States Football League’s record of three competitive seasons (1983-85) which – truthfully – I thought would probably stand forever. With the World League of American Football leaving North America after two years and most other circuits going one-and-done, 11-on-11 spring/summer ball seemed like a fool’s errand for almost 40 years.

**Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Threads @sladamson1960 and Adamsonmedia on Facebook.**

Yet, while it’s easy to look back on the late, great USFL as “the” groundbreaker when it comes to playing football during baseball season, that honor belongs to the Trans-American Football League.

Dave Dixon came up with the idea for a January through May circuit in 1965, but it was six years later before a league actually abandoned the fall. The TAFL, a rebranded version of the Texas Football League, decided to tee it up in 1971.

The news was announced in March of that year via a press release:

The greatest innovation in professional football for 1971 will have its beginning in the city of San Antonio. San Antonio, the home of the “winningest team in professional football,” will be the site of pro football’s first spring season football game. The opening day for the Trans-American Football League was first conceived in Chicago, Illinois, in 1970. The league as it was then proposed would consist of four divisions which would span the continental United States. In 1971, this idea will become a reality as four Texas cities join together to host pro football’s first spring schedule. These four teams will be known as the Southwest Division of the Trans-American League and they will make up the only operative division for the 1971 season. Because of the response by season ticket holders and advertisers alike, it is an excellent possibility that the other three divisions will be ready to operate in 1972.

The original concept was for the TAFL to play a fall schedule and be second only to the newly-merged National Football League and American Football League in quality. Aside from San Antonio – winners of four consecutive Texas Football League titles – there were to be franchises in Fort Worth, Los Angeles, Chicago and Hershey, Pennsylvania, with possible locales including Memphis, Birmingham, Tampa, and Columbus, Ohio.

A stock offering as well as a network TV deal were also in the works and by 1972, the league would feature as many as 16 teams.

In early 1971, however, plans were changing – dramatically.

Henry Hight, owner of the San Antonio Toros, said he planned to apply for a Canadian Football League franchise for 1972. Before then, however, his club would participate in a bold experiment.

“We’ve got a lot going on for us down in San Antonio,” Hight said in the January 13, 1971, edition of the North Bay Nugget. “We plan to play spring ball. We’ll go into camp March 1. With that one move, we’ll do away with all competition. Think of the stadiums we’ll have available. And the players – think of the players we’ll be able to use.

“Our season will end in June … NFL camps will open in July.”

The 1971 TAFL was a completely Texas-based circuit with only four teams, built on the hope that those clubs (the Dallas Rockets, Fort Worth Braves, Toros and Texarkana Titans) would somehow be so successful other owners from across the country would be clamoring for a spring pro football franchise.

For that to happen, the TAFL would need to be a huge box office success and garner national publicity despite being a minor league with no national TV contract.

Duncan McCauley, director of development for the TAFL, was excited about the prospects.

“I’m very enthusiastic about the possibilities and about the reception I think it will receive,” he said in an April 20, 1971 story in the San Antonio Express. “I’ve talked to hundreds of people and practically all of them are anticipating football at this time of year, and most of them have indicated they plan to attend as many games as possible.

“We’re offering the football fan his favorite sport at a time when he can enjoy getting out to see a live game without facing a conflict with his son or daughter who might be involved in a high school or college game or some of the activities that accompany them.”

Texarkana coach Durwood Merrill agreed.

“Although it’s strictly on a trial basis, it has already won the enthusiasm of fans and coaches,” Merrill told the Tyler Telegraph.

Alas, fans weren’t enthused.

At all.

Despite what was, by all accounts, quality play, fans didn’t exactly show up in droves. The largest crowd of the season came when 4,500 ticket buyers converged on North East Stadium to see San Antonio top Texarkana, 20-19, in the TAFL championship game on July 19.

Before the contest was played, team owners had already decided the spring schedule simply wasn’t working out.

“When the league went to a spring and summer schedule, it did so to get away from competition with dozens of high school, college and pro teams in the area, as well as get recognition for the teams and the league, plus allowing the better players in the league to move directly on to major league training camps in July,” San Antonio coach George Pasterchick told Austin American Statesman columnist George Breazeale a week before the title matchup. “But we knew then the key to it all was attendance – how many people would pay money to get in. And the attendance hasn’t been what we expected.”

By 1972 the TAFL was no more, with the San Antonio and Dallas franchises moving to the Southwest Professional Football League and a fall schedule. Hight did continue his CFL push, though, saying that potential owners in Phoenix, Los Angeles, Seattle and Las Vegas were ready to join San Antonio in an American Division.

Of course, it would be a couple of decades before the Canadian circuit ventured south of its border.

As for spring pro football, well, that experiment wasn’t attempted again until the birth of the USFL in 1983.

Undead Al

The studio lights on the set of the Murray Pavlovich Show were almost blinding, so the zombie reached for his sunglasses to tamp down the glare. Given the government designation “Undead Alpha-679-A” – he preferred to be called Al – the reanimated man had spent years hoping to educate the public about his kind.

The zombies of literature and modern media were nothing like the actual revenants, who simply wanted to go about their undead existence quietly. Yes, they were pale, cold to the touch, and sensitive to light. They often had unsightly lesions on their faces. But otherwise, they weren’t all that different than people with a heartbeat. Al had reached out to major news organizations several times in hopes of telling the true story, but to no avail. Once he shared it, he was told “it’s just not sexy enough” or “this won’t hold an audience’s attention.”

Going on a lowbrow program like Pavlovich’s wasn’t ideal, but it was at least something. So, Al waited in the wings as the first guest – a man who married a Standard Poodle – was confronted by a veterinarian who insisted the union wasn’t legal.

A fistfight ultimately broke out between the dog lover and vet, ending when they were drug off the stage by security. Then Pavlovich hyped the high-energy audience for his next guest.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “Only in recent years have we learned that zombies walked among us.”

The crowd began booing.

“We’ve come to believe they eat humans, terrorize communities, practice poor hygiene and lower property values.”

The boos grew louder.

“But today, we’re going to let one of them explain to you – patriotic, red-blooded Americans – why we should allow non-blooded Americans to live and work side-by-side with you and me. Please give a rowdy Murray Pavlovich Show welcome to the zombie next door, Mr. Undead Alpha-679-A. Undead … step into the Murray Zone.”

The zombie was horrified by the screaming, and actually had to duck to avoid being hit by a set of dentures as he made his way to the chair across from the host. Once he finally settled into his spot, the crowd began chanting, “Drop dead, Undead!” over and over.

“OK,” Pavlovich said, aggressively waving his hands. “That’s enough … that’s enough. Let’s hear him out.”

Pavlovich sat down, leaned back, and stared straight at Al.

“So,” he said. “Right now, as you, a zombie, look at me … is the urge to eat my brains strong? Do you take some kind of medication to help you quell your desire to devour living humans?”

Al rolled his eyes, although it wasn’t visible to Pavlovich since he still had his sunglasses on.

“Murray, I have no desire to eat your brains or any other part of your body – or any part of anybody’s body, for that matter,” Al said. “That’s why I came here today … I want to dispel these ridiculous myths.”

The studio audience once again broke into the “Drop dead, Undead!” chant, and a woman in the front row – wearing a red, white and blue tank stop and sporting a faded Chef Boyardee tattoo on her neck – rushed towed the stage and yelled, “Baby eater!” at Al.

“Calm down, dear,” Pavlovich said. “Let the baby eater explain himself.”

Al shook his head, realizing that those who told him appearing on the Murray Pavlovich Show was a bad idea were absolutely right.

“Good grief … none of this crap you’ve heard is true,” the zombie said. “Why would we want to eat humans? I mean, that’s just gross. Personally, about all I eat are bananas and almonds. Every now and then I’ll get a hankering for dark chocolate raspberry cordials, but not often. We’re dead … we’re not cannibals.”

“But you are evil, are you not?” Pavlovich asked. “You were conjured, I assume, by voodoo or some form of black magic.”

“No!” Al shot back. “Again, those are just ridiculous stories. There are several different ways corpses get reanimated, and as far as I know none of them have anything to do with voodoo or curses or magic. My wife, Edith, was struck by lightning just as her casket was being lowered into the grave. I know a guy in Fresno who got jump-started by a cracked AGM battery and jumper cables. And me? The ambulance taking me to the morgue was involved in a fender-bender and something happened during the collision that sent a charge through my body. All I remember was sitting up on the gurney, hearing an EMT say, “Holy hell, that bastard’s alive,” and then smelling poop. We don’t know why we came back to life, we just did. And we don’t want to bother any of you. We just want to be dead in peace.”

Boos once again filled the studio as Pavlovich stood up, pointed at Al and shouted, “You died for a reason, sir, and I think I speak for my audience when I say we don’t need you pushing your undead agenda on us. I just pray for your next victim.”

Al shielded his face from flying debris as he raced off the stage, running through the corridor and heading straight for the exit while calling an Uber. Although a few audience members had made their way to the backlot and began hurling epithets at him, the car arrived quickly and he was able to escape unharmed.

The trip back to the Romero Housing Complex took only 10 minutes, and he had never been so happy to be away from the living.

“How did it go?” asked Edith, who was waiting for him at the front door.

“Awful,” Al said. “Worse than I thought. I figured it’d be a shit show, I just hoped I’d have a chance to reach a few people. But I didn’t. They had their minds made up before I even got there and they were too busy booing to listen to anything I had to say.”

Edith hugged him, squeezing him tightly with her icy arms.

“Sorry, mister,” she said. “At least you tried. Makes you wonder though … maybe we should eat their brains.”

Al chuckled.

“No point in that,” he said. “It’d just be empty calories.”

My L.A. Skyhawks summer

By 1976, I was deeply invested in association football.

I had a subscription to Soccer America magazine, owned Zander Hollander’s annual Complete Handbook of Soccer paperback, and spent a good deal of time kicking a ball around in my backyard.

Instead of a goal, I tried to shoot between the clothesline poles situated near the back of the fence.

It was a good confidence booster because while a soccer goal is 24-feet wide, the polls were roughly 36-feet apart.

As long as I sent the ball forward, it was hard to miss.

But the ball itself was one of those rubber “official size and weight” deals, and sported an American Soccer League logo. I have no memory of where I bought it – or why a store in Alabama even carried an ASL-branded ball – but it put the minor league on my radar and made me curious about the circuit.

This version of the ASL (the second) had been around since 1933, and even though it had a long history, it never managed to reach what you’d call “First Division” status. By the 1970s, it had been completely eclipsed by the North American Soccer League, which was still somewhat shiny and newish and stocked with big names.

But in 1976, the ASL pulled off a coup when it signed Hermann Trophy winner Steve Ralbovsky out of Brown University.

The 23-year-old Ralbovsky – who immigrated to the United States from Yugoslavia in 1970 – had been drafted by both the NASL’s Los Angeles Aztecs and the ASL’s L.A. Skyhawks, a first-year expansion team.

Going with the Aztecs seemed like a safe bet; Elton John had recently purchased a stake in the club to give it a huge publicity boost, and they were on the verge of signing George Best, considered one of the sport’s greatest players. Ralbovsky wasn’t completely sold, though.

“I think both leagues are of the same caliber,” he told United Press International. “The only difference is who gives me a better contract. It is in the hands of my attorney.”

Ralbovsky and Aztecs managing general partner John Chaffetz apparently didn’t hit it off. Chaffetz said he thought Ralbovsky would be a good addition to the club, but didn’t want to get into a “bidding war.” The ex-Brown Bear hinted that Chaffetz was too “matter-of-fact” in negotiations.

So, while Best reported to the NASL club on February 20, 1976, Ralbovsky – a midfielder/defender – cast his lot with the ASL that same day.

The Skyhawks offered him a heftier compensation package, and that sealed the deal.

“I believe that Steve, signing with our organization, has received the largest bonus ever paid a collegiate soccer player,” Skyhawks managing partner Jack Young said in a UPI story. “He not only is a tremendous soccer player, but a fine gentleman and will be a credit to our organization on and off the field.”

Ralbovsky, who speaks six languages, was an honor student at Brown and expected to be the face of the franchise. L.A. played at 10,000-seat Birmingham High School Stadium in the San Fernando Valley, which was arguably the top facility in the league.

For whatever reason, this storyline fascinated me. I was an NASL fan first – and supported the New York Cosmos – but I always liked underdog stories, and the ASL was most certainly that.

And hey … since I already owned an ASL ball, I felt it was my duty to show some love to the organization. Therefore, I decided the Skyhawks would be my ASL team and Ralbovsky my favorite player in the senior league.

Even before his rookie season began, he was already getting high marks from Skyhawks manager Ron Newman.

“This team has the potential to be my best team ever,” Newman told the News-Pilot newspaper for an April 15, 1976, story. “I’ve never recruited better players from Europe and we think we have the best college player in history on our side. You know, we might not only have the best team in our league, but the best team in the United States.”

Newman had spent the seven previous seasons with the NASL Dallas Tornado, and guided the team to a championship in 1971.

With former Scottish star Jimmy Rolland, Ron Yeats of Liverpool, a bevy of British transfers and another rookie hotshot, Brooks Cryder of Philadelphia Textile, on the roster, the gaffer’s optimism was well-founded.

Thanks to Soccer America, I was able to follow the team throughout its 1976 campaign – at least in print.

They finished the regular season with an ASL-best 13-6-2 record, scoring 41 goals while allowing just 15.

L.A. beat the Tacoma Tides, 2-1, in the semifinals of the ASL playoffs and defeated the New York Apollo, 2-1, in the championship match.

Ralbovsky made 22 appearances that year, scoring two goals and playing outstanding defense. His performance was good enough to earn co-Rookie of the Year honors in the ASL, and make me glad I hitched my fanwagon to him and the Skyhawks.

I wish I could tell you I remained a huge fan of both the player and team for years to come, but I didn’t.

Ralbovsky jumped to the NASL Chicago Sting in 1977, and since I was all about Pele, Franz Beckenbauer, Georgio Chinaglia, Shep Messing and the Cosmos, he kinda got lost in the shuffle.

And L.A.’s ASL entry folded after the 1979 season; by then I had completely lost interest in the league.

Still, for one season it was fun to channel my inner-Ralbovsky and kick that rubber ASL ball around in the yard.

It’s a piece of memorabilia I wish I still had – as well as all the youthful enthusiasm that came with it.