Alliance Of American Football Die wichtigsten Unterschiede zur NFL
Die Alliance of American Football war eine aus acht Mannschaften bestehende US-amerikanische Profiliga im American Football, die von Charlie Ebersol und Bill Polian gegründet wurde. Der Spielbetrieb begann am 9. Februar , eine Woche nach dem. Die Alliance of American Football (AAF) war eine aus acht Mannschaften bestehende US-amerikanische Profiliga im American Football, die von Charlie Ebersol. Das sind die Teams der AAF. Die NFL-Saison ist vorbei und der Sommer steht an. Grund genug für eine neue Football-Liga. Die "Alliance of American Football". Rund zwei Monate nach dem Start ist die Alliance of American Football schon wieder Geschichte. Zurück bleiben einige Fragen. parketta.co Get into the game like never before with The Alliance of American Football's official app. Watch live streaming with AAF Raw feed for all of our games featuring.
Rund zwei Monate nach dem Start ist die Alliance of American Football schon wieder Geschichte. Zurück bleiben einige Fragen. parketta.co Die ´Alliance of American Football´, kurz ´AAF´, beinhaltet insgesamt acht Teams. parketta.co gibt euch einen Überblick über alle Mannschaften. Die Alliance of American Football war eine aus acht Mannschaften bestehende US-amerikanische Profiliga im American Football, die von Charlie Ebersol und Bill Polian gegründet wurde. Der Spielbetrieb begann am 9. Februar , eine Woche nach dem.
Alliance Of American Football Liga stellt Spielbetrieb einBeliebte Kategorien. Go here a clown show this. Juli Der Jährige wurde bereits in die Ruhmeshalle des Universitäts-Footballs aufgenommen. Alliance of American Football: Diese Teams sind dabei. Related Posts. Rick Neuheisel. Keine automatischen Reviews. Anstatt eines Onside Kicks, wird eine Onside-Conversion eingeführt.
Ebersol also envisioned an app that would allow fans to gamble in real time -- gaming within the game.
He would tout data, versions of which the spring-league dreamers have used for decades, that million fans watch football on weekends, and half of those don't watch sports at all after football ends.
There had to be an opportunity to exploit. Most of all, Ebersol said, their league would be a true alliance among "the fans, the players and the game.
Everyone would be required to sign a morality clause to avoid scandals. Polian's deal to be co-founder wouldn't be formalized for months.
But Ebersol called his dad after the meeting. The AAF was a few weeks away from its official announcement. News of the league had remained mostly under wraps.
Ebersol instructed one of his assistants, Chris Baugh, to book a private room for a team dinner. A few AAF executives rolled their eyes at Ebersol's obsession with secrecy, but he didn't care.
He was in a mad race between family friends. Ebersol fashioned himself as a player in Silicon Valley, Hollywood and the NFL, an entrepreneur with access to power brokers, but the fact was, he was already in a huge financial hole, and convincing venture capitalists to write huge checks was proving difficult.
The Alliance had secured big-name backers -- MGM and the Founders Fund, among them -- that had invested modest amounts, mostly to give the startup credibility.
The deal was a time-buy, with the AAF paying for the slot and production, a template for partnerships with Turner and the NFL Network that would follow.
But the arrangement would allow the AAF at launch to announce a major broadcast partner. That deal, Montag says now, "legitimized the AAF as an entity that could succeed.
A big launch would provide some fundraising momentum, Ebersol hoped. That's why he wanted the dinner to be secret. But he and his party were led to a dining room in the middle of the restaurant that was enclosed by glass walls, as if they were on display.
After they moved to another spot, the conversation turned to ideas for the draft. Polian wanted to run it similar to the USFL draft, with teams holding territorial rights to local players.
Speaking from the other end of a long, rectangular table, Ebersol and Rick Neuheisel, the former UCLA and Colorado head coach who had signed on to coach the Arizona Hotshots, had a different idea.
They wanted in-demand players to be able to choose their teams. Polian didn't understand the concept. Neuheisel and Ebersol explained that it was like The Voice.
Neuheisel explained the TV contest in which four celebrity vocal coaches spin around in their red chairs when they hear a singer they want on their team, then the singer chooses the coach, and so Polian is renowned throughout the NFL for viewing the draft as a sacred institution, the annual output of his life's work -- and for his temper.
His face started reddening, his body almost vibrating. Neuheisel and Ebersol dropped the conceit. Everyone eventually shared a laugh over it.
Two weeks later, on March 20, Ebersol and Polian stood onstage and announced the Alliance of American Football, promising to change not only football but the way fans view and bet on the game, with an app that would be ahead of the television feed, allowing fans to gamble before each play.
The first game would be on CBS on Feb. The AAF wasn't a fanciful notion anymore. It was real. They met at their usual spot: the DoubleTree hotel, near the network's sprawling headquarters.
The league was behind schedule, with oversights at almost every turn. The Orlando Apollos would be forced to practice for 36 days in Georgia, qualifying players for workers' compensation benefits there because the AAF had been unable to secure leaguewide insurance for players.
The Salt Lake Stallions would move into their offices only after executives briefly worked out of a McDonald's and the conference room of the team's ticket broker.
Team presidents found getting any piece of information, especially on budgets, needlessly difficult. Some stadium leases came together slowly, and stadium authorities exploited the AAF's February start to overcharge by hundreds of thousands of dollars.
An AAF executive discovered that the NFL's collective bargaining agreement prohibited players from being under contract with another league.
It was a disaster; one of the primary reasons to launch a year before McMahon was to corner the market on marginal NFL players.
As a workaround, AAF executives drew up a hodgepodge of four different contracts each player would have to sign. Meanwhile, the Alliance wasn't acting much like one, with football operations blaming business operations and business blaming football.
It all came to a head at the DoubleTree. Polian was deeply frustrated -- and wondering whether the AAF was worth his time.
His title was co-founder, but he was technically a part-time consultant, with no power to hire or make decisions. For instance, Polian felt the player wellness program -- termed The Gymnasium and led by former Pittsburgh Steelers safety Troy Polamalu -- was well-intentioned but too expensive for a startup.
It included individual and couples counseling, and three massages a week for players. Ebersol refused to cut back on his pledge to treat players well.
Polian wanted a bigger budget -- and to spend as he saw fit. At the time, Ebersol displayed little concern over the league's finances.
His primary investor was Reggie Fowler, whom Willie Lanier, the Hall of Fame linebacker, had brought to Ebersol shortly after the launch.
The question for Ebersol was whether Fowler could be trusted. He had been the top candidate to buy the Minnesota Vikings in and held a news conference to announce the purchase.
In it, he was forced to apologize for false aspects of his biography sent out by his PR firm, which among other claims said he had majored in business administration at the University of Wyoming rather than social work, and that he had played in the NFL when he hadn't.
Later, the NFL questioned Fowler's liquidity when it examined his finances, and he was reduced to a limited owner of the Vikings.
He was bought out in , amid media reports that he had lost control of his companies because of tens of millions of dollars in debt.
Ebersol knew that Fowler, who declined comment for this story through his lawyer, was a risk.
He had researched him, asked various sports executives for advice and arranged meetings between Fowler and some AAF board members, lawyers, executives and even his father.
It was a three-year deal -- and perhaps would persuade other major backers who had given Ebersol only contingency commitments.
Fowler would own 31 percent of the AAF. Ebersol's legal team had reviewed Fowler's finances. Players, coaches and executives would later criticize Ebersol for partnering with Fowler, but at the time Ebersol didn't think he could afford to be picky; it was his only chance against the XFL.
At the DoubleTree, Ebersol promised to divert more of that money to football operations. If the football didn't sell the league, nothing would.
Now he had to deliver. He hired a group of staffers who had worked with him in the NFL. It was good money for a startup league scheduled for three months of work -- too good, Dundon would later conclude.
The quarterbacks all believed they could be the next Kurt Warner or Warren Moon, who had greatness in them and just needed a chance.
It was a crazy and exhilarating time for Polian, working all hours. Every week, he would lead a call with the football operations department -- the most enjoyable moments of the job, he says -- where they'd throw around crazy ideas.
It was shortly before Christmas. The cash would arrive in smaller amounts, at weird times, from various banks.
Ebersol had been struggling to balance public optimism and private financial realities. He didn't want staffers to worry, and so he would reassure anyone who asked about the league's outlook, sometimes sounding like he was also trying to convince himself.
Veit would remind Ebersol that all minor leagues have cash flow issues. Ebersol was distraught about having to lay off people during Christmas week.
Polian struggled to retain optimism as well. Training camp in San Antonio was due to start in two weeks, and AAF corporate wouldn't allow teams to book travel.
Now Polian knew why. We gave it an honest shot. Ebersol wanted to have two last-chance meetings. Enraged and on the verge of tears, Ebersol lit into Fowler.
I don't fing miss payroll! Ebersol was unhinged, and it embarrassed AAF executives. Few would have blamed Fowler if he had pulled the plug.
But at the time, neither they nor Ebersol knew that months earlier, on Oct. The Department of Justice in April would arrest Fowler and allege that from February to October , Fowler and his Israeli business partner, Ravid Yosef, operated "an unlicensed money transmitting business" by moving hundreds of millions of dollars through banks into cryptocurrency endeavors under the guise of a real estate investment.
Fowler would plead not guilty. Yosef, who the indictment said was at large, has yet to enter a plea. Ebersol's outburst served its purpose.
Fowler promised to live up to his agreement, offering to do so out of his personal account. Now the Ebersols once again asked to join forces with the XFL.
Charlie argued that he'd already spent millions on staff and infrastructure. Why not merge? McMahon loved the Ebersols, but business was business.
He wanted the new XFL to live or die on his terms, and he was more than content to let the AAF live or die on its terms.
Ebersol returned to San Francisco for the holidays, ready to close the league on Dec. But at 8 p. At p. The AAF had hundreds of signed players, eight complete coaching staffs, video departments, medical staffs, PR staffs and social media teams.
Camp was tight and organized and felt like professional football, even if it was not without drama. On the night before camp started, Ebersol insisted on addressing all players, offending coaches who viewed that time as sacrosanct for team bonding.
He announced a partnership with the NFL Network and then walked over to an aide, who told him that the deal wasn't yet complete.
He returned to the front and asked everyone to keep quiet until the deal was official. It was classic Ebersol: sloppy enough to reinforce the view held by many AAF executives that he wasn't as savvy as he projected, yet assured enough to make everyone feel that they were buying into something truly big.
Fowler visited camp for a few days, meeting with coaches and executives. He was quiet and wouldn't go into any detail when asked about his businesses.
But most found him friendly and eager to help. He seemed to enjoy his role as financier. The Stallions still didn't have football offices, so Fowler offered to purchase shipping containers that could be outfitted with cubicles.
Fowler flew to Salt Lake City and scouted available land. Fewer containers arrived than Fowler had promised, but the team made do.
The night before camp ended, Ebersol and Polian gave a toast. Ebersol was usually animated before a group, but this time he was slow and deliberate.
He used the word "grateful" 12 times -- and it was no accident. In one of his first discussions after the crash, Dick Ebersol told his wife, "We have to be thankful that we had 14 wonderful years" with Teddy.
The idea rewired Charlie's thinking. He decided that to be grateful for the blessings in his life, he had to be grateful for the pain.
He didn't mention the crash during his toast, but it was on his mind as he thanked the staff, particularly Polian, for going along with him on "an act of insanity.
Ebersol was in the Alamodome, wearing matching sneakers with his infant daughter. Charlie did the same, passing out football-shaped AAF pins.
Against all odds, Ebersol had done it: He had produced an actual spring football game, on national television and before 27, fans, with a fraction of the funding of the XFL.
A section of the crowd chanted his name. A text message to Ebersol from a friend said: "You landed on the moon.
Ebersol publicly insisted that the missed paychecks temporarily affected only 20 percent of players, owing mostly to a new payroll provider.
But cash flow was an issue. All of the training camp bills had come due. Ebersol couldn't rely on him anymore. The league was about to go under.
Anderson told Dundon that Ebersol needed a new top investor. Dundon was intrigued by the AAF. He was 47 years old, with salt-and-pepper scruff.
He had made billions running his own private investment firm, much of it rooted in subprime auto lending, but he didn't carry himself like a rich man.
He seemed most comfortable in Carolina Hurricanes sweatpants. He loved football and was well-regarded in NFL circles; the league had vetted him in , when the Carolina Panthers were for sale.
Dundon had watched the AAF's opening weekend and liked its potential -- and the potential of spring football. Anderson connected Dundon and Ebersol, and a deal came together over the phone.
But over the next hour, Dundon started digging into the business and was livid at what he found: The financial prospectus the AAF provided him was outdated and inaccurate.
Then Ebersol talked Dundon back in, explaining that the prospectus hadn't been updated and selling his vision for the AAF as a transformative league with transformative tech.
Dundon called a few media and sports executives for advice. As always, the promise and potential of a spring football league captured their imagination.
The heavy lifting of getting the league off the ground was already complete. Dundon concluded that if he could partner with the NFL or secure a remunerative broadcast deal, he might be able to flip the AAF, maybe for up to a billion dollars.
Dundon had hours to decide. He figured that was best for business. The four-page deal came together in 26 hours. The marriage between Dundon and Ebersol was off from the beginning.
Days after the transaction, they hosted a painfully awkward video chat for AAF employees, which began with Ebersol alone and Dundon nudging his way onto the screen -- in a Hurricanes hat.
When Ebersol introduced him as a "dream partner," Dundon's face didn't move. He was already having buyer's remorse.
The AAF's gambling app barely functioned. The players' college fund had never been funded in earnest.
Vendors from training camp hadn't been paid. Security agents were traveling with teams to protect players nobody knew.
Dundon had agreed as part of the deal that Polian and Ebersol would continue to run the league, but he removed both Charlie and Dick Ebersol from the board and sidelined most of the business staff.
He liked Charlie, and admired his work ethic and charm, but felt that he would exaggerate the league's outlook. The first time he met Polian, Dundon complimented him: "The only thing that's working is football.
Dundon and his staff held a meeting in Dallas shortly after he acquired the league, with the AAF principals in attendance.
Polian initially balked, which irritated Dundon. He liked Polian but felt that he spent money as if he were in the NFL.
Of questionable funding that would suddenly dry up, and an early investor allegedly wrapped up in shady banking practices.
Of secret software that promised to change sports gambling as we know it. The league would attract talent with standard three-year contracts, built-in raises, postcareer scholarships and bonuses that could be earned through stellar play and community engagement.
Profit, it was projected, would come after three years, a slow-burn investment in hopes that the AAF would eventually become a sought-after television property even if at first the league paid to be broadcast, not the other way around , that individual franchises would become attractive enough to sell and, crucially, that the tech they developed and showcased would become desirable enough to license.
About that tech. First they were shown a smartphone, which in this demo displayed a Steelers game shot from a low SkyCam angle, playing out on a large video tile in the center.
Flanking that were four smaller tiles, each showing the same action, zoomed in on an individual player. It was an aspirational look at a still-developing product, but the intent was clear: Pair mountains of historical football data with machine learning to create predictive analytics the likes of which the sporting world had never seen.
How likely is Mike Tomlin to pass on second-and out of 11 personnel against nickel D? Then feed that data to viewers instantly and ask, How much do you want to bet on it?
This is the golden ticket. And Ebersol had a tech team he believed could execute that vision.
On the back end, though, they faced thorny issues like building predictive-analytic and machine-learning algorithms for tracking players, seamlessly integrating with networks and broadcast crews, and deploying high-end tech in decaying stadiums.
These renderings typically ran just milliseconds behind the live action, but TV runs on a to second lag, so a fan at home could be wagering on a second-and-five play while the broadcast still showed first-and Gone, too, was the energy bar.
Then Dundon took over. The tech team would later get a kick out of speculation that Dundon shut the league down in order to steal their work, perhaps even applying it to the Hurricanes.
If that was the case, why the hell did he get rid of the only people who could make sense of it? This was no longer a tech startup on a three-year march to profitability.
To Dundon, it appeared, the Alliance was a fledgling football company that needed to show him something concrete.
This week, all of your hard work was validated and our company secured the necessary funding to accelerate growth into our next phase as a business.
Tom Dundon, [now] our largest institutional investor and the control owner, will serve as chairman of the Alliance Board of Directors.
Teams had kept their preseason camps closed to media to protect their fragile product—past startup leagues had suffered when they debuted with sloppy play—but in February the reviews were largely positive.
Football was not the problem. That explanation would come months later. The Department of Justice announced on April 30 that Fowler had been charged with bank fraud and operating an unlicensed money-transmitting business.
Fowler had a detention hearing scheduled for May 2 in Arizona; an Israeli alleged co-conspirator remains at large. That agreement, consummated by phone—a shotgun wedding by all accounts—came at an immense cost to Ebersol, who stayed on as CEO but lost his voting seat on the board.
His father, Dick, was also removed. One insider says Dundon earned the nickname Trump, based on his slashing of budgets and his hard-liner approach to renegotiating deals.
Suddenly the necessity of certain business trips was questioned. Meals were cut from team flights. Every expenditure had to be rationalized.
The Alliance would remain an underdog fighting for TV time in a crowded sports marketplace. If Dundon felt the promise of the league differed from what was delivered, it showed.
And so everyone marched on, pragmatists and dreamers squeezed together, each trying to be the one out front. In fairness to Tom Dundon, the league he took over in February was already flawed, even if some of those flaws could be spun more positively as quirks.
There were core staffers in San Francisco and in Florida, a few people operating out of a small Beverly Hills office, and key cogs in the media relations department working from home, across several time zones.
His boldest undertaking might have been in forging bonds between walks of life that have the tendency to ricochet off one another.
While employees on both the football and tech sides describe a largely harmonious relationship, for example, sources in each camp blame the other side for extraneous spending and other inconveniences.
Like: Why does the football side need new state-of-the-art equipment and an XOS video system? Why does the tech side need all those servers?
And, hey, is that engineer really making more money than someone calling the actual plays? One former employee recalls discussions about creating a position to liaise between the tech and football divisions, in order to curb conflict.
But many in the AAF say Ebersol wore that costume well, and perhaps one of his weaknesses as a leader was his trying to give everyone exactly what they wanted.
And there was an aspect of the now-blended Silicon Valley—celebrity culture that could rub some of the more ingrained football people the wrong way.
Like when Ebersol was interrupted in a meeting by a call from actor Ashton Kutcher. Employees on the tech and business sides, meanwhile, seemed to have a better understanding than their football counterparts of the constant pivoting and pinballing that tends to occur in a startup of any kind.
In its infancy even now, some would argue Facebook was hampered by palace intrigue and technical deficiencies.
Early on, Apple, too, was wild enough to warrant a feature film about internal discord. But when you take a startup, which the AAF was built as, and drop in militaristic coaches who wear the same outfit every day and take their coffee at the same time each morning, interruptions in normalcy can, at the least, be a distraction.
A few curveballs that caused varying degrees of consternation:. The team promoted defensive coordinator Kevin Coyle, then rolled through a handful of offensive coordinators and advisers: Michael Vick, Ron Turner and, finally, Ken Zampese.
One of those coaches was there for mere days; others never made it to the role of play-caller at all.
These little technological shifts were a constant annoyance for the football department, and for those who constantly had to call and explain the new software.
And while those on the business side claim this resulted from a change in payroll companies, already some coaches and players were concerned.
A successful first few weeks on the field calmed nerves, though, and some of those extraneous issues were buried as coaches and execs found themselves consumed by the weekly grind, lost in the game.
That attitude was reflected by the front-office types they had most regular contact with. On March 20, one week before USA Today reported that the league was in danger of folding, the staff received another email from Ebersol, celebrating their one-year anniversary.
Of course the challenges will continue to appear and each will seem more difficult than the last. Alone some of these challenges would be insurmountable, but together.
Anything is possible. Good luck this weekend and for many more years to come. Players on the Memphis Express were in their locker room getting dressed for a practice near the Liberty Bowl when everything came undone.Laut Bill Polian, Mitbegründer der Liga, versucht man eine developmental Liga für die NFL zu sein, mit einer Reihe von Dingen, die gleich aussehen werden und einige, die sich deutlich von dem Football, den man gewöhnt ist, unterscheiden. Das ist allerdings derzeit ein Ding der Unmöglichkeit, da die NFL eine klare Vereinbarung mit der Spielgewerkschaft hat, die im kommenden Jahr allerdings neu verhandelt wird. Entdecke die Kraft der Gemeinschaft. Weitere Informationen finden Sie hier. Neuesten Nachrichten. Michael Vick wird die Geschicke der Offensive Beste Spielothek Green finden. April gab die AAF bekannt, den Spielbetrieb einzustellen.
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