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The original was posted on /r/nfl by /u/JT1757 on 2024-03-09 14:02:06.
Original Title: Young, who had spent two years with the upstart United States Football League, came to Tampa in 1985 and was thunderstruck by the incompetence. “I remember at one point I called my dad and said, ‘I think I’m just gonna go to law school,’” Young recalls. “‘I don’t wanna do this.’”
Saw someone mention the Bo Jackson scandal, read up on it, and some of the quotes are damning.
On Saturday, April 26, a mere three days before the NFL draft, Zieman and Miller (Jackson’s representatives) sat with Culverhouse in Tampa. The Buccaneers’ owner wasted no time with pleasantries. “He was basically saying that unless Bo Jackson asked to play with them, they weren’t even going to make him an offer,” recalled Zieman. “Which is a strange way to deal with a Heisman Trophy winner.”
Zieman stressed to Culverhouse that baseball was a legitimate option, but he was met with dismissive laughter. Jackson was a poor kid from East Bumf—, Alabama. Was he really going to turn down millions of NFL dollars to stand in a minor league outfield and kick at the weeds?
The excerpt from the title with surrounding context:
And Culverhouse, says Joe Henderson, a Tampa Tribune columnist at the time, “was a horrible human being. He cared about the bottom line, and nothing else.” Young, who had spent two years quarterbacking the Los Angeles Express of the upstart United States Football League, came to Tampa in 1985 and was thunderstruck by the incompetence. “I remember at one point I called my dad and said, ‘I think I’m just gonna go to law school,’” Young recalls. “‘I don’t wanna do this.’”
But with Jackson in town, Young had a task. The two athletes and the owner went to one of Tampa’s fancier steak houses, and after a few minutes Culverhouse looked at Young and said, “Let me leave you two guys to talk.” He excused himself and walked from the table. Within seconds, Jackson leaned in. “Hey, man,” he said, “I’m never coming here. Just so you know, there’s no f—ing way.”
“Bo was correct in his instincts,” says Young. “You can be a losing team with a plan. You can be a losing team with direction. But the Buccaneers could not stop their own dysfunction. No sane person would choose to join that franchise.”
Later in the day, a handful of Buccaneers players took Jackson bass fishing on Lake Tarpon. Again, this was Culverhouse’s idea. The sun. The warm breeze. The comradery. Scott Brantley, a sixth-year linebacker out of Florida, was nothing if not blunt. “Bo,” he said, “we’d love to have you. But you do not want to be a Tampa Bay Buccaneer. This place is a f—ing joke.”
On June 13, Zieman and Miller flew to Tampa to sit across from Culverhouse. They had already told the Buccaneers they had no interest in swapping terms. They wanted the team to put its absolute best offer on the table. But these were the Buccaneers. Instead of presenting firm financial figures, they broached the topics of drug tests and skill guarantees. It was exasperating. When Zieman said any offer would have to be run by Jackson, Culverhouse snickered. “That’s not the way agents do things,” he said. “No,” Zieman snapped, “but it’s the way lawyers do things.”
When Jackson ultimately rejected the offer, Culverhouse threatened to cut it in half. “And,” the Bucs owner said, “you won’t have a f—ing choice.”
Culverhouse sounded… interesting.