Fragments: USFL '94, Bienvenue à la machine

 

The Patriots collapse–and the successful USFL raid–left the NFL wounded and staring down cutbacks: CBS, in the final year of their deal, voiced concern about paying out a quarter of a billion dollars anymore. Tagliabue would rollout "reforms" in the spring of '93. This included the already-announced expansion, a three conference format to make the Super Bowl more competitive, and a possible lifting of bonus caps for rookies, introduced in '91. 

Ratings were still strong and Fox–burned by the USFL in '89–easily won the bid for '94, low-balling for $255 million a year over four; Super Bowl XXVIII saw Houston beat Dallas for their second title in three years; it was close until it wasn't, when Moon fired two bombs late for a 37-23 win. National Review–very much in the bag culturally for The League–commented that it felt like one of Moon's Grey Cup wins: technically impressive but dull, like reading Ben Jonson. The only positive was that Jimmy Johnson had done something remarkable in overhauling a derelict Cowboys team in three years. San Antonio's spectacularly bad season under Landry–a 3-1 start, a six game losing streak, a quarterback controversy, a brief recovery ending with a loss to Chicago to miss the playoffs for the first time since '87–made Jerry Jones look like Cardinal Rechalou in his machinations.

The pains of provincial rivalries might've led to opening a third–albeit vastly more winnable–front in the Football War. The Stars proved Charm City was still a pigskin town after their remarkable postseason run though it seemed a waste to compete for attention. The O's move to Camden Yards put the Stars in control of Memorial Stadium, who'd put the squeeze on a new club. Paul–in an attempt to save his legacy–pressed Malcolm Glazer and his motley crew of restaurant insurance assessors, port authority pension managers, Mayflower Truck franchisees, and crab futures traders to look North.

The Alouettes' sudden collapse ahead of '87 left the CFL with just 9 teams; grinding crises in the Canadian nationalist–a reaction to effective ecoterrorism along the tar sands of Alberta, local assistance in KGB operations to round up Ukrainian war criminals, and American blockades on cheap Cuban cigars and drugs–exacerbated the growing tensions between Quebec and the rest of the country. A strange coalition of Catholic Conservative Quebecois, Secular Liberals, and far-leftists sympathetic to the rejuvenated and reconstructing Soviet state all pressed for divorce from their Anglo partner. This included three down football. Tagliabue, seeing an opportunity, pitched an expansion franchise to the fifth largest city in North America as an "awakening" of true French identity. Renovations to Stade Olympique via an International Friendship grant turned it into a palace and saved the Expos–poised for a World Series run–from a potential move to DC. The 29th team would join in the fall of '95, parallel a proposed devolution referendum with a friendly US deal on the horizon.

Glazer would shed the gentry and agreed to roll in a cabal of Quebec Cardinals, Expos owner Claude Brochu, and Pierre Trudeau for a new bid. The ex-PM also convinced Malcolm to give his aimless, 22-year-old son Justin a gig. No one was happy with the name and colors. The Montreal Machine had a nice alliteration for anglophones, but the maroon, silver, red, and blue gave them a complicated look that bled on even rear-projection TVs casting into a dark room. That came as part of a new aesthetic policy written by Tagliabue himself. To further differentiate from the bold colors of their Spring League sibling, the NFL hoped to project a degree of "maturity." The jerseys sold poorly. But season tickets did not: 35,000 cleared in two days. 

The eighties have never ended.

The Great Canadian Quarterback Swindle

The Machine, a looming Quebec referendum, and an antsy Western Albertan petroleum industry weighed greatly on the Canadian Football League. The competition had been effectively nationalized by Conservatives in '90 in a bid to preserve it from total ruin. This sort of worked for a couple seasons. The 3 Down game is–when one really thinks about it–the only truly Canadian cultural marker. Yes, hockey was birthed there, but quickly outgrew The Dominion and now the Soviets dominated. A new "Kontinental Superleague" competition hoovered clubs in Finland, Norway, Sweden, and West Germany, and clipped NHL fringe talent. That Eric Lindross signed with CSKA Moscow over the Nords and Flyers threw Don Cherry into a frenzy.

The CFL didn't have that problem. Measures in the late eighties–specifically rolling the import lists back to just 8 players–blunted yankee over-representation, but one can only tolerate vertical spacing and 5 yard doinks along the horizon for so long. This led to reforms, a last-ditch effort to draw the stare of a stricken and exhausted populace.

Internal haggling saw the import list raised to 15; oddly, the prairie clubs–the smallest markets and most culturally conservative–wanted it entirely done away with, allowing them to better bid with the Gold, Blitz, Stallions, and Panthers, who all held the territories most would-be Yankee CFLers harken. Toronto, Hamilton, and BC were against, possibly for labor costs in the face of considerable local competition: stocking their clubs with national talent was significantly less and partially subsidized via tax credits and direct payments. The "Sensible Pivot" rule–requiring clubs to have at least one Canadian quarterback–was axed. Negotiation and rights lists for "imports" remained but were public and time-limited. The most important reform might have been the shift from regimented, structured salary caps to open payrolls. This would drive competition and encourage gambles; whether that would be suicidal or transcendent remains unknown.

Toronto–the smallest, most bitchy minnow in the largest market–kickstarted "The Great Raid" in April '93, signing Mark Rypien to a 5-year, $10 million USD deal. Displaced as the Skins' starter after the Elway trade of '91, he inked because it was better than anything the NFL or the USFL would ever offer. Mark was a consolation prize, however, as Joe Montana declined the same offer from Argos owner John Candy, who was raking-in greenbacks after the success of MosFilm's adaptation of Confederacy of Dunces and the airing of SCTV in the Bloc. Candy's charm and gregariousness transcended language and ideology, that he often played well-meaning oafs made him identifiable with proletariat audiences; he drew comparisons to Yvengi Leonov.

The raid on USFL standouts proved more successful. Kevin Murray to Calgary in August started the wave. When San Antone started to slide, Murray and the offense were to blame. Rumblings that maybe Jerry Jones was right led Tom Landry to run out Bucky Richardson, who went 4-2 in six starts before his shoulder bummed ahead of a critical prime-time faceoff against Chicago in Week 17. Murray would step in late and try to put together a comeback, but alas, the Blitz held-on for a 44-35 win.

Faced with the final year of a 7-year, $2.8 million contract he signed at his physical lowest, Murray felt he should be more justly compensated for his years under Marty Ball and now a fickle Landry. Slotted in for a meaningless Week 18 "duel" with a resting Gamblers, he went 396-5-1 in a 52-21 rout. The following Tuesday he informed the club that he wanted a raise, a trade, or a release. Landry floated him on the transfer list, and the Niners got his contract for $100k; George Seifert liked him but no one else did, leading to a string of lowballs–San Fran never got above $325k per. Kev felt trapped until he got a call from a Calgary oil trader offering 3-years, $4.7 million. The signing bummed out Saskatchewan fans given it was their homeland and Roughrider legend Ron Lancaster who molded a broken Murray in '87. Who could match that?

Tony Rice's journey north was much more arduous; '93 was the Notre Dame legend's contract year and expected to be one on the pine after the Trent Green snag ahead of training camp. This would be the Hoosier's team now. Rod Rust's "fog bomb" idea–flood the field with enough targets to hide Tony's weak arm, let him scramble if that didn't work or pitch out to Waters–choked out clubs in '91 but was dispersed in '92. Trent could roll out and sort-of scramble and he had a better arm. 

It should've work: rookie Bobby Olive, who looked more a beanstalk than his namesake; the Rocket; old men Mark Bavaro and David Williams; the agile Rickey Waters. Green got carted off in Week 3–done for the year. Tony returned like Christ's descent into hell–12-3 the rest of the way. He'd post career bests for completion percentage and passing TDs and finish with 1,350 rushing yards, 4th best in the league and a new pro football record for a quarterback. He was the most beloved athlete in town behind Jordan. The Blitz drew attention from the Cubs and the Sox for once and stayed north of 35,000 even through the Bulls’ three-peat. Ditka's reputation became threadbare after a string of disappointing seasons and a blubbery response to an annoyed fan on ESPN. The Archbishop of the Chicago Diocese of the True Church of America–the secevandist church, the product of The Great Schism of '87–grew tired of the Polish Blockhead's antics. That another football team in Chi-town, replete with gaudy uniforms and a gaudier offense, had caught the city's imagination had led the flock to question whether God had abandoned all of them. That the Blitz were stocked with members of the '88 national championship team didn't help. 

Rice's herculean 4th quarter against Michigan in the East Semi-Final–he ran in two touchdowns on collapsing drives for a 33-28 comeback win–were forgotten a week later. In the West Final against Los Angeles, saw Chicago build a 27-21 lead in the 1st only to lose 76-49–a confounding game even by springball standards, a humiliation. The combined 125 points the most ever in a pro football playoff game and second most all time after a 72-70 shootout between Houston and San Antonio in week 2 of the '91 season–a point of year everyone scratched for rhythm. Tony managed just 100 passing yards, 2 majors, and 5 turnovers–4 picks and a fumble took back. Young and Faulk ripped open the much vaunted Blitz defense. But that didn't matter. Tony couldn't do it; Pritzker's Grandson, "JB," continued to do a lot with a do-nothing front office gig and would land hold-out, grump, and natural-talent Jeff George from the Colts for $3.75 million. After a workout with the desperate Bears and brief talks with the Bandits and Bulls, Rice wandered. The NFL never wanted him and most USFL clubs weren't interested. 

Then came the Horn of the North, with their wide fields. The West Riders called, but the infinite horizon of the plains brought a dread that loomed larger than the clouds that'd just hang out over Regina. The East Riders left a message but immediately retracted; Ottawa's finance in tatters, the Federal government–they had effectively taken over the club–unwilling to open the checkbook for a scrambler from Florida.

It'd be the Schooners. Atlantic had one winning campaign since '84 and six different pivots. USFL champion Jack Thompson made three appearances in '86; in '87, Prince McJunkins signed only to take an offer from the Soviet Union to head their GridIron Program, playing for and coaching Dynamo Priyat. Scott Campbell, David Archer, and obscure Henderson Mosley of Central State (OH) all had tried their hands. The lack of grassroot domestic development saw a cavalcade of Quebecois as well. The only one of note is Guy Lacan, a Laval native who played college football at Norwich College in Vermont; a 6'7, 280 pounder, Lacan was described by Ron Lancaster as "resembling a jagged oak" when he threw out of the shotgun. Totally immobile, Guy would bounce off defenders before bombing with his left. With no backfield to speak of, this occurred frequently: he finished '92 with 5,564 yards, 15 touchdowns, and 33 picks. It was the corsairs' best season ever, a 7-9-2 finish resulting in their first playoff game, a 53-49 loss to Hamilton. 

That he was durable might've been his downfall: when he collapsed on the field after a last second pick by ex-Blitz Bobby Dawson, CBC guest colorman Don Cherry attributed it to devastation. Doctors discovered he had a dislocated hip, broken hand, and two shattered rib bones. The big boy never said anything, never expressed discomfort. 

Tony took a 3-year, $1 million offer in October–a third of payroll–and would initially sit behind Darian Hagan, the man who beat him in the '90 Orange Bowl. Like Rice, Hagan couldn't throw, but his speed, charisma, and the league's generous playoff structure meant Atlantic had a shot at back-to-back semi-finals despite a 3-12 record. Tony stepped in late during a tight tilt with Toronto after his old rival took a direct shot to the kneecap on 2nd and long; Rice needed just one play, trucking 47-yards for a walk-off win, 29-23. He'd win the next two to land a home playoff game, a 37-9 blowout of Ottawa. They'd lose 65-16 to Winnipeg, but that didn't matter. The waters settled, the port opened. He found a home.