USFL '86: New Jersey, or, Trumped

Stan Chera admitted he never dreamed--no use for it, he preferred the void--but Anthony Carter's last second catch in the title game gave him nightmares. The first New York football team to play for a championship since Joe and the Jets in 1968, the Generals finally got the attention their late owner so desperately craved; after the brutal loss, the fanbase swelled. There was ecstasy in agony. Many of the team's moves seemed indicative of a big-market club sloshing in pools of cash: Reggie Wilkes, ex-Giant Beasley Reece, ex-Jet Richard Todd; in January they'd land top rookie linebacker Tim Green out of Syracuse and the promising Mark Jackson, who played little at Purdue but whom flashed when he did. Other moves--letting Clarence Collins walk, trading Sam Bowers to Memphis only to replace him with Dallas wash-out Jay Saldi--seemed confounding in a uniquely New York way. Most confounding was the Houston deal in October.

Sitting at 4-5-1, Cecil Flapp--a Yale student and personnel intern; his father was a Skull and Bone and a part of the wider Republican spider network--called the Gamblers' front office with an offer for Kelly. Flapp went rogue. Houston's cash problems were an open secret and with the club at 1-9 and rookie Raphel Cherry looking good in two losses, the chatter over Kelly resembled the hum of cicadas driving much of the nation mad. Chera hated looking at the kid--those dull pink lips, narrow boney face, already receding blonde hairline--but he admired the gusto. An inbred rower pitching like that? The Gamblers quick turnaround--7-1 in their final eight--and the clicking of Flutie, Hersch, and Randy White's warming up after vicious negotiations that lasted until Week 4 --shelved the trade.

New Jersey struggled through the first part of the year, as Flutie dealt with fatigue and little injuries. Like Dickerson in Arizona and a myriad of rookies, he had no offseason to recover--Walt Michaels rotated him with veteran two-tooler Ron Reeves. They sat at 5-7-1 in the quicksand of the Atlantic Division. Doug, endlessly pinged by the Post and other local, bored tabloids, would hole himself up in a Long Island Cessna hanger working with an Old Committee of similar quarterbacks, their dreams long dead: Bobby Douglass, Roman Gabriel, Fran Tarkenton, James Harris, and Virgil Carter all worked with Doug. 

Of the group, Gabriel may have been the harshest, having his son Garrett and a friend--a Granada veteran and private security consultant named Dolph--frequently "black bag" Flutie around Manhattan, rolling up in a white van and throwing a hood on him. Doug never directly addressed these experiences, though he did acknowledge the "trainings" helped him become more nimble and aware of his blindside, something Don Grosscup noted during broadcasts in '85. A confidant told the Daily News that Gabriel would renditoon Dougie to various abandoned industrial sites for "tape review." This involved wiring Flutie's eyes open and forcing screenings of every sack and failed pass from the pocket, with Roman repeating "Do you see? Do you see?" followed by footage of Doug's successes on the run. "You are the Maud'dib, the mouse running arythmically; you are not the Raban with a cannon" quoted the source. Flutie admitted not knowing the references, but understood through context. Media figures took note of Flutie's fluidity during the run to the title; it also might have contributed to George Allen bringing Roman along as his offensive coordinator in Washington. One hopes Doug still has something in the tank in '86.