The ABA’s last hurrah

On October 22, 1975, I was bummed out by news that the World Football League had folded. Two days later, however, the American Basketball Association was starting its ninth season, and under normal circumstances that would’ve lifted my spirits.

I loved the ABA; it was my favorite professional roundball organization then and if I could conjure it into existence now, I would. But October 24, 1975, was the beginning of the end, and its demise was quite obvious before the nine teams ever tipped off.

Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Bluesky @scottadamson1960.bsky.social

In September of that year, the New York Nets (my favorite club) and Denver Nuggets had already applied for admission to the National Basketball Association. Four days before the 1975-76 campaign got under way, the rest of the franchises (Kentucky Colonels, Virginia Squires, San Antonio Spurs, Indiana Pacers, San Diego Sails, Spirits of St. Louis and Utah Stars) followed suit.

Each team sent an identical telegram to NBA Commissioner Larry O’Brien. It read:

“The (name of franchise) hereby request application for membership in the National Basketball Association, commencing with the 1976-77 season. If the NBA has interest in considering an application, we would like the NBA to join with us in petitioning Judge Robert L. Carter for permission to process an application under such circumstances as he may deem appropriate and consistent with his prior orders.”

Carter was hearing an action brought by the NBA Players Association in which they requested the right to negotiate with any team in any league. In addition, he had ruled that if there was a merger, it had to be approved by himself and the NBAPA.

On October 24, O’Brien said he was rejecting the ABA applications “for the time being,” meaning he was open to it once the legal issues were resolved.

And it wasn’t like there was any groundswell of support to save the ABA – not even among league officials. Commissioner Dave DeBusschere said owners pushed for a merger during their October 9-10 meetings.

“Of course, we realize this cannot be accomplished by our act alone because of outstanding court orders preventing any accommodations without the cooperation and agreement of the basketball players and the approval of the courts,” DeBusschere said in statement released by the league. “It is anticipated that our action will stimulate the necessary discussion between all the parties that make up professional basketball, owners and players alike, with a view toward putting professional basketball on a sound common sense and businesslike basis, ensuring its survival in a healthy atmosphere, free of  disputes, lawsuits and controversy for the ultimate benefit of its owners, players and most of all, its fans.”

I followed the NBA and enjoyed it (the Los Angeles Lakers and Milwaukee Bucks garnered most of my interest), but to me the ABA was more exciting – and far more fun to watch. It wasn’t just the red, white and blue basketballs, it was the free flowing, high-flying style of play.

Instead of a merger, I wanted to see two distinct leagues that remained separate until they played a best-of-seven Basketball World Series.

And the since the ABA came into its ninth year with a 31-17 record against the NBA in exhibition games, it had a legitimate shot at proving it was just as good (and sometimes better) than the senior circuit’s contingent.

Still, I was seeing all this through the lens of a 14-year old who had no interest in the business side of sports. If I had, I would’ve realized the ABA was already Dead League Walking.

At the dawn of the 1975-76 season, the NBA had 18 teams and a national TV contract with CBS. The ABA, on the other hand, had shrunk from the original 11 cities it repped beginning in 1967-68.

A Baltimore franchise (relocated from Memphis) folded during the preseason, and there was no countrywide television coverage. CBS stopped carrying ABA contests after the 1972-73 schedule was complete, and the Hughes Television Network deal was one-and-done in 1973-74.

The good news (for me, anyway) is that the Nets went on to win the championship in Year Nine.

The bad news is that the league as a whole limped to the finish line. The Sails folded after just 11 games and the Stars went out of business with a 4-12 record.

The Squires called it quits at the end of the regular season, leaving the American Basketball Association with only six squads.

New York wrapped up the title on May 13, 1976, and on June 17, it was announced that the Nets, Nuggets, Spurs and Pacers would be absorbed into the NBA. The Colonels and Spirit went sneakers up.

That was bittersweet news for me.

Yes, I was glad the Nets survived, but my favorite league was dead. It was as though the scrappy kids who rode the bus every day were now being forced to join a snooty private school – and play by their rules.

But, living in the past is depressing, so I’ve forgiven the NBA for smothering the ABA.

The Nets (now in Brooklyn) remain my favorite team, I continue to have a special fondness for the “leftovers” (Nuggets, Spurs, and Pacers), and I appreciate the stability and quality of a league that’s 30-teams strong.

The merger was, indeed, in the best interests of pro basketball.

Not gonna lie though – I’ll always miss those red, white and blue basketballs.

Family ties

The rooftop of a 26-story building in the middle of the city center seemed as good a place as any for Maynard Summers to take a trip down memory lane. Standing on the edge of that rooftop – his dark, slim figure illuminated by a harvest moon – provided a dramatic flair to the nostalgia.

His father died of a heart attack when Maynard was in his mid-30s. It was the end of a buddy relationship he didn’t realize was so close until his dad was no longer there. As the years went by, the bittersweet memories had morphed into emptiness.

Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Bluesky @scottadamson1960.bsky.social

His mother passed away just two years after his dad, killed in a freak accident that involved being impaled by a garden gnome.

Maynard was often racked with guilt because, while he missed his mom, dying at the hands of an ornamental creature with a pointy hat was still kinda funny.

He had to stifle giggles at her funeral and even when he thought about it years later, he found himself trying not to laugh.

Maynard had one older brother who lived in Houston, but the two didn’t talk and hadn’t spoken in years.

Rodney Summers had become a mover and shaker in the aerospace industry and didn’t have time for his “common” relatives. He was too busy making the millions of dollars needed for the surgeries required to make him look like a younger, plastic version of himself.

And Maynard had no idea where his sister, Jada, was or what she did these days.

The last time he saw her she had moved in with a biker who insisted on being called “Road Warrior”; they were going to tour the country in hopes of catching all the Deathly Gratitude shows.

Deathly Gratitude was a Grateful Dead tribute band, and little sis wasn’t so much a Deadhead as she was a person who merely liked the concept of being one.

Maynard didn’t often look back at what was, but when he did, he’d think fondly of the days when his family would load up in their gray Ford Country Squire and go on vacation.

There was that time they went to Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina. The Johnnie Mercers Fishing Pier was still a big deal, and he remembered Jada recoiling when his dad baited her hook with a live earthworm that squirmed wildly – especially after being impaled.

He and Rodney got a big laugh out of her horror.

Then there was the trip to New Jersey that turned into a day spent with Lucy the Elephant, a celebrated roadside attraction. The building shaped like a pachyderm might not have been one of the eight wonders of the world, but it provided a world of wonder for three kids who posed in front of it while mom took a picture with her brand new Polaroid Instamatic.

All that seemed like a lifetime ago.

The family vacations ended, the siblings ultimately went their separate ways, and that was that.

Maynard occasionally entertained the notion of reconnecting with Rodney and Jada. Doing so would be easy enough.

Rodney’s company had a website, and his picture was splashed all over it. All the contact information was readily available and Maynard could be there in no time.

And Deathly Gratitude was always lining up gigs at bars and carnivals, mostly in the Midwest. A quick internet search would reveal their next stop, which meant Jada and Road Warrior would most likely be stopped there, too.

Maynard, Raymond and Jada – together again.

But really, what was the point? They were all so different, and other than playing the greatest hits – those familiar yet always changing tales of growing up in the Summers household – there wouldn’t be anything of substance to talk about.

Jada cared nothing about business, and Rodney certainly had no interest in being regaled with how many times she’s heard Truckin’.

As for Maynard, they always thought he was different.

They didn’t know the half of it.

If they saw him now, they’d be absolutely shocked by his appearance. He hadn’t aged at all since being turned by a French Quarter vampire during a 1987 trip to New Orleans, and now all his days were nights.

But that was his life now – one gained by death, oddly enough. Yet even though he could conceivably live forever, he refused to take anything for granted.

He had his own tribe now – well, nest – and while vampire interests varied, they never varied too much.

For that, he was grateful.

So, maybe it was best to keep the past buried. Besides, on this night, the air was crisp, his urge was strong, and the moon was beautiful … especially from his rooftop vantage point.

He decided he’d soak it all in a bit longer before flying off to feed.

Changes come to UFL

When the United Football League kicks off next spring – and I think at this point we can safely say “when” and not “if” – it’ll mark five consecutive years of stable minor league spring football.

From a historical perspective, that’s a significant achievement.

Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Bluesky @scottadamson1960.bsky.social

Beginning with the new United States Football League in 2022, the third version of the XFL in 2023, and the union of the two that created the UFL in 2024, many players who might otherwise be out of play-for-pay football have another option.

And when they return to the circuit in 2026, some will be playing for new teams in new stadiums.

The UFL announced major changes this morning, with the Columbus Aviators, Louisville Kings and Orlando Storm replacing the Memphis Showboats, Michigan Panthers and San Antonio Brahmas.

The Birmingham Stallions, DC Defenders and St. Louis Battlehawks return unchanged, but the Arlington Renegades are now the Dallas Renegades and the Houston Roughnecks will be the Houston Gamblers.

The Renegades return to their XFL city branding, while Houston will claim the iconic Gamblers identity (with tweaked logo and colors) from both the original and rebooted USFL.

“Today marks an important step forward for the United Football League,” Mike Repole, co-owner of the United Football League, said in a league-issued statement. “Columbus, Louisville, and Orlando are true football cities with deep sports roots. We’re proud to bring professional football to these communities – in energetic, fan-driven stadiums built to create an authentic gameday experience and strengthen the foundation of this league for years to come.

“We’re heading into this season with new teams, new markets, new venues, and a renewed energy that reflects the momentum building around this league.”

While TV ratings have been good enough to convince ESPN and FOX to keep it on the air, the UFL has been a more difficult sell when it comes to getting people to show up for games.

And frankly, with every contest televised, there’s not as much motivation for John Q. and Joan Q. Public to brave unpredictable spring weather and summer heat. (If a game has an afternoon start and it’s 95 degrees, your ol’ Uncle Scott is gonna choose the couch potato option 10 times out of 10).

So, instead of agonizing over the size of the in-house fan base, officials have opted to shrink the venue size.

Gone are the Showboats (50,000-seat Simmons Bank Liberty Stadium), Panthers (65,000-seat Ford Field) and Brahmas (64,000-seat Alamodome).

Their replacements will ply their trade in stadiums better suited for Triple A football crowds. Columbus will play at Historic Crew Stadium (20,000); Louisville will call  Lynn Family Stadium (15,000) home; and Orlando will serve as host at Inter&Co Stadium (25,500).

Columbus’ most recent foray into “major” minor league football was the Ohio Glory, which was part of the World League of American Football in 1992.

Louisville rarely comes to mind when talking about pro football history, but it should; the Kentucky city had an NFL team from 1921-23 (the Louisville Brecks) and one in 1926 (the Louisville Colonels).

The Orlando Guardians averaged 12,011 fans during their 2023 XFL season, but weren’t part of the XFL/USFL merger. And in 2019, the city hosted a team in the ill-fated Alliance of American Football.

The Orlando Apollos, coached by Steve Spurrier, had the AAF’s best record (7-1) when the league folded and was second in attendance behind San Antonio with 19,648 fans per game.

As for Houston, it’s not only getting a new old nickname, but will play at cozy Shell Energy Stadium, which holds just over 20,000 fans.

The only oversize stadiums left in the league are in St. Louis and Birmingham.

The Battlehawks regularly draw more than 30,000 fans per game to The Dome at America’s Center (67,000 capacity), while the Stallions do well to put 10,000 customers in Protective Stadium (47,100).

The UFL is also doing away with the UFL and XFL Conferences, which I think is a good move. Instead, it’ll be one eight-team league with the top four teams qualifying for the playoffs.

Although Repole joins FOX, RedBird Capital Partners, ESPN, Dany Garcia, and Dwayne Johnson in the UFL ownership group, it’s apparent he’s going to be the primary decision-maker going forward.

He’s already talked of expansion for 2028 as well as eventually moving teams out of the Arlington hub and into their own markets.

For the UFL to put down roots – real roots – that last idea is the most important.

I completely understand the use of a hub as a money-saving measure, but this proof of concept approach has served its purpose.

For fans to truly embrace their team, that team needs to be part of their town – not just weekend visitors.

At any rate, here’s hoping today’s news proves to be good news for the UFL and fans of spring football.