They let him get away. The owners had a chance to let 45 into their tight little cadre of billionaire franchise mavens, just five years ago.
They said no to his attempt to purchase the Buffalo Bills. Not that they didn't have good reason. I mean, would you let this guy take over anything, considering his track record, even before laying the country to waste (too)?
But they knew all about him. Nobody's allowed inside this very exclusive club, described by Mark Leibovich in his book Big Game: The NFL in Dangerous Times, without serious vetting. They knew 45 had had pro football ownership experience--in the World Football League in the 1980s, when he owned the New Jersey Generals. That league learned about his flim-flamsiness way back then. They learned that he misrepresented his true worth--sound familiar? The NFL owners saw also him, accurately, as an threat to their neat little club (the Cowboys' Jerry Jones, being probably the insider who represents that, being a vocal and obnoxious 45 backer besides running his mouth and making mostly empty threats, wouldn't you know), and turned him away.
Think of it. With that to take up his time, with that secretive group to try to dominate (Is there any doubt that that's what he would have tried to do?), running for president, though it had occurred to him before, might have been put on permanent hold while he would have run rampant over norms and practices in that establishment. Too.
Such is one of the points made by Leibovich, author of the snarky This Town, about the attitudes that make Washington, DC, the snark capital of the world, and a unique glimpse into why it doesn't work very well. His latest work is entitled Big Game: The NFL in Dangerous Times, a look at how the NFL, an oligarchy if there ever was one (the exception, of course, being the Green Bay Packers, which are "publicly" owned, so to speak, except it acts very much like the rest when it comes to decisions and governance), maintains its brand through controversy after controversy by getting up-close with some franchises from a fan's perspective.
Like his first work, Leibovich pours on the sarcasm about how much of the NFL concerns dynamics between very few people to create the addictive facade of entertainment that it is. It doesn't delve deep into concussions and other debilitating injuries; it doesn't have to but it does touch on the league's efforts to dilute them. It is far more concerned with self-absorption and ego-massaging.
Yet, it makes all kinds of sense as to why the owners wouldn't allow 45 to enter their realm. The watchwords for NFL ownership and how it's supposed to reflect the league's brand (always, always check the brand) are subtlety, soft-stepping, and a devotion to back-benching. Flamboyance is frowned upon, which is why Jerry Jones is, proudly according to him, considered something of an outlier and the Washington Redskins' Dan Snyder, who can't even do that very well, either, is internally and thoroughly disliked. If you history buffs out there recall robber barons such as Carnegie, Ford, Rockefeller, and Vanderbilt, you're getting warm about these folks and their general demeanors.
But they are intense competitors and owners of far more than their teams. They are almost all male (Virginia McClaskey, daughter of George Halas and owner of the Chicago Bears, is the exception) and, along with their deep pockets, some of the unattached ones got themselves re-attached to some very leggy friends. Steve Tisch, New York Giants' owner, was one, but apparently lost her (as of 2017). So is, or was, Robert Kraft, New England Patriots' owner, who because of recent charges of solicitation of prostitution (which he will be defending in court, after having publicly apologized for it then pled not guilty--go figure), may or may not have relinquished his own gorgeous blonde who age-wise could probably be a grand-daughter, a substitute for his deeply mourned, late wife.
Leibovich is a Pats' fan--he is aware of all others' deep hate--so his obsession with getting quality interviews with Kraft, coach Bill Belichick, and quarterback Tom Brady informs much of the book. It probably should anyway, since, like it or not, the three have now combined for six Super Bowl victories, including two of the last three. The results follow:
- Kraft: Open to much discussion, but seemed manipulative at times.
- Belichick: Never mind. He's a ghost. The inartful dodger.
- Brady: Oddly cooperative at certain times and in certain ways. Never much more than opaque. He has his own brand now, so, you know.
In charge of the bulk of dealing with these egos is Roger Goodell, the much beleaguered commissioner, whose judgments were, and are, much maligned--letting off Ray Rice easy, the ridiculous deflategate, the delayed torture of CTE, and the like. His attitude toward the press is much like the above, a combination of all three, in fact. He knows how to handle those who seek the real truth, the underlying truth of matters, which is to say: He never, ever delivers it.
But Leibovich does his best to find it anyhow. What drives these moguls? First, the need to have a plaything above and beyond the businesses in which they originally made their fortunes: That's the role of owning these franchises. After all, they don't make anything. They don't mean anything besides whatever the fans and media want them to mean. If the NFL decided to close shop (not absurd, considering former lockouts), would something else spring up in its stead? Of course it would. Remember 1981 and the strike? Substitutes filled the rosters, fans showed up, and on the league went.
We have to have the NFL. It defines us. That's why Colin Kaepernick couldn't get any traction with his otherwise very meaningful protest against police brutality against black people--made exactly where it should have been to have maximum exposure (What else could he have done? Knelt in Carnegie Hall?), and found himself on the street. But it wasn't the essence of the protest that got him there. It was 45, who decided to utilize that as a rallying cry for the blue collar faithful who just can't live without their teams. He described the damage done in strictly anti-military terms, which had nothing to do with it. The players, somewhat confused and divided, nervous about their own employment status, mostly didn't and couldn't stand up for Kaepernick. The owners, seeing that the loudest fans (i.e. the ones who show up on Sunday, and where there's smoke, there's fire) fell in behind 45 and tried their best not to take it on outwardly and decisively, even though a significant percentage of NFL players are black.
But it's why they kowtowed to 45 that matters. 45 found a way to get back at those who had rejected him, knowing he could get under their skins in a way that he's particularly good at. He tweeted and ranted and gesticulated at rallies and kept the spotlight on them, making sure that they understood the threats to their playthings. And they listened.
They listened because they knew the advantages they were enjoying, taking money from 45's adherents. They listened because the richer you get, the more paranoid you are about losing your money. They listened because, as the living, breathing, most visible adherents of the biggest of big business, they voted for him. (Come now. They must have. If not, why didn't most of them turn on him immediately?)
They knew that potentially, they'd have to pay Kaepernick for blackballing him from the league. And they have because loose lips sank those ships and someone got messy with their e-mails. But hell, they have those millions. Chump change. Flick the hands together to remove the crumbs. Let's move on.
Bonding with a monster like 45 and have, really, no cultural or financial accountability, is like brushing bugs off sleeves. It's all good, then: another season comes on, all is well, and the Pats win again. 45 wins, too, in every single way: Without paying a dime for it, he embarrassed the league his own way and got away with it; he ginned up racism with the pseudo-patriotism that draws the faithful like flies to garbage; and he let the owners know that, unless they state the opposite clearly and decisively, in the twisted way that he's known for, he owns them.
I'm not sure what is worse: Having these selfish, bloated, egocentric, excessively rich people govern the thinking of so many of us (including me, since I haven't stopped caring about the Packers, but less than before), or having one of them, in deep revenge, control them in ways they cannot imagine and might not be able to forecast next time (Think there won't be a next time? Think again.). It is so much where we are as a country now. It is not a very good place.
As is true about everything else, we are his playthings, too. So are the immigrants. So are the people so slavishly, mindlessly, blindly devoted to him. So is the rest of the world. That's what we have here. So thanks to Mark Leibovich for pointing that out, as disturbing as it is.
Be well. I'll see you down the road.
Mister Mark
But Leibovich does his best to find it anyhow. What drives these moguls? First, the need to have a plaything above and beyond the businesses in which they originally made their fortunes: That's the role of owning these franchises. After all, they don't make anything. They don't mean anything besides whatever the fans and media want them to mean. If the NFL decided to close shop (not absurd, considering former lockouts), would something else spring up in its stead? Of course it would. Remember 1981 and the strike? Substitutes filled the rosters, fans showed up, and on the league went.
We have to have the NFL. It defines us. That's why Colin Kaepernick couldn't get any traction with his otherwise very meaningful protest against police brutality against black people--made exactly where it should have been to have maximum exposure (What else could he have done? Knelt in Carnegie Hall?), and found himself on the street. But it wasn't the essence of the protest that got him there. It was 45, who decided to utilize that as a rallying cry for the blue collar faithful who just can't live without their teams. He described the damage done in strictly anti-military terms, which had nothing to do with it. The players, somewhat confused and divided, nervous about their own employment status, mostly didn't and couldn't stand up for Kaepernick. The owners, seeing that the loudest fans (i.e. the ones who show up on Sunday, and where there's smoke, there's fire) fell in behind 45 and tried their best not to take it on outwardly and decisively, even though a significant percentage of NFL players are black.
But it's why they kowtowed to 45 that matters. 45 found a way to get back at those who had rejected him, knowing he could get under their skins in a way that he's particularly good at. He tweeted and ranted and gesticulated at rallies and kept the spotlight on them, making sure that they understood the threats to their playthings. And they listened.
They listened because they knew the advantages they were enjoying, taking money from 45's adherents. They listened because the richer you get, the more paranoid you are about losing your money. They listened because, as the living, breathing, most visible adherents of the biggest of big business, they voted for him. (Come now. They must have. If not, why didn't most of them turn on him immediately?)
They knew that potentially, they'd have to pay Kaepernick for blackballing him from the league. And they have because loose lips sank those ships and someone got messy with their e-mails. But hell, they have those millions. Chump change. Flick the hands together to remove the crumbs. Let's move on.
Bonding with a monster like 45 and have, really, no cultural or financial accountability, is like brushing bugs off sleeves. It's all good, then: another season comes on, all is well, and the Pats win again. 45 wins, too, in every single way: Without paying a dime for it, he embarrassed the league his own way and got away with it; he ginned up racism with the pseudo-patriotism that draws the faithful like flies to garbage; and he let the owners know that, unless they state the opposite clearly and decisively, in the twisted way that he's known for, he owns them.
I'm not sure what is worse: Having these selfish, bloated, egocentric, excessively rich people govern the thinking of so many of us (including me, since I haven't stopped caring about the Packers, but less than before), or having one of them, in deep revenge, control them in ways they cannot imagine and might not be able to forecast next time (Think there won't be a next time? Think again.). It is so much where we are as a country now. It is not a very good place.
As is true about everything else, we are his playthings, too. So are the immigrants. So are the people so slavishly, mindlessly, blindly devoted to him. So is the rest of the world. That's what we have here. So thanks to Mark Leibovich for pointing that out, as disturbing as it is.
Be well. I'll see you down the road.
Mister Mark
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