Fall conjures up so many great images. The changing of colors of Randy Moss’ uniform. Another World Series which rates lower than a Mary Lou Retton floor routine. And then there is All Hallows Eve. Over 17,000 fans who dress up in costume in the Superdome to watch the Saints, the fact that it was Halloween just a coincidence. Or, what about the schmo who thought it would be a good idea to dress up as a Wolverines fan during a Penn State home against Michigan (this is what Charles Darwin was talking about). It also means political elections. As if voters weren’t apathetic enough, now they have an opportunity to vote for Chris Dudley, presumably running on a campaign promise to eliminate free throw shooting from basketball, and Heath Shuler, who has a chance to get intercepted by guys in suits this time.
What fall also means, though, is the opportunity to cherish America’s most popular sport, football. That is, unless you are a Los Angeles resident who is a graduate of UCLA, two of Dante’s Circles of Hell as far as the sport is concerned. In case you haven’t noticed, L.A. has not seen a professional player lead a sustained drive since a white Ford Bronco did an end-around down the 405. Al Davis departed but not before causing a big fuss and leaving a barren hole in the ground which we now call Irwindale. The Rams departed; someone said they won a Super Bowl in someplace called St. Louis but I don’t believe it. As far as the Bruins, I didn’t know bears went into hibernation for 12 years, but now I do. What the number two media market in the nation is left with are the semi-pro, well-paid USC Trojans (commentary redacted) and legions of confused NFL fans cheering for teams in places some have never been. Are you from Pittsburgh? “No, but I have used Heinz ketchup.” Perplexed Angelenos who are Patriots fans have had a difficult time spotting New England on the globe, but it is there people, just to the left of old England.
Fans in other cities root for Peyton Manning, Tom Brady, and Adrian Peterson. The City of Angels folk find themselves cheering on Phillip Anschutz, Ed Roski, and Tim Leiweke. No, not athletes, though I’m sure they have had a prolate spheroid hurled in their direction more than once. Promises of lavish football stadiums in exotic locales like the City of Industry (not a very imaginative name), Anaheim (because that worked out so well the last time), Carson (not Johnny) and, wait for it, downtown Los Angeles. There is even, gasp, a Web site for one potential stadium. Not surprisingly, it crashed my computer the first time I tried to load it. One stadium is green, but has no team. The other has a roof, but no legs. Nevertheless, there is more rumor and gossip surrounding a professional team in Los Angeles than a telenovela (but still plenty of shifty-eyed fellows twiddling their mustaches in the background).
Los Angeles has hosted an alphabet soup comprising the NFL, XFL, AFL, USFL, WFL, AAFC, and the PCPFL (heaven forbid). I’m sure BTO, ELO, UFO, and REO Speedwagon would be welcome anytime in the city. L.A. even hosted the Pro Bowl for over two decades. But, by 1973, the league thought that the players needed a better reward for their efforts, so they held it in Irving, Texas.
Like a Jay Leno monologue, the absence of football in La La land has been greeted with a shrug and a yawn for the last 15 years. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. The city has been promised a new team, but that won’t work. Splitting revenue among 33 teams would cause Jerry Jones’ belt buckle to plotz. How about a transplanted team? The Jaguars were one alleged to be interested in coming West. Attendance in Jacksonville has been sagging, perhaps because the World’s Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party has left some people a wee bit too tipsy to find their seats. Another team being mentioned is the Buffalo Bills, which is kind of like the old lampshade you decide to pawn off at a yard sale. How about the St. Louis Rams? Isn’t that the same as an Ex assuming you’ll take them back because you have nothing else?
While yet another Lombardi Trophy goes to a team not in Los Angeles, us UCLA alumni “remember” the good old days of 1954 when the Bruins won a national title thanks to something called a UPI (more letters!). Someone have mercy! L.A. has no seasons here, no harvest, and not a trace of foliage. And, the last time I checked, the closest thing around town to professional pigskin came out of a plastic surgeon’s office.
Danny Lee has been involved in sports media for over seven years … While at UCLA, he turned his grade school doodles into a position with the Daily Bruin, and continues his diatribes to this day.
