Scott Adamson, Author at Adamsonmedia.com

When the WFL decided to play on

Nine days after the Birmingham Americans won the 1974 World Football League championship – and had all their equipment confiscated due to non-payment of debts – the struggling circuit completed two rounds of crucial meetings in New York.

The result was a decision to try again in 1975 with a potentially smaller, more financially responsible league.

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

“I had guarded optimism before,” WFL commissioner Chris Hemmeter told the Associated Press for a December 15, 1975, story. “But I think I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Before, I think all we saw were reflections on the wall.”

The WFL began play in July, 1974, with 12 franchises – the Americans, Chicago Fire, Detroit Wheels, Florida (Orlando) Blazers, The (Honolulu) Hawaiians, Houston Texans, Jacksonville Sharks, Memphis Southmen, New York Stars, Philadelphia Bell, Portland Storm and Southern California (Anaheim) Sun. Early games were marked by big crowds in most markets and the national buzz was largely positive. However, it was soon learned that the league had major money issues and attendance figures were being inflated. At least one city – Philadelphia – was “papering the house.”

By the time the league limped to the finish line, the Wheels and Sharks had folded before completing the season; the Texans and Stars relocated (Houston became the Shreveport Steamer and New York was reborn as the Charlotte Hornets); and only two teams (Memphis and Southern Cal) met payroll every week.

Oakland Raiders quarterback Ken Stabler, who had signed a futures contract with the Americans for 1976, successfully sued to void the deal after the club failed to pay $30,000 owed to him in 1974.

In terms of financial disasters, the WFL fiasco was one of the worst in pro sports history.

“The prime reason for the failures was unfounded optimism that we could launch a new league and survive on the proceeds,” Hemmeter said. “It was poor economic planning. The collective judgments made by this league should be questioned since they obviously didn’t work.”

Still, Hemmeter – the former primary owner of The Hawaiians who replaced original WFL commissioner Gary Davidson during the ’74 campaign – thought the NFL competitor was worth saving.

That meant rebooting with possibly as few as eight financially sound franchises and exploring new locales.

“I think there would be some new major markets in the league next year,” Hemmeter said. “These new investors represent new and substantial money from the top financial and social strata of the various communities.”

Yet while the WFL sought major league status – and did have NFL standouts such as Paul Warfield, Larry Csonka, Daryle Lamonica, Calvin Hill and John Gilliam on board for ’75 – the business plan was hardly big budget.

On December 19, Hemmeter revealed that the league was undergoing a reorganization that would put tight constraints on spending. Later dubbed the “Hemmeter Plan,” it was a system in which players received one percent of the gate. Any prospective owner would be required to clear up existing debts and put a minimum of $700,000 in escrow to guarantee payment of club salaries and bills.

“We know there is a market for a second league,” Hemmeter said in an interview with United Press International. “Our main problem is credibility. We must create stability and function in an environment of credibility.”

He added that if the reorganization was not complete by March, 1975, the WFL was over.

The good news – at the time, anyway – was that the league got the green light for another year. Well, it was actually New League Inc. doing business as the World Football League. So, technically, the original WFL was no more.

However, there was a glimmer of hope that the brand could be salvaged (and polished).

The biggest news moving into Year Two was that a major push by the league to sign Joe Namath away from the New York Jets was under way. He would be the face of the league as well as the star attraction of the new Chicago Winds franchise.

Perhaps if Broadway Joe became Magnificent Mile Joe, the WFL could attract more fans and a network contract. Without TV, the future was grim.

Returning from 1974 were the Bell, Southmen, Sun, Steamer, Hawaiians and Hornets, while joining the Winds as new additions were the Birmingham Vulcans, Jacksonville Express, Portland Thunder and San Antonio Wings.

Games moved to weekends (the 1974 WFL played primarily on Wednesday nights with syndicated TV games on Thursdays) and the regular season started in August.

Alas, Namath ultimately balked at jumping leagues, and network television shied away from partnering with the leaner WFL.

In reality, those gut-punches meant there was no legitimate path forward.

The Winds folded after five games, and the entire league followed suit after 12 weeks, averaging just 13,370 fans per game. On October 22, 1975, the World Football League officially went out of business.

Hemmeter had a solid plan in place, but the credibility crisis from 1974 simply could not be overcome.

Thinking outside the box

Whenever a new alternative football league comes along, I like to offer the founders unsolicited advice on rule innovations. We all know what to expect in NFL and NCAA games, and as a Canadian Football League fan I’m familiar with its unique style of play as well.

But in order to stand out – especially as an upstart – I think you have to go bold and be very, very different.

The United Football League has some nice tweaks with its tiered conversions and overtime procedure, but I want to color even further outside the lines.

So, I wondered … if I formed a football league (and for the purposes of this column I’ll call it the Global Gridiron Federation because I couldn’t think of anything cool), how would I shake things up?

Well, I’d borrow rules from other circuits and make up a few of my own so crazy they’d be subject to ridicule. But that’s OK, because sometimes I like being ridiculous.

To set the tone for my extreme football makeover, I’d eliminate the punt option once a team reaches its own 40 yard line. In other words, if an offense has fourth-and-11 at its own 41, it has to go for it on fourth down and hope it makes at least 12 yards on the next play or turn the ball over.

Speaking of punts, there would be no fair catches. The CFL rule would be used, meaning returners would be given a five-yard cushion to field the kick.

Sticking with the CFL rulebook again, all backs would be allowed in motion toward the line of scrimmage. This would unleash offenses and create major headaches for defensive coordinators, but it’s my league and I like scoring, so they’d just have to deal with it.

Moving on to kickoffs, I’d duplicate what the UFL did in 2024. The ball is kicked off from the 20 and the return team must have a minimum of eight players (maximum of nine) line up in a box within 10 yards of the ball placement at kickoff until the kick is away. This results in players on the receiving team running in the same direction as those on the coverage team and, thus, increases player safety.

Not extreme enough for you?

Hang on to your chinstraps.

Quarters would be 12 minutes long – the standard length used in high school football. I decided on this rule because as I get older my attention span gets shorter. Throw in a 10-minute halftime, and games should be done in a little over two hours.

Another dramatic change involves the end zones and goalposts. NFL and American college football end zones are 10 yards deep while they’re double that length in the CFL. My league would split the difference, making them 15 yards deep BUT with goalposts located at the back.

Not only that, the goalposts would have a circular target in the middle of the uprights, 17.5 feet above the crossbar. If the target (six feet in diameter) is hit on a field goal, it’s worth four points. If the kicker nails it on the PAT, it’s good for two points.

By the way, the scrimmage line for extra points would be the 10-yard line, which would also be the spot for a three-point conversion (via run or pass). The two-point conversion is taken care of thanks to the goalpost target.

For point value of touchdowns, I travel back to the 1974-75 World Football League in which paydirt strikes were worth seven points. So, if a team has a dead-eye kicker, a touchdown plus a PAT could be worth nine points.

If a game is tied at the end of regulation, overtime would be modeled after the National High School Federation. Teams alternate possessions 10 yards from the goal line until one has more points. (The target between the uprights could play a big role in determining a winner).

But here is my favorite innovation of all, one that gives me a tingly feeling in my nether regions just thinking about it: If a defense recovers a fumble or snags an interception, it’s awarded a single point. Better yet, this rule means a defensive player has a chance to score an eight-point TD on a pick six or scoop and score.

You always hear about turnovers being costly. In the GGF, they’d cost the team that turns the ball over at least a point.

Weird stuff, huh?

Obviously, a couple of these rules aren’t practical. Increasing the length of the field would be a problem (remember the wonky end zones during the CFL in America experiment?) and bringing in a welder to solder a target onto uprights is a big ask.

Still, if I formed an alt-football league, I’d be all-in on the gimmicks. I mean, if you’re gonna go to the trouble of coming up with this nonsense, you might as well let your imagination run wild.

The encounter

Freddy Stanhope – drunk off his ass – wasn’t sure where things went wrong as he stumbled down the side street toward his house.

The bulk of his adult life involved having long, depressing conversations with other drunks at the Will O’ The Wisp bar, a watering hole conveniently located just two blocks from where he lived.

Oh, he had one primary drinking “buddy” – a guy named Ashton – but their relationship started at beer bottles and stopped at shot glasses. He didn’t even know Ashton’s last name because friendships among sots are often confined to establishments with liquor licenses.

Plus, he knew nothing about the dude. He might’ve been a serial killer – or worse, a TikTok influencer.

Freddy didn’t even take advantage of living in one of the most beautiful places on earth.

One step into his Duck Springs backyard was like walking into the pages of an Appalachian Mountains brochure, but he had long since forgotten how to appreciate the area’s brilliantly colored falls. His labored strolls in the mountains had become less about marveling at nature’s red, orange, yellow and green palette and more about how much effort it took just to make it through another boring day.

Once he had hoped to marry, build a cabin in the woods, stock it with vodka and canned beans, and simply live a simple, happy life.

But that ship had sailed and sunk.

More likely, considering how many brain cells he’d killed, he’d wind up in “The Home.” It was not appealing to imagine himself as an old man wandering naked in the activity center, asking if anyone knew where Betty White was – and why she stole his fish sticks.

Yet, just as he was bemoaning the quiet desperation that was his uneventful and uninspired life, he found himself standing in front of an alien spacecraft and debating whether or not what he was seeing was real.

In the movies, such intergalactic vehicles were often silver and saucer-shaped. This one, however, more resembled a 1975 AMC Pacer, although the fact that the aquarium-like machine hovered more than 20 feet off the ground and emitted a hazy, orange glow suggested it was not a product of Kenosha automakers.

One thing it did have in common with cinematic close encounters, though, was the blinding white beam of light that shined from the bottom of the ship and formed a perfect circle on the ground. Freddy assumed if he walked into it, he’d be taken aboard.

Truthfully, that sounded like fun – and a great story to tell Ashton during the next “Free Hot Wings Til You Spew” Happy Hour at Will O’ The Wisp.

So, he staggered into the light and raised his arms toward the heavens.

“OK, boys,” he slurred, “take me to your leader or supervisor or head honcho or whoever runs the show up there. No need to do one of those anal probes, though. I had a colonoscopy a couple of weeks ago and they found some polyps. Trust me … you don’t wanna go there.”

The light was too bright to look at, so Freddy closed his eyes and waited. He could hear a hum coming from the craft and it gradually grew louder. Although intoxicated, he had sat through enough sci-fi films to know that this had to be the sound of a tractor beam that was pulling him aboard.

He wondered what the aliens looked like. Perhaps they’d be the standard little gray creatures with the weird heads and big, black eyes. They’d make hand gestures toward him, much like the beings in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Or maybe – just maybe – these were E.T. aliens. If so, Freddy would extend his finger and hope the alien would touch it with a glowing finger of his own.

The moment would be perfect if Neil Diamond’s Heartlight started playing over the spaceship’s sound system, but he didn’t want to over expect.

However, time seemed to drag on and Freddy was going nowhere. And then, the beam of light shifted approximately 10 feet away from him.

Freddy opened his eyes and wondered if they had done some sort of experiment on him without his knowledge. Perhaps there had been a time jump, and once he made it to his house, a week will have passed.

“Hey,” he yelled. “Did you guys do something to me? My butt feels normal. I do need to pee, but then again, I have had quite a bit to drink. Can you communicate with me? Can you read my mind?”

The beam of light disappeared and Freddy noticed that the hum had stopped. Still, the glow of the UFO Pacer remained.

He felt something touch his right shoulder and as he whipped around, he was face-to-face with the alien. It looked nothing like any “Martian” he had seen on the big or small screen. It was more mannequin-like, roughly six feet tall and translucent. There were no eyes, ears or mouth visible on its perfectly round head, and its arms and legs were sans hands or feet – like a stick figure on a road sign.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Freddy asked, hos voice trembling.

The being spoke in a Transatlantic accent, although from what orifice the words came, Freddy had no clue.

“We have no desire to harm you or anyone else, dude,” it said. “And I’m really sorry we got you involved in this mission. We try to just zip in and zip out undetected so as not to cause any disruption. As you’ve probably figured out, we’re not from here, we don’t belong here, and we don’t want to stay here.”

Freddy had begun to sober up somewhat, and the gravity of the situation was becoming apparent. Whether he had made first contact or not he couldn’t be sure, but he was most definitely in the presence of a creature from another planet.

“You’re on a mission, but your mission isn’t to hurt anyone,” Freddy said. “So, you aren’t here to take over the world … or take over the planet … or take me as a specimen?”

The alien made a sound that mimicked human laughter.

“No, man,” it said. “Klaatu got shit-faced and lost his fuckin’ keys again. We’re just trying to help him find ‘em.”