Football in Southland Reflects Lean Times

Football in Southern California has always served as a sort of oblong-shaped mirror of the public mood and the times.

The ‘50s were booming and optimistic and remembered today with wistful, moist-eyed nostalgia--Waterfield-to-Fears, the championship season of ‘51, Red Saunders at UCLA, Jon Arnett at USC, the “I Like Tank” years.

The ‘60s were turbulent and anxious--the Rams going through three coaches in five years, Gary Beban and O.J. Simpson splitting the city of Los Angeles in half, George Allen taking reckless control like a whistle-and-clipboard Richard Nixon, the Rams twice finishing with the best record in the league and failing to reach the Super Bowl.

The ‘70s were derided as bland and vapid at the time, only to benefit greatly from recent revisionism--Chuck Knox’s Rams were dull, but at least they won; Ray Malavasi was no Sid Gillman, but at least he went to a Super Bowl; Pat Haden and James Harris were flawed, but at least they could find their way to a playoff game.

The ‘80s were greedy and acquisitive--Anaheim stole the Rams, L.A. stole the Raiders, Orange County overextended itself and bought a bowl game, the L.A. Express expired just as soon as the line of credit did.

The ‘90s?

I believe “downsizing” is the buzzword at the moment.

Long Beach State football--folded in 1991.

Cal State Fullerton football--folded in 1992.

The Disneyland Pigskin Classic--folded in 1994.

The Freedom Bowl--on artificial respirator in 1995.

The Rams--pulling the final moving vans out of the driveway today.

The Raiders--toying for the 117th time with a move back to Oakland, their Commitment To Exodus continuing as a franchise cornerstone.

They say baseball is the dying sport in the country, but what’s happening to football in the arid plains between San Francisco and San Diego?

When did pigskin become our newest endangered species?

Why are the local pro teams throwing their futures around the way Jim Everett and Jay Schroeder threw the football?

The Rams, intercepted by St. Louis.

The Raiders, picked off by Oakland.

Today, L.A. stands for Lost Another. Tomorrow, it could stand for lots of Sunday NFL doubleheaders on Fox and NBC, long family drives down to Jack Murphy to observe professional football-- live and in person --and daily headaches from the sweet nothings being whispered in our ears by carpetbagging owners angling for a better deal here or back at home.

Right now, Al Davis says he isn’t sure if he’s coming or going--at last, he joins the public consensus--but already the carpetbaggers are branching out as saber-rattlers.

First in line:

Bill Bidwill.

Isn’t that special? Orange County grits its teeth through 15 years of Georgia Frontiere--sometimes referred to as “the female Bill Bidwill”--and once she’s finally out the door, here comes the real thing, graciously offering to fill the vacancy.

Bidwill, who already has moved to Cardinals from St. Louis to Arizona, has sent up a trial balloon about moving the Cardinals from Arizona to Anaheim. This is accomplished by Bidwill issuing a thunderous “no comment” about a possible franchise relocation and handing the microphone over to Cardinal general counsel Thomas Guilfoil, who is instructed to tease, “The door is not shut on a move.”

The Cardinals for the Rams. Would you make that trade? If we humor Bidwill for three or four seconds, that is precisely what St. Louis and Anaheim would be doing--swapping NFL teams, with Arizona brokering the deal.

Borrowing a page from Davis, Bidwill claims Phoenix reneged on a promise to build him a new stadium, preferably domed, which frees him from any moral obligation to his current mailing address. (“Moral obligation.” With these characters, the irony is as subtle as a wrecking ball.)

Then, striking out on his own, Bidwill invokes the Heat’s Too Hot clause in his ownership agreement. News flash: Arizona gets hot in August and September. Bidwill never realized. The state just kind of sprang that one on him as soon as the papers were signed.

Now, Bidwill claims, the Cardinals are at a competitive disadvantage early in the season because they have to play under sweltering, oppressive conditions. Actually, the Cardinals are at a competitive disadvantage early in the season because their players can’t pass, block or tackle--same as late in the season--but whoever based a convincing argument for relocation on that shaky platform?

OK, besides Georgia Frontiere?

No doubt, Bidwill’s head is dancing with visions of white horses and red carpets and cool breezes wafting in from Newport Bay. He could be a hero here, he thinks. The man who brought pro football back to Orange County.

Sorry, Orange County has seen this act before. Expansion or Disney intervention--those appear to be the only hopes now.

That’s the hitch with this nasty business of franchise-napping: You’re always dealing with a mixed package--you get your football team, but Bidwill or Frontiere come attached. You never see teams owned by Eddie DeBartolo or Wayne Huizenga put into play.

There’s a sound rationale for that.

Owners who know what they’re doing tend to stay put. Owners who don’t play hopscotch, bobbing for suckers.

And then there’s Al Davis, always the exception to the rule. Davis knows football--his Hall of Fame bust was sculpted for a reason--but at this late date, sweetheart deals interest him more than Super Bowls. If there’s a great stadium package here, he wants a greater package over there. If Los Angeles is willing to jump through hoops, he wants to see if Oakland will do it with the hoops on fire.

Commitment to the Southern California community is never, ever a factor.

And if he ever tires of the location of his bust in Canton, look for Al to challenge the league bylaws and attempt to move it.