His stories of generosity to his community and his warm demeanor towards his players are the stuff of legend.
In 1934, he pummeled the head coach of his football team in an impromptu boxing match after the coach declared that football players were tougher than boxers.
This is the kind of unexpected story that nails you to your seat as you read The League, by John Eisenberg.
Two pages later, Eisenberg tells the story of how Rooney almost came to blows with his next coach on a bus following a game.
But times were different, of course, and Rooney’s willingness to fight was more charming in the 1930s than it was flawed. Rooney was a tough guy from a tough region of the country, but he took care of people. To a fault.
His habit of hiring friends and local boys would lead the Steelers to be magnificently unsuccessful until his son, Dan, took over decades later.
The League is an account of five early NFL owners who were most influential in setting the young NFL on course to become what it is today. The more you learn about how the NFL operated in the early days, the more amazed you become at the fact that it made it at all.
Through the Great Depression and World War II, facing challenges from rival leagues and a disinterested public, these early owners improbably created the framework for the largest American sports league. And some of them were seemingly drunk most of the time.
Bert Bell, for instance. Super drunk. He arrived at the University of Pennsylvania in 1914 and left in 1920 without a degree.
Along the way he played some really good football, served a year in WWI, and lost his car when he gambled on himself in a Dartmouth game. He would one day become NFL commissioner, and do a damn fine job of it.
How the hell did this league make it off the ground?
Bell had grown up extremely rich, but by the time he bought the Philadelphia Eagles his dad had cut him off and he had to borrow the money from his wife to purchase the team.
Despite his failures as an owner, Bell was incredibly popular among his peers. After botching his ownership of the Eagles and subsequent half-ownership of the Steelers, he was elected commissioner of the league and went on to oversee multiple innovations in the game, like instituting a draft and allowing unlimited player substitutions. He also negotiated the league’s first television contracts.
When Pete Rozelle took over following Bell’s death, Bell had primed the pump for Rozelle to turn the NFL into a sports superpower.
The most striking aspect of these five pioneers is the fact that at least four of them would have been thrown out the door if they tried to buy a modern NFL franchise.
Art Rooney, owner of the Pirates/Steelers: Professional Gambler!
Tim Mara, owner of the Giants: Bookie who had never even seen a football game!
George Marshall, owner of the Redskins: Adamant segregationist!
Bert Bell, owner of the Eagles: Flat broke!
George Halas, owner of the Bears: That’s more complicated.
Mike Ditka once said of George Halas, ““He throws nickels around like manhole covers.”
This book explains why.
George Halas started off as a player coach on a starch manufacturer’s company team that played in semi-pro leagues. That team, the Decatur Staleys, would eventually give Halas the rights to the franchise, along with $5,000 to establish the franchise in Chicago.
From there, Halas had to scrimp and borrow for years until he had a viable, profit making business. At times he had to write I.O.U.’s to players like Bronco Nagurski and Red Grange.
No NFL owner would ever admit to an agreement, but African-American players mysteriously disappeared from rosters after the 1933 season, and didn’t return until the city of Los Angeles demanded that the newly transplanted Rams be integrated.
Marshall bears the brunt of the criticism in the book, but I think the author went a little light on the other fellas who followed Marshall’s lead for that 12-year period.
It’s a hell of a read. I could add about 79 other amazing anecdotes from this book, but then I’d be writing a damn book myself.
For fans of the league or even non-fans who just love good stories, I give it two thumbs up. And imagine that they’re mangled thumbs, like those of a 1920s football player.