[legendsport]

August 20, 1920: Fort Wayne, IN:

Joe Barrell looked at the somewhat ramshackle building standing before him. The sign over the door read "Bubby's" so he muttered, "I guess this must be the place."

The building sat between two empty storefronts. The sidewalk outside was cracked and some weeds were visible in the bright (and hot) August sunshine. Joe felt the sweat building against the band of his hat and within the collar of his shirt. He really didn't like wearing a tie especially when the temperature was in the upper 80s.

His brother Rollie chuckled as he ran his eyes over the building. "Well, the name is right. Where'd they come up with that anyway?"

Joe shrugged. "Carl's brother-in-law owns the place. I think it's named for the guy's grandmother or something."

Rollie place a hand on his shoulder and said, "Don't worry, Joe. I won't let you do anything stupid."

Joe frowned and said, "Gee, thanks."

Rollie gave him a half bow and held out his hand in an "after you" gesture. Joe shook his head again and walked to the door.

The door stuck, and Joe had to throw a shoulder into it to get it open. "Better and better," he muttered as he stopped over the threshold into a dark room that smelled of... sawdust, Joe thought.

Rollie followed him in, both of them needing a moment to let their eyes adjust to the dimly-lit space.

"At least it's cooler in here out of the sun," Rollie remarked as he pushed the door closed behind him.

A shadow moved, approaching them, eventually resolving out of the darkness into Carl Boon, Joe's former college team mate and potential football partner.

He thrust his right hand out, saying, "Joe, glad you're here." He shook hands then turned and extended his hand to Rollie. "This must be your brother. I'm Carl Boon," he said. Rollie shook his hand with a smile and nod.

"Uh, Carl..." Joe began. Carl raised a hand and said, "I know what you're going to ask, Joe." His mouth twisted in a rueful grin and he said, "We're having a power problem. Jack's in the basement - he thinks a fuse is out."

As if on cue, the lights winked on a moment later.

Joe took in the room. There were some tables spread around and a large square of empty floor that Joe assumed was for dancing. There was a dusty bar on the right-side of the room that had a decidedly unused look about it.

"If you tell me this is a speakeasy, I'm leaving," Joe said to Carl. "Rollie and I had a bad experience in one back in New York."

Carl laughed and said, "Yes, I heard about that. No, this is no speakeasy. It was a tavern, but with Prohibition..." he paused as a man emerged from the back. Carl nodded towards the newcomer and continued, "Jack here is transitioning the place to a restaurant."

Jack approached them and said, "Yes, that's the plan... or hope anyway." He pointed to some sawhouses pushed against one wall and added, "I apologize for the mess."

Hands were shaken and Jack, whose last name was Kristich, led them past the bar, through a wide and unfinished doorway into another large space. Turning to his right, Joe saw the large, empty windows of an empty storefront. Running along the wall were a series of barren shelves with an equally empty display case standing before them. Apparently Jack was expanding into the space of his former neighbors.

Bringing his gaze back to front, Joe saw a large, round table. Standing around it were five men.

Carl introduced the men, one by one, to Joe and Rollie. The first was familiar to Joe, since he had been playing for him in Akron. Ed Cheatham was his name and he greeted Joe warmly. Next was a dour and thin man from Cleveland named Walter Finch who gave a small grimace when Joe gave him his customary firm handshake. Dayton was represented by Paul Sanders. The fourth man was a near polar opposite to Walter Finch - a smiling, plump man from Youngstown named Norbert Underwood. The fifth and final man was someone with whom Joe, and nearly everyone who followed pro football, was familiar: Alfred Trumaine.

Trumaine was quite possibly the best athlete that Joe had ever seen. Though he was now in his thirties and not quite as fast as he had once been, Trumaine had been the best college football player of his time (and some said the best of all-time), playing for Centerville College in the century's first decade and making that tiny school into a powerhouse that could beat the big Eastern colleges - and anyone else. He had been playing professional football for over a decade and was the pro game's biggest star.

"Alf," Joe nodded with grim-faced respect as he shook Trumaine's hand. Joe had heard rumors that Trumaine had a drinking problem (which was even more of a problem now that alcohol was illegal), but the man's granite-like grip was as steady and firm as ever and his eyes were clear and bright.

"Joe, it's good to see you," Trumaine said in his bass rumble. He then shook hands with Rollie and said, "I've seen you play, Rollie. You're very good. We should play a round sometime."

Rollie was surprised but agreed immediately. Joe, also taken aback, said, "I didn't know you played golf, Alf."

Trumaine gave a half-grin as Carl pointed out, "Joe, I think Mr. Trumaine plays everything. And does it well too!" This set off a brief round of laughter.

With the preliminaries out of the way the men settled down to the business at hand: forming a professional football league.

------------------------------------

The issues were plain and self-evident to everyone in the room: the barnstorming nature of the sport, while it kept the teams alive (barely in most cases), was unstable and the uneven nature of the competition lessened its appeal to fans.

Norb Underwood put it bluntly: "As a business model, it stinks."

"And then we have the colleges actively campaigning against us," Finch pointed out. Trumaine nodded - his friend and former coach Pug Johnston was one of the most vocal of this group which openly denigrated professional football as "uncouth" and "cheap" while championing the pureness of the (mostly) amateur collegiate game.

By banding together into a formalized organization the men believed they could, like baseball, succeed on a large scale. The professional game was still largely regional and so they decided to - for now - keep their league regional as well. Four of the cities represented at the meeting: Akron, Cleveland, Dayton, and Youngstown were in Ohio. Trumaine sought a western Pennsylvania home for his own club and aimed to place it in or near Pittsburgh. Jack Kristich would place a team in Fort Wayne. And the big prize - Chicago - would belong to the partnership of Carl Boon and Joe Barrell.

They wanted to be able to expand by adding other clubs, so it was decided to keep the cost of membership to a relatively modest $500. "No one's getting rich off professional football," Carl pointed out.

"And we have to play on Sundays. That should, I hope, help us cool off the colleges since we won't be directly competing," Trumaine added.

They spent a couple of hours wrangling out details. Joe let Rollie do most of the talking when it came to business-related items. Alfred Trumaine, noticing this, asked Rollie if he'd like to partner in his club.

"Whoa, hold on there, Alf," Joe said with a smile that was more for show than anything else. "Rollie's here to help me, not sign on as your partner."

Trumaine shrugged. "I'm just a player... like you, Joe. Your brother obviously has a head for this stuff. He wouldn't need to do anything other than handle the business side. I'll take care of the players and the team."

Joe squinted - he didn't like it, but he did notice that his brother had a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Not my call," Joe pointed out. Trumaine nodded and said, "True. Plus you've already got Carl to be the brains of your operation."

Carl chuckled. "I'm a player too, but I have no problem being the 'brains' in our partnership!" he said with a grin and slapped Joe on the back.

Rollie, thinking of what Francie would say, was slowly shaking his head. "I don't know," he said. Trumaine's thin, dark eyebrows shot up in surprise. Rollie sighed and added, "I can't make a commitment like that without thinking it over..." he paused and finished, "And talking it over with my wife."

Trumaine nodded. "I can live with that," he said.

The group got back down to business. They had concluded and were starting to rise from their seats around the circular table when Carl blinked as he remembered an important detail they'd missed and blurted, "Hang on! We never decided what we were going to call this thing!"