[revrew]

Tom Benson sold 49% of the Saints to Jeffrey Davis. Then, one year later, Benson GAVE Davis an additional, controlling 2% in the team. That was my first indication that I was no longer in the inner sanctum of Davis' outrageous plans. I don't know what Davis had on Benson to blackmail him, but I'm certain that's what happened. I can't help but wonder, too, what made commishioner Tagliabue so quickly bullrush the approval through. All I knew was that Jeffrey Davis was the new owner of the Saints, that no one seemed capable of stopping his plans, and that--thanks to Keaton Graves--the public adored Davis as the new savior, not just for the Saints, but for Southern pride, black pride, San Antonio pride, Republican pride, and cat-owner's pride (yes, Graves had his tentacles into every segment of the population. If there was a magazine, newsletter, or blog that had something in common with Jeffrey Davis, then positive discussion on Davis was sure to find its way into the pages).

Davis would need the P.R. capital for his next move, the one he ordered me in to help with.

The NFL rules normally state that a team has to demonstrate negative local reaction (such as a failed stadium proposal) before a franchise can move to a different city. "Draw up a stadium proposal," Davis told me.

"But the people of New Orleans can't afford stadium renovations now," I protested, "they're still cleaning up. There's no money for it."

"Yes, exactly. This much is obvious to anyone, even Tagliabue. Surely he will see the wisdom in forgoing the bad P.R. a stadium proposal would make. But at the same time, the Saints cannot play in the damaged SuperDome. That facility should be put to good use, but a football team is not a good use. The Saints will have to move."

"We can use the SuperDome," I said.

"No. No we can't. We won't. That's that. Draw up the proposal. We're moving to Birmingham."

That's when I told Davis he couldn't tell me what to do. That's when I discovered I had no choice.