Sidekicks Never Say Die - MISL 1987 - Part 1/9
Dallas' MISL franchise has a promising start but faces imminent collapse.
Excellence thrills us. We love to dote on the stars. We endlessly debate the greatest teams or the most elite lineups: the ’86 Celtics vs. the ’96 Bulls (Celtics, duh); Bird vs. Magic (it’s a tie); Red Sox vs. Yankees (neither, thanks); Montana-to-Rice vs. Mahomes-to-Kelce (too early to say, bro). We will sit through hours of a marathon documentary film about Michael Jordan (it’s worth it).
And yes, enormous value should be placed on all that. Sport centers on greatness. But ever since Neanderthals started grunting about that time they took down a sabretooth tiger with a sharpened mammoth tusk, we have been transfixed by stories.
This story is not about the greatest team in MISL history. It is not about the greatest lineup of all time. It does not cover the multi-year exploits of a dynasty. This story covers a team that spent most of a season proving its mediocrity, but then surprised everyone (except, perhaps, themselves) with a remarkable run of excellence.
Sometimes, those are the best stories.
$4.2 million was quite enough, thank you.
On Wednesday, April 24, 1986, Donald Carter, owner of the NBA’s Dallas Mavericks, announced he no longer wished to own the MISL’s Dallas Sidekicks.
The expansion franchise’s two seasons had been two very different stories. Year one was a struggle. Attendance at Reunion Arena averaged only 4,969. The 12-36 overall record inspired little confidence. The team’s slogan that season took on an unfortunate subtext: “Fast (at losing money), Fun (not-so-much), and Furious (at losing $2.7 million).” But such a result might be expected for a brand-new franchise.
Year two provided hope for Dallas fans. Attendance climbed rapidly to 7,070 as the team proved themselves on the field. They even made the playoffs. And anyone who watched a couple minutes of a Sidekicks game could tell that Tatu, a young Brazilian forward, was destined for greatness.
The name Tatu, by the way, translated to “armadillo” in Portuguese. Apparently, his father worked in the railroads and Tatu used to climb under the tracks, burrowing down like an armadillo.
And the young buck knew how to market himself. Every time he scored, Tatu would throw his jersey into the crowd. Those would become a hot commodity in the Dallas area over the next few years.
The hiring of Gordon Jago as coach in the franchise’s first season appeared to have paid off. He dragged his squad from a 7th place finish in the MISL’s Western Division to a short playoff run. A seasoned professional, Jago had coached the Queen’s Park Rangers in England’s Premier League and the Baltimore Bays and Tampa Bay Rowdies in the now-defunct North American Soccer League. The Englishman and the people of Dallas took a quick liking to each other.
“Gordon Jago…set a moral standard for playing the game a certain way. He was a role model for lots of people, whether he knew it or not,” said Alan Balthrop, the Sidekick’s longtime historian.
Of course, it’s not enough to inspire the fans. The players had to buy in as well. But that didn’t turn out to be a problem either.
“From day one of training camp, he told a group of professional players that we will live our lives a certain way, we will perform to a certain standard, win or lose. We won’t run up the score if we blow out an opponent, because someday they will be better than us and they will remember,” Balthrop said.
Though the Sidekicks certainly didn’t have to worry too much about blowing out opponents in year one, the seeds he planted that first year burst from the soil soon after.
But none of that would matter if the club shut down. And that is precisely what was about to happen in the spring of 1986. Though the team’s actual financial losses had decreased from $2.7 million to $1.5 million, the projected dollar losses for each of those seasons had been much less. And that was enough to convince Carter to throw in the towel.
It was a real loss for the MISL.
“It was a big deal to have the owner of the Dallas Mavericks, in the same way we had the Robbie family [owners of the Miami Dolphins], and the owner of the Lakers. It was very good to have the cachet that came with Don Carter. Plus, he knew how to run a professional sports franchise,” said Bill Kentling, commissioner of the MISL at the time.
Kentling attempted to woo the wealthy Bass brothers, a local family who had inherited a fortune from their oil tycoon uncle. But they declined to purchase the franchise.
The team’s general manager, Ron Adkins, stated in the Dallas Morning News that the price of the club was less than a million dollars.
“I know people who own homes that cost more than what he (Carter) is asking for the club. And he’s willing to finance it,” Adkins said.
But Carter wasn’t willing to accept just any offer. Winning bidders had to keep the team in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area. And in order to ensure the longevity of the franchise, he insisted the new owner put up a $2.5 million letter of credit designed to fund the Sidekicks’ operating expenses for the 1986-87 season. Finally, the winning bidder would be required to give a 10% share each to Adkins and Jago. The kicker: all this had to be accomplished by June 1, barely more than a month away. If not, the Sidekicks would fold and the team’s players contracts sold to franchises throughout the league.
By May 22, despite several nibbles, the last remaining group of suitors announced it could not raise the $2.5 million. Unless they could find additional investors, their bid would fail. The Sidekicks had eight days to live.
“We are on a very short deadline. We had two other groups that came here, but for various reasons, they didn’t follow it through,” Gordon Jago said.
But the imminent death of the franchise galvanized the fans, who raised $500,000 in pledges by the next day. Even more importantly, a new investor came aboard: Jan Rogers and her soon-to-be-ex-husband Richard. Richard Rogers’ mother was Mary Kay Ash, as in “Mary Kay cosmetics”…as in, the 800-lb gorilla of the makeup multi-level marketing world.
But the Rogers that matters most to this story was his wife. Jan Rogers could be reduced merely to her beauty. Since the 1970s, the stunning former airline stewardess once described by Texas Monthly as “a much sought-after single woman” had made an impression on the men of Dallas’ singles scene in her white patent leather boots and short shorts. However, such superficial things would soon be overshadowed by her outsized role in the events to come.
On May 28, after three hours of meetings with investors, Jago expressed confidence that in the next two days not only would an acceptable proposal be laid on the table by Rogers’ investment group, but there might even be a competing offer.
But June 1 came and went without an acceptable offer. Thus, the saga of the Dallas Sidekicks came to a permanent end. Gordon Jago moved back to England and Tatu left soccer for a career in designing Velcro break-away jerseys.
THE END
Actually, not the end.
“But even though no offer acceptable to Carter came in under the deadline, general manager Ron Adkins said the Major Indoor Soccer League franchise has not folded – yet,” the Ft. Worth Star-Telegram’s Michael Gunstanson reported.
Next week: Part 2 continues an exploration of the Dallas Sidekick’s fight to survive…