Stories of the '86 Season 4: The Ballad of Laffy Bolivar

 

Lafcadio Guzman DeLongpre Bolivar—better known as “Laffy” Bolivar—became the new owner of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers on December 15, just a day after the Bucs were officially eliminated from the NFC Central race (a 35-28 loss to Green Bay to drop them to 6-9). The sale came as a shock to the rest of league, in particular due to its very quick approval, but fans in Tampa were relieved. Hugh Culverhouse, the team’s owner since its inception, had turned the club into a laughing stock by ‘86; the 1979 run long forgotten, all fans remember was the shafting of Doug Williams, season after season of losses, Leeman Bennett’s incompetence in keeping Young on the bench much of the’ 85 season (when he did take the field they got a little better and ended a 4-12 campaign with some optimism) and, finally, the humiliating treatment of Bo Jackson. Not that fans were that emotionally invested in Williams or Jackson or even their current star in Young. The idea that they could have had some combo of the three in 1986 was what ate at them. That Culverhouse was a cheapskate ate at them. That Culverhouse had a hand in suppressing and dooming the other, much better, team in the town (the USFL Bandits), and then displaying the lack of temerity to even raid their roster puzzled them almost as much as the club’s sudden sale. The 80s was turning out to not be as fun as promised; especially if you weren’t gentry.

No one really knew where Bolivar got the $80 million to buy the team. In their weekly newsletter, Birchers, already largely based out of Orlando, weaved the sale into their current conspiracy. People mostly knew Bolivar as a labor organizer in the city’s Tobacco factories before becoming The Cigar Baron in the ‘70s (he was a popular boss too, he paid better than anyone and constructed quasi-democratic worker councils, which he would “consider” in his decision making). Some of the details in the Birchers’ expose published that week of the 15th were true: Bolivar’s Maternal Grandfather was an irregular during the Franco-Prussian War and he did flea to Paris to participate in the Commune, but that he was the one who shot the bullet that killed General Clement-Thomas was probably not true. That his father left to join the International Brigades in the Spanish Civil War and that he died was true; that he was actually a Stalin-sympathetic spy was probably not. That Bolivar invented his long middle name was true—he added his mother’s maiden name, DeLongpre; Bolivar wasn’t his father’s real surname because his family never really had one. That he was actually of Georgian decent like Uncle Joe—dark features and salt and pepper hair—was not true and didn’t really matter. That he had cousins, twin brothers, in Quebec who supported separatism in order to build a Socialist Republic were true, but they gave up their romanticism to become priests. Democratic International’s claim that Bolivar’s cigar business violated US Laws and was really a front for the importation and sale of Cuban tobacco into the United States, and that profits were either sent back in US currency or used to purchase weapons and technology on international black markets to support Cuban Commandos and the MPLA in Angola were unfounded.

Bolivar’s business partners—a cadre of some 15 businessmen based in Salt Lake—did worry fans, who thought they may relocate the team to Utah. He dismissed these worries publicly, pointing out the lack of a sufficient stadium on par with the Big Sombrero and the extremely small TV market, already dominated by the Broncos. Birchers really tried to spin this one out early in the offseason, by claiming this was further infiltration, given the Mormon’s natural inclination toward communism and idolatry, dating back to the Great Trek. This thread was quickly abandoned after protests led by Jazz center Mark Eaton, Station Chief for Region Deseret. The arrival of Burt Reynolds to the ownership group (bequeathed %5 by Laffy), helped defuse local concern.

Some speculation of the sale might stem from Bolivar being the signatory on a series of small-scale ($1-5 million) “operational loans” for the some of the more cash strapped NFL owners: men like Sullivan in New England, Modell in Cleveland, Bidwell in St. Louis, even Davis in Los Angeles (Bolivar supported the move to LA publicly in his organization days, feeling the City of Angels needed a club to properly reflect the true spirit of its underclass). While the USFL was gutted, it did cost the league $300 million, putting many of the owners in tight spots. The vote to approve the sale was thin but not alarming—15-12. Georgie Frontiere helped because she found him to be a much more charming conversationalist than Culverhouse himself, and looked forward to meetings in the Finance Committee. That Rooney came along—he admired Bolivar’s hard-scrabbled past—helped clinch it (Sullivan, Modell, Bidwell, and Davis all voted in support). Plus $80 million seemed a good, inflated, price for an awful team.

The same day as the vote confirmation (Thursday, December 17), Bolivar began a “sunshine” initiative. First, he signed Steve Young to a 10 year, $50 million contract—a deal comparable to his infamous old one with the LA Express. The contract itself was very complexly laid out, with much of the money both deferred and structured as a personal services contract (the actual player contract part was 5 years, $4 Million with 5 one-year options at a million per season). The deal excited fans. Young showed signs of stardom, and trying to keep someone of some talent on the roster was seen warmly, even in the local media. Tarkenton tried to make hay out of this briefly—noting Young’s direct descent from the nefarious polygamist Brigham. No one really cared.

Second, after jettisoning Bennett, Bolivar would hire boisterous populist Chief Riel away from the Cardinals. The gentle giant ran long-time friend Voltaire Harris’ offense the last two years and was credited in “toughening up” Lomax and helping Vai Sikahema become a starting back in his rookie season. For his huge size and brutish appearance—the 6’11, 320 pound Winnipeg native was the largest player in CFL history—he had a smile you only see in Crest ads. The deep scar that ran diagonally across his face was not from the game, but from protests against drilling on ancestral lands of not his own people, but those of the last few tribes in Manitoba. He was also deft at realpolitick; when a mutiny by defensive staff and players looked likely after Hanifan’s swift firing two weeks into 1985, Riel unified the club behind his eccentric friend Harris—the shortest coach in modern NFL history at 5’5 (Chief became particularly close to the linebacker troika of Freddie Joe Nunn, E.J. Junior, and Mike Doda)—by jibing his friend’s height and supplying cases of Budweiser after practice.  When Tampa came calling, Harris didn’t want to see his friend go, they had come up together in Edmonton, but he knew the opportunity was too great to turn around another bad team.

Third, and most important, was the immediate instillation, at Bolivar’s own expense, of a ring of retractable metal shades along the ridge of the Sombrero, making September games more sufferable. The Birchers pointed out, in their December 29 newsletter, that the shades were Soviet technology developed for the 1980 Olympics—Moscow, believe it or not, gets muggy buggy in June and July; the Market surely would provide for this at the right time; what an inefficient, grubby display of attention. This was largely ignored just because people were tired of baking while watching the Packers. The Bucs sold 12,000 season tickets just on this move.