[revrew]

"How about a magic trick?"

The NFL owners met in Dallas, home of the grand statesman of old-timer NFL owners, Jerry Jones. The emperor of all things Cowboy, however, had not aged well. And neither had his franchise. The arrest of Ezekiel Elliott in 2020 had taken much of the gleam off the silver and blue and tarnished the team with fans. Like much of the NFL, the Cowboys were being propped up more by old money than by new blood.

Though the meeting was held behind closed doors, word of the strange happenings in Dallas still leaked out.

Allegedly, Jack Ledger was actually late to the meeting. The owners were already in board room, some meeting by teleconference – one even made the statement that the expansion draft had been nothing but a "cheap publicity stunt" – when the Dragons' owner walked in … laughing. A long, pronounced, mocking laugh. Ho, ho, he, he, ah, ah, ah.

"And I thought my jokes were bad," reports say he began.

When an NFL owner immediately retorted a threat of "pulling" the Dragons' 2026 first round draft pick, Ledger ignored it.

"How about a magic trick?" Ledger said instead.

Placing a single sheet of paper on the table, clearly marking the millions of dollars the Detroit Lions had been losing every year, Ledger said: "I'm going to make this red ink disappear."

Then, every cell phone in the room rang simultaneously. It was a simple file texted to every owner. In it … records that the Des Moines Dragons sold 20,000 season tickets to Joker Field by the time the expansion draft had concluded. Sold 40,000 before the weekend was out. Records that over 87 million people had reacted to the draft on Joker.com. And finally, within the first week, the Des Moines Dragons had sold its maximum allowable 60,000 season tickets to a 65,000-seat stadium that hadn't even been built yet, leaving only 5,000 available tickets to the general public for game day.

"Ta-da! It's … it's gone," Ledger said.

"Oh, and by the way," he continued. "The publicity stunt wasn't cheap. You ought to know," and here he drew a paper from his purple suit coat documenting the NFL owners' vote agreeing to the expansion draft rules. "You bought it."

An AFC North owner reportedly stood in a show of bravado, but another owner said, "Sit. I want to hear what he has to say for himself."

"Let's wind the clocks back a decade," Ledger said. "NCAA football couldn't touch any of you. I mean, what happened? Were your balls deflated? Hm? You see, a guy like me–

"A freak," came a condescending comment from somewhere in the room.

"A guy like me … look, listen," Ledger said, losing patience. "I know why you choose to have your little, ahem, 'group-therapy' sessions in Dallas. I know why you're afraid to look at the ratings. The NCAA. See, the NCAA has shown fans your true colors, unfortunately. Detroit, it's just the beginning."

Then, referring to one of the owners on teleconference, Ledger said, "And as for the TV's plans to 'boost' your fanbase, the NCAA is everywhere."

"What do you propose?" asked an owner.

"It's simple. We, uh, kill the NCAA's monopoly on fans."

"If it's so simple, why haven't you done it already?"

"I already have."

"You're crazy," said the AFC North owner.

"No," Ledger said with a menacing glare. "No. I'm. Not. If we don't deal with this soon, little Green Bay here won't be able to get a nickel for his grandma."

"Enough from the clown!" protested an attendee.

"All right. So, listen, why don't you give me a call when you want to start taking things a little more seriously?" Ledger said. Then he threw down on the table the Joker from a Bicycle deck. "Here's my card."

And he walked out of Dallas a free man …