The Reversal

"You know how Marvin Davis does business," Nolan said.

Ovitz watched McNair through the crowd. "I know he doesn't spend three quarters of a billion dollars because he likes a man's presentation."

"And I doubt Roski had him in the room a week ago. He moved quickly. Now he's speaking to Hunt, and McNair has gone outside."

"You think Davis is moving his money to Houston?"

"I think we're about to hear a new number."

They returned to their seats. Ovitz asked whether they should raise their own bid. Nolan shook his head. A larger promise would not help if they could not fund it.

"Then what do you intend to do?" Ovitz asked.

"Make a call."

Nolan left by the side door. He waited until he was clear of the conference room and called George Herbert Walker III.

"I thought we'd said enough in Miami," Walker answered.

"Your trust is behind McNair's Houston bid."

There was a pause. "It hasn't signed anything with you beyond the conditional commitment."

"I didn't say it had. Davis has just moved over from Roski. Hunt is talking to his people. Are you comfortable putting your money into a group whose other backers you haven't reviewed?"

"You've called to lecture me on diligence?"

"I've called so you can decide with the whole picture. Katherine and I gave the trust our Los Angeles plan. If you prefer Houston, tell us. But don't ask her to defend one investment while you quietly underwrite the other."

Walker let him wait. Nolan could hear someone speaking in the background, then the sound of a door closing.

"Send me what you have," Walker said.

"I'll have Katherine's counsel send the presentation and the names. Check the revised financing before you commit another dollar."

"You don't get to order me around, Nolan."

"No. I get to tell you what I saw. The decision is yours."

Inside, McNair announced a new arrangement with the Davis group. Houston's proposed commitment had climbed past $1.2 billion. Several owners who had favored Los Angeles began conferring with their neighbors. Ovitz was still trying to calculate a response when Nolan returned.

"Did you hear the number?" Ovitz asked.

"Yes."

"I have nothing that beats it."

"Then don't pretend you do."

McNair cleared the required majority on the next ballot. Tagliabue announced him as the selected bidder, subject to final financing documents and the league's other award conditions. McNair took the lectern to thank Houston, the owners, and his partners. Ovitz sat through it with the expression of a man who had reached the last page of a contract only to find his own name missing.

"We should go," he said when the presentation moved to other league business.

"Wait."

McNair's phone rang. He glanced at its screen, excused himself and stepped out. Ten minutes later he returned without the composure he had taken into the corridor. He spoke privately with Tagliabue. The commissioner suspended the meeting.

Ovitz turned to Nolan. "Who did you call?"

"Walker. He had a choice to make."

"He could have told you to go to hell."

"He still might."

Tagliabue returned to the lectern. McNair's group could no longer deliver the financing on which its revised proposal depended. Rather than submit a materially different bid under the same vote, it was withdrawing from this round. The selection would not become a franchise award.

The room erupted. Harlan wanted to know why the owners had voted on funds that could disappear before the meeting ended. Frontiere asked whether they would have to start the entire process again. Hunt urged a postponement.

"We have another qualified proposal," Rooney said. "Let us examine it and vote on what is actually funded."

Tagliabue called a recess. League counsel and the owners' finance committee reviewed the Los Angeles group's conditions; Ovitz's team supplied the documentation they had brought for precisely that purpose. Nolan phoned Katherine and asked her to keep the trust's Los Angeles commitment and the family's internal disputes separate from the league's record. She agreed to send the current letter through counsel. The bridge financing for the amount above it was still contingent, and he said so when asked. Jerry Jones, after a long conversation with Ovitz, confirmed that his group would discuss a documented loan if the award proceeded.

No one could turn an offer into cash in an afternoon. The owners could, however, judge which bid had a credible route to closing. They returned to the room and took a fresh vote under the commissioner-approved procedure. Hunt opposed proceeding. Rooney supported it. The Los Angeles proposal crossed the threshold, conditional on the same documentation and deadlines any new club would face.

"The expansion franchise is awarded to the Ovitz group," Tagliabue announced. "Welcome to the league. Now you have to build a team."

Ovitz's laugh sounded half like relief and half like disbelief. At the lectern, he thanked the owners, then glanced toward Nolan.

"I thought our day had ended twenty minutes ago. I'm grateful I was wrong."

Nolan stayed in his seat. The club had agreed to give him an opportunity to buy a stake after his playing career, subject to league approval. Until then, he would be a player, not a voting owner or a man drawing dividends from a team he played for. That distinction mattered to counsel, the league, and Katherine. Nolan could live with it. The door he wanted was open.

As the room emptied, Rooney drew Ovitz aside.

"You'll find that an owner's vote is rarely just about the proposal in front of him," he said. "People remember who stood with them."

"And who didn't," Ovitz replied.

Rooney's eyes went to the far door, where Hunt had already left. He spoke about blocs and old league alliances, but Nolan took it as Rooney's reading of the room, not a map of every owner's motives. Jerry, Rooney added, made his own choices when the Cowboys' interests were at stake.

"Lamar wants a league willing to expand its reach," Rooney said. "Some of us worry that adding clubs too quickly gives any tight group enough votes to stall everything else. Today you saw owners choose both ways. Don't assume either side will vote the same on a television contract, a labor question or a stadium rule."

"You want us with you," Ovitz said.

"I want you to understand that the club you build will have a vote long after this room forgets the price you offered."

Nolan saw the invitation beneath the advice. Rooney had helped them today; Hunt had not. That did not oblige Los Angeles to lend its future vote to either man. He intended to remember who had stood where, and to ask what the Angels gained before he made a choice.

"That's one lesson I already know," Nolan said.

Ovitz asked him on the ride to the airport whose side they should choose. Nolan looked out at the traffic.

"Our team's. If we put a winner on the field, more people will want us at their table."

...

Three nights later, FOX staged a football awards special in Tampa. Its producers brought together broadcasters, player-voted honors, and tributes to the season. Nolan had been invited as the Super Bowl's most talked-about player. He asked Grace to join him.

She handled the carpet better than he did. Camera flashes followed them, and she kept pace while he answered questions about his last Cowboys game and the Los Angeles award. Only when they reached their seats did she lean toward him.

"You brought me alone. Should I be worried?"

"I wanted tonight with you. I also have a surprise."

"Those are two different sentences." She caught his hand before he could answer. "I'm glad it's just us. You went to Key West without me, remember?"

"I remember. I should have asked you."

"It hurt," she said. "We see so little of each other lately. I don't want every evening we get together to belong to a crowd."

"Then this one won't." He paused. "And we can stay in Florida for two more days after the show. Just us."

Grace's smile came slowly. "Two days? I'm holding you to that. Now tell me about the surprise."

"You'll see it when the cameras turn toward the stage."

John Madden introduced a replay of the last drive. Nolan stood for a tribute to his Super Bowl MVP performance, and the audience applauded. Later, FOX recognized its season selections. Dave Campo, Terrell Davis, Reggie White and Charles Woodson each received their moment. Nolan's rookie season drew another ovation.

When he spoke, he made a joke about lawyers charging to print his name on the program. Then he thanked the players who had stayed in the huddle when the comeback looked impossible. He did not try to make the victory his alone.

At the end of the broadcast, the host introduced Los Angeles's new expansion club. Nolan caught Grace's hand before she rose.

"You're the one they should hear from," he said.

She went to the stage. She told viewers that the name, mark and uniforms were still in development, and that the club would seek to play the coming season if the league's operational conditions could be met.

The response was not the cheer she expected. In the front rows, owners and former players exchanged looks. A few people laughed at the timetable. Madden rescued the transition and brought the segment to a close with applause, but Grace heard the doubt in the room.

He found them after the cameras stopped.

"You moved fast," Madden said. "Fans will ask where this team practices, where it plays, and who keeps the lights on. Give them those answers soon."

"The Rose Bowl is a temporary option," Nolan said. "We're still working through it."

"Then say that when you can prove it. Don't ask people to believe in a uniform before there's a locker room."

Grace looked at Nolan. The vote had felt like a finish line. Now she could see how much work lay on the other side of it.