Author: Scott Adamson

Birth of a hockey fan

September 21, 1976, was a big day for Birmingham, Alabama.

Scott Adamson’s sports column appears when he feels sporty.

Turns out, it was a pretty big day for me, too.

The brand new Birmingham Civic Center Coliseum opened for business – a 17,000-plus seat palace designed for sports and concerts. What I remember most as I walked through the doors were the smells … popcorn, hot dogs and just a hint of Hai Karate aftershave, which was apparently standard issue for Southern adult males.

But I wasn’t there for the olfactory sensations or a tour of the facility.

I was there for professional hockey – something as alien to Birmingham as glaciers and polar bears.

By the end of the night, however, the Civic Center felt like home. And the Birmingham Bulls became a part of my family.

Just a few months earlier, the World Hockey Association franchise was based in Toronto and known as the Toros. But owner John Bassett (who I was familiar with because he owned the Memphis Southmen of the defunct World Football League) decided to take a big gamble by moving his team to the Deep South.

The Bulls’ first introduction to fans came a few days earlier when 4,000 showed up to watch an intrasquad scrimmage. On this night, though, the National Hockey League’s Atlanta Flames provided the opposition in an exhibition game, and it was hard to imagine a better opening gambit.

I don’t think anyone had a clue how many people would show up on a Tuesday night (although 4,000 season tickets had been sold), but by the time the teams took the ice 8,868 sports fans were in the building.

I try to avoid using the word “awesome” because it’s so overused it has lost much of its meaning.

But man, that night was awesome.

From the moment the skaters left the tunnel and glided in formation on the frozen pond, I was mesmerized.

But, I was also prepared.

When it was announced in June that the Toros were headed to Alabama, I made a point to read everything I could about the sport – the rules, the history, and the stars.

Birmingham, for example, featured Frank Mahovlich, who was already one of the most decorated players in hockey history.

The “Big M” had played on six Stanley Cup-winning teams, and was a cinch for induction into the Hockey Hall of Fame.

Paul Henderson was another Bulls standout. The two-time NHL All-Star led Canada to victory over the Soviet Union in the famous 1972 Summit Series, scoring the game-winning goals in the sixth, seventh and eighth games.

And then there was Mark Napier, a 19-year-old phenom who was named WHA Rookie of the Year in 1975.

The public address announcer spent much of the night explaining nuances of the game, but I was already a step ahead of him. I studied hockey rule books like I was prepping for a test, and not only knew why the ref blew his whistle but was happy to explain it to anyone sitting near me.

It was the first time I had ever seen this high speed collision sport up close and personal, and I was hooked. It was ice skating with attitude, and I absolutely loved it.

With the death of the WFL less than a year earlier, I wondered if there was any team – in any sport – that could fill the void.

After a couple of hours, I wondered no more.

For the record, Birmingham won the inter-league showdown in overtime, 7-6. Napier scored three goals, his last coming with just 46 seconds remaining in O.T. to clinch it for the WHA side.

I don’t know how many fans understood everything that was going on, but they all understood what a game-winning goal was. The place erupted when Napier’s backhander flew past Atlanta goalie Dan Bouchard’s glove and the red light behind goal lit up.

Normally all I would ever talk about in a given September would be football, but thanks to one magical night in the Magic City, hockey moved to the top of the chart and remained there throughout the Bulls’ history.

Even though the WHA is now just a distant (but fond) memory, it brought professional hockey to my hometown. Gordie Howe, Wayne Gretzky, Mark Messier – Birmingham was never one of the league’s better teams, but the Bulls faced some of the best players on the planet. I’m extremely lucky I got to see them in the flesh.

And while that exhibition game 43 years ago didn’t count, don’t ever tell me it didn’t matter.

It did … and still does.

Guess I’ll never be a werewolf

For most of my life, I’ve hoped that one day I’d transform into a werewolf. Now, however, I’m about ready to give up on the dream.

Scott Adamson’s humor column appears when he feels humorous.

I mean, if it didn’t happen yesterday, it probably ain’t ever gonna happen.

Friday the 13th … harvest moon … there was absolutely no better time.

Ever heard the expression, “Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity?” It’s attributed to Seneca. (I actually thought late football coach George Allen came up with it, but that’s beside the point.) The point is, I’m not lucky because I have spent decades preparing myself for a metamorphosis and the perfect opportunity came and went.

Do you know when the next full moon pairs up with a Friday the 13th?

August 13, 2049.

I’ll be 89.

I guess I could still be alive, but my best werewolf days will be behind me. Oh, I might be able to foam at the mouth – a wolf man cliché – but that’ll probably be more a function of age or acid reflux than lycanthropy.

I already drool a little, anyway.

Now, before you think I’m some sort of nut, I realize that it would be extremely difficult for me to turn into a werewolf. I have not been bitten by a werewolf nor do I carry the gene. And even if I could shift my shape, I have no desire to be the kind of monster you’ve seen in movies like “The Howling” or “An American Werewolf In London.” I don’t want to hurt any animals or other human beings. About the worst thing I’d do is wrestle a nut away from a squirrel, or steal some kale from hippies.

As the world’s first documented vegetarian werewolf, basically I’d just want to get hairy and run around in the woods while wearing tattered clothes. I’ve always thought that would be a good look for me.

My obsession started when I saw Lon Chaney Jr. play “The Wolf Man” in the classic 1941 film.

It’s responsible for the first poem I memorized …

“Even a man who is pure in heart
and says his prayers by night
may become a wolf when the wolf’s bane blooms
and the autumn moon is bright.”

 Dude just sat down on a chair and before I knew it, hair sprouted all over his face, he developed an under bite and – dressed smartly in a long sleeve, button-down shirt and slacks – jumped out a window and wolfed out all night long.

I thought that was just fantastic.

I remember seeing it late at night one weekend and then coming to school on Monday and excitedly asking my teacher what she knew about werewolves.

She didn’t know shit, and that disappointed me.

But being a precocious little fellow, I learned all I could on my own.

One big takeaway from my studies is that “lycanthropy” has two definitions.

The first is, “the supernatural transformation of a person into a wolf, as recounted in folk tales.”

I like that one. It speaks to my soul.

The second is, “a form of madness involving the delusion of being an animal, usually a wolf, with correspondingly altered behavior.”

That’s disturbing, and takes much of the fun out of the fantasy. Plus, you might wind up contracting rabies or have to get a tetanus shot should you happen to rip your legs on barbed wire while trying to capture and eat chickens.

But before I discovered sportsball, I spent many a day on the playground pretending to be a werewolf. As I think I’ve told you before, I even carried a tube of toothpaste with me so I could put a dab in my mouth and create foam.

It was kinda gross, but I had the freshest breath in second grade.

I still miss those carefree days, but realize if I did that now the manager at Publix might think I stole the toothpaste, and it’d make for an uncomfortable situation for all involved.

It might be worth the risk, though.

So here we are, on Saturday the 14th, and there is no evidence whatsoever that my dream came true the night before.

No tattered clothes.

No mud on the floor.

Nary a wolf’s bane corsage to be found.

I’m sorta depressed about it now, but as time goes by and 2049 draws closer, I might build up for one last shot.

Either way, I’m bringing my own toothpaste to the assisted living facility.

My playground days aren’t over until I say they are.

The PLL gives me an idea for football

Alternative pro football leagues have yet to try a touring model. (Mike Ehrmann/Getty Images)

One of the nice surprises of this summer’s sportscape has been the Premier Lacrosse League, which hit the field the first of June and will wrap up its inaugural season September 21.

Scott Adamson writes about alternative pro football leagues because it makes him happy, Follow him on Twitter @adamsonsl

If you like top-tier lacrosse the PLL has provided it, thanks to some of the best players in the world. I’ve enjoyed the handful of matches I’ve watched.

But, frankly, if you’re a legitimate fan of lacrosse you probably know more about the stats and stars than I do. Instead, I’m intrigued by the structural setup of the league and how its template might apply to football because – as you know – I’m almost always thinking about football-related gimmicks.

Founded by lacrosse superstar Paul Rabil and his brother, Mike, the PLL a touring, tournament-style circuit. However, the teams don’t represent cities and the players are free to market themselves however they choose.

This year the PLL features clubs named Archers, Atlas, Chaos, Chrome, Redwoods and Whipsnakes. There is no state or regional identity; basically, you either cheer for a team stocked with players you like or you root for a uniform.

I wound up getting behind Chrome because, well, I sent out a random tweet asking who I should follow, and Chrome was the only team to respond.

This touched me, so I now feel a sense of loyalty to them.

The schedule features 14 stops in major cities, and the events have been styled as weekend “festivals” with contests spread out over a couple of days.

There are clinics, activities and plenty of fan interaction to frame the actual games, making it about more than just the competition.

The crowds have been good and the games, which are telecast primarily on NBCSN, have given the league excellent exposure.

So here’s my idea; since people can’t seem to stop creating alternative pro football leagues, why not create one in the image of the PLL?

The obvious name would be the Premier Football League, but since there’s already the Premier League (which, cleverly enough, plays a brand of football in which feet play a significant role), we’ll go with another name.

Let’s call it the Premier Gridiron League.

My plan would feature eight teams, and for the purposes of this column we’ll call them the Chupacabras, Tasmanian Devils, Zombies, Sales Associates, Werewolves, Entrails, Telemarketers and Chiropractors.

(My favorite team would be the Werewolves because lycanthropy is of great interest to me.)

As is the case with the PLL, players in the PGL will be drafted and divvied up among the teams in an effort to create parity.

Of course asking fans to watch a doubleheader on Saturday and another on Sunday is a bit much, so we’ll break from the PLL in that we’ll have two separate sites during a tour weekend.

For example, Birmingham might host the Chupacabras vs. Tasmanian Devils on Saturday, March 7 and Zombies vs. Sales Associates on March 8, while Orlando would feature the Werewolves vs. Entrails on March 7 and follow with the Telemarketers vs. the Chiropractors on the following day.

The PGL regular season would run 14 weekends at a total of 28 different sites, with each team playing the other twice. The postseason would consist of two semi-finals and a championship game with the matchups taking place in the cities that drew the biggest crowds during the tour. It’s a way to reward the fans who showed the most interest in the product.

It all sounds cool, doesn’t it? (Why yes, Scott, it does).

I wonder, though, if perhaps it’s just a bit too innovative.

I think the touring model was a great idea for the first season of PLL, and having a team you can call your own no matter where you live is unique. But it seems like at some point fans in lacrosse hotbeds are going to want a club to put down roots – one they can see several times at home during the course of a season instead of just once a year.

Then again, maybe that’s what this season has been all about.

Identify which cities want the PLL the most, and then gradually migrate franchises there.

Pro lacrosse is largely working with a blank canvas. Yes, there are other leagues, but the PLL is the first to offer living wages, health insurance and ownership options for its players. Done right, it could be the gold standard for the sport going forward.

And while I like the thought of applying this model to my league, there are some major issues to work through.

First, football is already pretty well established. It needs no grand introduction.

And with the best professional players already making millions of dollars in the NFL, it would take many more millions to convince them to jump ship.

Anyway, it was just something I thought I’d throw out because I like throwing things. And if you’re an eccentric billionaire interested in funding my venture and luring away the NFL’s top stars with your endless fountain of cash, I’ll be happy to talk with you at your earliest convenience.

Thanks, and “Go Werewolves!”