Scott Adamson, Author at Adamsonmedia.com

Championship memories

Seeing a final score that reads Birmingham Stallions 33, Philadelphia Stars 30, brings a smile to my face.

I mean sure, I’m glad Birmingham won the United States Football League Championship Game; I live here and the team reps the city, so it’s a result certainly worthy of a smile. But the grin is triggered more by an old memory than an instant one.

**Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Twitter @adamsonsl**

My dad and I watched the 1974 World Bowl at my brother’s house, and after the Birmingham Americans clinched the WFL title with a 22-21 victory over the Florida Blazers, we made the short drive back home.

I spent the 10-minute trip reveling in the glory of it all – it was exciting to think a team from my hometown had just claimed a “world” championship in football – and fought off sleep when I crawled into bed so I could replay the game in my head.

Then came the next morning.

The good news of Birmingham’s victory was splashed across the newspaper, but it came with the bad news that sheriff’s deputies had seized the winners’ jerseys and equipment to help pay off $700,000 in debts.

It was a school day (the game was played on Thursday, December 5) and while Pop drank his coffee and I wolfed down toast, my joy was replaced by worry and I felt the need to share my angst.

“I’m glad the Americans are champions, but I wonder if I’ll ever get to see them play again,” I said. “It’s gonna be sad if this was it.”

(For reference purposes, the WFL limped to the finish line in an unstable inaugural 1974 season. Birmingham and Florida players hadn’t been paid in weeks; the Detroit and Jacksonville franchises folded; and the New York Stars relocated to Charlotte and the Houston Texans moved to Shreveport. The WFL was, at the time, considered one of the greatest financial disasters in sports history, so coming back for a second year appeared to be a longshot).

Pop and I talked a lot, and many of our conversations were focused on football. When it came to the pro game, he was a Green Bay Packers fan and I cheered for the New York Jets, but we bonded over the Americans. And considering how much I valued his opinion, I wanted him to weigh in on the chances of our WFL champs playing on past a cold December night.

“Well, bud,” he said, looking down at his pocket and reaching for a Lucky Strike, “nobody can predict the future.”

“I know,” I said, “But still … what do you think?”

Pop shot a quick glance in my direction.

“I think that’s not something you should worry about today,” he said. “Birmingham won a championship. If you win a championship, that’s a big deal. Just enjoy it.”

That was exactly what I needed to hear. And he was absolutely right – it was such a big deal that nearly a half century later I not only haven’t forgotten it, but still talk (and write) about it.

The Americans were the first pro team I ever saw in person, and the Stallions hold that distinction for young ‘uns who made their way to Protective Stadium or Legion Field this year.

Such occasions are ones that stick … mental souvenirs that represent a moment in time you find yourself going back to over and over throughout the years.

Perhaps a kid got a smile from J’Mar Smith or Alex McGough, a high-five from Bo Scarbrough, or simply sat in front of a TV and cheered a Victor Bolden catch or Scooby Wright pick-six.

Doesn’t matter the player, doesn’t matter the reason … if you watched the games and made these guys your hometown heroes, you made an investment.

And while an adult investment often comes from a wallet, a kids’ investment almost always comes from the heart.

Certainly, it’s a proud moment for any football fan who calls Birmingham home. There’s no age limit on supporting your town and your team.

But I’m especially happy for the young fans tonight.

Some celebrated with their mother or father or sister or brother, making it a family affair.

Others got together with friends to watch the Stallions make some fresh gridiron history.

And they might already have started dreaming about a repeat; while I never saw the Americans again (World Bowl One was World Bowl Only, and the Birmingham Americans were replaced by the Birmingham Vulcans in 1975), this version of the USFL – and Stallions – seems stable enough to make it through next year and possibly beyond.

Yet regardless of whether or not the league is built to last, it provided a lasting memory for kids who got their first taste of a homegrown title.

“Birmingham won a championship. If you win a championship, that’s a big deal. Just enjoy it.”

It’s been almost 48 years since Pop told me that.

I’m sad I can’t hear him say it anymore, but I’m happy I remember what it felt like when he did.

Trying to look my best

This might come as a bit of a shock, but I was never what you’d call an “Adonis.” Short, bespectacled and built like a chimpanzee with truncated arms, I had to rely on my sense of humor and extensive knowledge of Batman mythology to get dates.

Still, I always tried to look my best.

For a time, I attempted to wear contact lenses, but even the soft ones irritated my eyes. I had trouble focusing and blinked like Joel Osteen watching the collection plates being passed around.

Then I settled on cool eyeglasses. Not Elton John cool, but specs that tended to highlight my big brown eyes and chipmunk cheeks and distract from my ape-like physique. I looked a bit like the dude who fronted the Buggles.

And of course, my hairstyles have been all over the map.

There was the Keith Partridge look, the butt-cut – even a modified mullet at one point in the 1980s. I didn’t adopt a short style until I went through a two decades-long Clark Kent phase.

But now that I’ve reached the age where the only dates I’m interested in getting are the ones high in fiber, vanity shouldn’t be that big a deal.

But it still kind of is.

For example, I went years without paying much attention to my eyebrows, and then one morning I woke up and looked like Mr. McBeevee. If you don’t know who Mr. McBeevee is, he was a character played by Karl Swenson on an episode of “The Andy Griffith Show.” Dude had some wild-ass brows that seemed to take off in several different directions. They were like tiny Medusa snakes.

Anyway, I now find myself having to trim my brows at least twice a week because if not, it looks like a pair of caterpillars are taking naps above my eyes.

And as for hair, I prefer wearing it kinda long but it’s thinning on my crown. I’m afraid if I don’t so something soon, I’ll look like the monks of old – or even the Monks of the 1960s (their song Monk Time is way ahead of it’s time, by the way).

A quick fix would be to shave my noggin, but that’s not a real option for me. A lot of people look really good bald, but you have to have the right head shape.

I do not have the right head shape.

If I opted to shear off my locks I’d look like Lex Luthor. Well, maybe not so much Lex Luthor as his less attractive brother, Lenny Luthor, who runs a small booth at the outlet mall where he sells cubic zirconia Kryptonite.

So, I’ve decided to try a topical hair growth treatment. It’s actually working because one of the early signs of regrowth is what appears to be peach fuzz, and it’s popping up on and around the crown.

If leaves appear I’ll probably discontinue use of the product, but I might see how they look first.

Finally, staying in shape is a chore when you get older.

I’m happy that my weight is basically where it’s supposed to be compared to my height, but under no circumstance would I go shirtless – even at the beach.

I never was one to show off my pecs (or even my bushels), but unless you have personal trainers and really good genes, time has a way of making your chest and torso look weird. I give myself the once-over in a mirror and just seem formless and uncooked.

And in my case, there’s that whole ape shape I have to deal with.

If I was running shirtless in a park, the first kid who saw me would shout, “Mama … look at the pink monkey. Can I feed it?”

Fortunately, my darling person loves me the way I am, which is a good thing because I can only do so much about the way I look. So even if I have bushy eyebrows, a bare crown and a chest and stomach that looks like it has just been poured out of a can, it really wouldn’t matter.

Besides, I think she truly enjoys watching me peel bananas and pick things off her head.

The Birmingham Bulls

Raise a glass, tip your cap, or – if you really want to get into the spirit of things – hip check the person standing nearest to you. Today is the 46^th anniversary of the birth of one of the Magic City’s most memorable sports teams.

The club that sparked my passion for ice hockey started the morning of June 29, 1976, as the Toronto Toros but ended the day as the Birmingham Bulls. The move was made official during a meeting of the World Hockey Association’s Board of Governors in Toronto, and in early July some high-profile team members came to town to spread the gospel of the sport.

“This is my first trip to Alabama, and I’m impressed,” Bulls left wing Frank Mahovlich, a future Hockey Hall of Fame inductee, told the Anniston Star for a July 8, 1976, story. “The facility the team will be playing in (the Birmingham-Jefferson Civic Center Coliseum, now known as Legacy Arena) has to be one of the prettiest arenas I’ve ever seen. All you need is a good hockey team.”

Mahovlich was joined on his Birmingham visit by teammate Paul Henderson and team owner John Bassett.

“We’re pleased to bring hockey to Birmingham and Alabama and now we want to begin working on fielding a good team and help get people educated to hockey,” Bassett said.

Henderson, also a left winger, tried to assure new fans of the sport that they’d catch on quickly.

“It’s really not that complicated,” he said. “Right now, this is just a transition for everyone here in Alabama. After everyone learns what the whistles are for from the officials, I think everything will fall into place.

“People have the idea that we do a lot of fighting, that we have a couple of guys on the team that don’t do anything but fight. Well, that has been true. Now with an 18-man roster you’ve got to have 18 good hockey players, but fighting is part of it.”

When news broke that Birmingham would be getting a professional hockey team, I read up on everything I could find about the sport. I knew next to nothing, but I did know that the WHA was a major league and I felt it was my obligation to become a major league fan.

And I did.

Man, I loved it.

That first season I sacrificed homework, dates and basically any activity going on opposite the Bulls because they took priority over everything.

Was it because they were a great team?

Nah.

Despite the play of 19-year-old rising superstar Mark Napier and Vaclav Nedomansky (another future Hall of Famer), they finished 31-45-4 – bad enough for fifth place in the East.

But I did get to see legends like Gordie Howe and Wayne Gretzky skate, which was a pretty big deal.

And when they couldn’t punch out a victory, the Bulls could at least punch out opponents, and what’s not to love about a touring version of Slap Shot? (Fun fact: Dave Hanson, one of the movie’s infamous Hanson Brothers, joined the Bulls during the 1977-78 season).

When they did find ways to get the “W” though, it could be magnificent.

Arguably the franchise’s finest moment came on February 4, 1977, when the Quebec Nordiques (known now as the Colorado Avalanche) came to the BJCC. The WHA champions-in-waiting were facing a Birmingham team riding a five-game winning streak.

It was a massacre.

With a WHA record crowd of 17,489 on hand (and an all-time attendance mark for a first-year club in any pro hockey league) the Bulls blistered the Nordiques, 7-0. Sitting behind one of the goals with a couple of buddies, I got to enjoy much of the carnage as Tim Sheehy scored a pair of goals and Napier, Lou Nistico (my favorite player), J.C. Stewart, Peter Marrin, and Jeff Jacques each tallied one.

It was one of the most enjoyable outings of my life, and Birmingham had established itself as the South’s premiere hockey hub (at least for a day).

Nine months later I was in the stands for the “Thanksgiving Day Massacre,” a 12-2 Bulls wipeout of the Cincinnati Stingers on November 24, 1977. The 12 goals tied a WHA record; Birmingham’s goon-laden starting lineup initiated a brawl 24 seconds into the first period; and 10,259 fans got to see Cincy coach Jacques Demers get so angry with the officiating he threw more than a dozen hockey sticks onto the ice.

Sadly – as is the case with too many Birmingham sports franchises I fall in love with – these Bulls weren’t meant to last.

After three seasons in the WHA, Birmingham was left out of the limited merger with the National Hockey League and dropped down to the Central Hockey League for the 1979-80 and 1980-81 seasons. They served as minor league affiliates for the Atlanta Flames that first year and were retained as a farm club when the Flames moved to Calgary the next. The CHL was a decent league, but it was no match for the circuit I’d enjoyed since 1976.

The Bulls folded on February 23, 1981. By then they were owned by an entity called Magic City Sports, with Frank Falkenburg serving as president.

The team needed a $30,000 loan from Calgary to finish out the season, but the parent club denied it.

“Without help from Calgary, we’re ceasing to operate the hockey team,” Falkenburg told Associated Press. “It’s an economic decision based on the fact we’re having poor attendance due to a very poor hockey team. I certainly don’t criticize the fans … I wouldn’t pay to see this team play, either.”

It was a painful ending for the franchise that opened up a whole new sports world for me. Even though they were just 99-129-13 in the WHA and 53-76-9 in the CHL, they managed to win my heart without winning a whole bunch of games.

The Bulls brand has been revived in three different leagues since then, and the latest version competes in the Southern Professional Hockey League. Having a local team to cheer for is nice, but there’s no substitute for the original Birmingham Bulls.

I still miss them.