Three Men and a City

I was crushed. No, not because I was the least important of the three men.

I was fine with the truth.

It’s just that one of the more important two had hit below the belt.

Would you rather be in Houston or Buffalo? Jim had asked.

It was 1983, and I’m not even sure if the term Rust Belt had been coined yet. Of course, those who lived it didn’t need verbiage to know their reality.

Jim, we thought, was one of us, what with his Pittsburgh-area upbringing.

But he proved to be unfaithful, not that I should have been too surprised. He had, after all, played college football in Miami, and expecting him—as a twenty-something—to embrace lake-effect snow and abandoned factories was asking a lot.

So even though Jim was drafted to play in the City of Good Neighbors, he stayed down South and opted to play in a city with way more neighbors.

There was only one catch—he wouldn’t be playing for the Houston Oilers of the NFL. He would play, instead, for the Houston Gamblers of the USFL (United States Football League).

The upstart league played its first season in 1983, and Jim jumped on board for season number two. He wasn’t alone—the USFL had attracted all sorts of talent, including a few Heisman Trophy winners.

More importantly, the league had attracted the interest of the wealthy, otherwise known as potential franchise owners.

That’s where Donald entered the picture. Being a New Yorker, he was always a little brash, and he prided himself on recognizing a deal when presented with one.

The USFL franchise in New Jersey met the criteria.

As majority owner, Donald signed some big names and made it clear that he had no interest in playing second fiddle to the NFL, nor was he particularly interested in playing the long game.

He convinced the league to move its season from the spring to the fall, a move that would place it in direct competition with the NFL.

From there, prior to what would have been the USFL’s fourth season, he orchestrated one of his favorite business maneuvers—a lawsuit.

To be specific, it was an antitrust lawsuit, one that—if all went well—could have resulted in a financial windfall and/or a partial merger, otherwise known as the back door to NFL ownership.

Donald was no dummy, and a jury did in fact find the NFL to be in violation of antitrust laws. The part about financial hardship, however, was not convincing, and the USFL was awarded a judgement of $1, which per existing law was tripled to $3.

The league never played another down.

Jim, at that point, had no choice but to pack his bags for Buffalo, as the franchise there still had his NFL rights.

My devastation from three years prior turned into a huge smile. The region’s population loss, I knew, could be combated by a simple tactic—forcing people to live there.

Almost three decades later, the team in Buffalo went up for sale, and Donald saw yet another opening to the NFL squad he never had.

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be, as the franchise landed in someone else’s hands.

I smiled again, knowing that even though I would always be a part of this group of three men, Donald would have no role in my life.

Epilogue

Jim (Kelly) would lead the team in Buffalo to four Super Bowls, sadly losing all four. Even more tragic has been his inability to escape, as he and his family are still stuck in a Buffalo suburb.

Donald (Trump) eventually realized his executive talents deserved a larger stage—he went on to become the country’s 45th and 47th Chief Executive. His supporters insist that the USFL is not a template for the USA.

I went on to lead a remarkably anonymous life somewhere near Buffalo, inserting myself into stories about three men in which I played absolutely no role.