Fear and Loathing in Canton, Ohio

Written By Ronny Salerno

There’s a recurring theme within the pages of Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail. In flashbacks to a San Francisco motel room, Dr. Thompson wildly balances a bottle of bourbon and a microphone as he dictates his thoughts into a tape recorder. Meanwhile, his editor Alan Rinzler listens on and asks clarifying questions to keep “Dr. Gonzo” focused. Working on a tight deadline, the pair had settled on this method because it was more practical than waiting for Thompson to sit at a typewriter between various bouts of inebriation. The closest I’ve ever come to living out anything similar is here and now: typing incessantly until it’s time to shout a semi-coherent collection of thoughts across the room and await Lammi’s response. He’s the one serving as my editor in this moment, the one who can confirm if I’m getting the facts of the last few hours correct, as well as, the status of our dinner.

But unlike Hunter S. Thompson, I’m not brilliant. And also unlike Hunter S. Thompson, I’m not a devoted fan of American football. It’s because of that sport, however, that Lammi and I have found ourselves here at this DoubleTree by Hilton, fresh off the whirlwind of having attended the Super Bowl. So, while we await the delivery of nearly $50 in gas station food, and as Lammi struggles to stay awake, allow me to share with you our story. Our Midwestern summer imitation of Thompson and Rinzler:

“Fear and Loathing in Canton, Ohio.”

 

I didn’t know that the USFL existed until a few weeks ago when a good friend who’s government name is Ryan Lammi (but who everyone just calls “Lammi”) made me aware of the professional football league. Well, that’s not entirely true. I knew of the USFL, just not this particular version of it.

You see, the original United States Football League disappeared after a brief, yet moderately successful run in the 1980s. Unlike the numerous renegade professional sports leagues of the 1970s who had sought to rival the traditional institutions of baseball, hockey, and basketball—the USFL had attempted to be an alternative to the status quo. Playing in the spring and summer when the longstanding traditions of the National Football League and college football were out of season, the original USFL had made some big signings while finding traction at the box office and on television screens. A later leadership shakeup, organized by future reality TV star and US President Donald Trump, would eventually cause the league to dramatically shift its strategy to a fall schedule in direct opposition of the NFL. Before that first autumn season could even kick off, the USFL was dead and gone with nothing left to show for it except a check for $3.76 and a fantastic “30 for 30” documentary from ESPN.

Those three USFL seasons would end up being the most successful version of professional “spring football” to date. Nearly four decades later, as Lammi and I rolled along the interstates of Ohio, I treated him to a brief history of the many other failed spring leagues that had popped up in the years following the OG USFL’s demise.

Examples such as…

Media executives have long lusted after the notion of trying to create another NFL for the spring. They’ll tell you that it’s all in support of this good natured belief, a longstanding tradition of America’s true pastime—the grit and glory of the gridiron—but the truth is that football typically produces large television audiences. And those audiences can be used to garner advertising dollars. American football is, after all, a very popular game which in turn allows it to be an incredibly lucrative and marketable product. Yet, only the original USFL had ever managed to pull off a spring version with any sort of respectable achievement.

Until 2022 apparently.

When they’d done it once more!

At least it seemed that way as Lammi focused on the road and not on my tales of defunct football leagues.

It had all come down to this: a new version of the USFL that had been heralded as a “relaunch.” An appeal to a certain generation’s rosy view of the past. The reality, however, was that this current crop of investors and venture capitalists had just bought the rights to all of the supposedly nostalgic branding and trademarks of the 1980s. Still, as Lammi and I traveled to the modern USFL’s inaugural title game, we agreed that credit should be given where credit was due. Even if no one really remembered the Los Angeles Express or the Jacksonville Bulls of old, the new league had come this far. To hell, we said, with the NFL and its annual championship game. In our opinions, this was the real deal.

The true Super Bowl.

On this day, there was more at stake than every Buffalo Wild Wings bro’s fantasy football bets. Getting through this game would mean that USFL 2.0 had successfully achieved a rare feat: the completion of a full, professional spring football season. And even if it folded a few days later, at least I’d have yet another defunct sports league to read about on Wikipedia while distracting myself in the middle of the night from the impending sense of doom that’s derived from the world around us continuing to edge further into collapse.

We pressed on to Canton with hope in our hearts.

It had all come down to this.

Canton skyline.

After checking into the DoubleTree by Hilton, I relaxed while watching “Fifty Shades of Grey” on basic cable. As Ana searched her heart to determine her feelings for Christian, Lammi searched for something to do before we headed to the stadium.

Fifty Shades of Grey was the only thing on despite the hotel having fifty channels of basic cable.

In that moment, I wasn’t sure what had me more annoyed: Ana’s indecisiveness or Lammi’s indecisiveness. I mean, the guy had gotten us this far, how could he not just get us a few more miles down the road? But, alas, much like the USFL’s social media employee who’d created the Twitter ads that had made us aware of, and lured us to, the Super Bowl—I had to do all the god damn work. After plunging into my archives of Ohio’s cultural landmarks, I called an Uber and we set about the town.

Our driver was a local who made us aware of two things:

1) What the signature dish was at our destination

and

2) Her previous career as an undercover cop

We were now dutifully informed and up to speed on the local narcotics scene, as well as, what to order at Woody’s Root Beer Stand. Lammi had taken the former detective turned driver’s advice, but sitting here typing all this out, I’ve forgotten just what the hell that was…

• • •

“The ‘world famous’ Creamed Chicken Sandwich,” he says from across the hotel room after I’ve awoken him from his slumber.

“It tasted like cream of chicken soup on a sandwich. Wasn’t anything more or less,” he adds while attempting to drift back off.

• • •

I’d opted for just a simple chili dog because who really knew what was in that creamy concoction. It had all come down to this and I was planning to enjoy the Super Bowl, not the stadium’s restrooms.

Woody’s Root Beer Stand.

The “World Famous” Cream of Chicken Sandwich.

• • •

Speaking of food, real quick, and while Lammi’s somewhat conscious at this moment: let’s check in on this evening’s dinner.

“The Doordasher says Sheetz is way behind and that we should cancel the order, but the app won’t let me. Looking like 2 AM now,” says Lammi.

Well, it seems we have some time. So, back to the story at hand…

• • •

With root beer in our bellies and sweat beginning to bleed through the oversized American flag shirt I’d once purchased at a Florida thrift store, there was still time to kill and more importantly: plenty of Canton to experience. Not yet satisfied with our sampling of local cuisine, we meandered off in the direction of a food truck. Granted, we knew that there wouldn’t be much open on the late Sunday afternoon of a holiday weekend in a small town, but we still trusted our digital overlords at Google. Via their maps, they’d told us that Stark County’s top rated taco truck would be open on Fourth of July eve, and, that there was a reasonable walking route to its location.

Who really needs sidewalks anyways?

After half an hour spent traipsing through the overgrown grass and sidewalk-less path beneath the interstate, we arrived at a closed eatery.

Now, we were just two guys in a gravel lot left to ponder the fate we’d been dealt.

“Where are we?” I asked Lammi.

“We are somewhere,” he aptly replied, before a notification on his phone shook him to his core.

“Ronny, I’ve got some bad news,” he muttered.

“The game’s cancelled because the league folded?” I asked, not really kidding.

“No, this is much worse,” he replied. “According to my Dad, we’re missing out on Smash Mouth playing at Mason, Ohio’s ‘Red, Rhythm, and Boom’ festival.’”

That text had confirmed that the “world” had “just rolled us.” A reminder that we weren’t the “sharpest tools in the shed.” But still, it didn’t “make sense not to live for fun” even if our “brains got smart,” but our “heads got dumb.”

As we took stock of our feelings and remembered the wise words of former Smash Mouth frontman Steve Harwell, hope arrived on the horizon like a mirage in a Midwestern desert. The top two professional football teams in America that day, the Baltimore Stallions and the Philadelphia Stars, galloped and shone brightly into town. Their buses were being escorted by the red, white, and blue lights of the local sheriff’s department. In due time—“primetime” one might say—these two teams would duke it out on the Fox network. It had all come down to this. If one of those teams could accumulate more points than the other that evening, there’d be a sure winner. Our excitement returned, but there was still time to waste until the Super Bowl truly began.

Our heroes arrive.

Thankfully, Google had been somewhat correct about one thing: the slot car “museum” across the street was open. It was more of a club, though, a place that had been in continuous operation for about as long as Lammi and I had been walking this earth. Here, fans of miniature model cars convened to socialize, work on projects, and race against each other. As the owner kindly toured us around the tiny tracks, we learned a startling truth.

Slot car racing tracks at Mark’s Model World.

Although slot cars were apparently once the “fastest growing hobby sport” in America, bowling conglomerates AMF and Brunswick had supposedly joined forces back in the day to strike slot car parlors down. To push the pastime into the gutter and spare no miniature racing fans.

Slot cars on display at Mark’s Model World.

We wanted to delve into the conspiracy further, but big games like the Super Bowl create big appetites. It had all comes down to this and the siren song of ice cream was calling to us. So, we took our leave of the slot car situation and headed across the street to the Kustard Korner.

So many options and Lammi just gets chocolate/vanilla swirl.

As Smash Mouth once pondered: “what’s wrong with taking the back streets?” And streets we did indeed take. Because there were still no sidewalks to be found as we strolled through a local neighborhood with only a few hours to go before kickoff. Walking off our ice cream calories and searching for the only pedestrian accessible entrance to the stadium, I proclaimed to Lammi: “Electricity is in the air!”

“That’s probably just those low hanging power lines,” he replied with no real appreciation for the moment.

Low hanging power lines (and no sidewalks) in a Canton neighborhood.

Perhaps the good lord, or the ghost of football legend Vince Lombardi, knew that we’d walked so much already, and, that we’d end up walking even more later in the evening (we “might as well” have been “walking on the sun,” you could say). Maybe it was his divine intervention that sent an angel with a chariot.

“You guys want a ride?” the divine being asked.

Electricity hadn’t just been in the air, it was also in our savior’s vehicle. We hopped aboard his golf cart and assumed, but never really clarified, that this man was headed to the stadium.

A golf cart Good Samaritan.

Thankfully, he was. Although, it was primarily to scope out the parking situation. If this game drew a solid crowd (and how could it not, this was the Super Bowl after all), his front lawn would become a very lucrative business opportunity. A place where late arriving, desperate drivers could grab a parking spot after the main lots had met their capacity. As it turned out: things were looking good for both the USFL and our chauffeur. We dropped him a tip, bid our farewells, and finally entered football’s hallowed grounds. It had all come down to this.

The Pro Football Hall of Fame adjacent to the stadium.

In Northeast Ohio about an hour south of Cleveland, Canton is the home of modern, organized professional American football. It was there in 1920 when the National Football League was officially formed. An initiative spearheaded by teams of the Ohio League, specifically the Canton Bulldogs. The residents of Canton were the ones who eventually lobbied the NFL, and raised funds, to build the Hall of Fame in their community. Over the years, the complex has grown into a massive development which features Tom Benson Hall of Fame Stadium directly adjacent to the main museum—an attraction that honors most of professional football, not just the NFL. On the evening we arrived, history was going to be made next to where history lived. Wanting to forever savor the moment, we immediately grabbed our free, commemorative t-shirts while arguing over which team to support.

Can’t speak for Lammi who’s pictured here, but I’m willing to sell my t-shirt to any interested buyers.

Lammi had planned to throw his emotional weight behind the Philadelphia Stars. I was going with THE Baltimore Stallions. Lammi reasoned that Philly needed his loyalty because the Stallions had benefitted from home field advantage for an entire season.

You see, in order to save money, the USFL had played every regular season game in Birmingham, Alabama with the Stallions really being the only true “home” team.

It was at this point in our day that I realized I’d been talking about the wrong team all day. The BALTIMORE Stallions were a short-lived Canadian Football League team that had played in the States for a few years during the 1990s (and their story makes for a wonderful late night Wikipedia binge for when you feel the world caving in). The BIRMINGHAM Stallions were the squad playing today in Canton.

I’d rather be wrong than side with a dirty Stars fan like Lammi, though, so I stuck with my horse-themed heroes.

As we waited for the festivities to begin, we waltzed around the stadium to take in the Super Bowl atmosphere. We found two things to be quite surprising:

1) That the game was drawing a really good crowd with a steady stream of fans lined up at the gates

and

2) That the stadium advertised a “fan favorite” beef-n-cheddar sandwich

The USFL was challenging spring football stereotypes. The stadium was challenging Arby’s.

Wrong sport, but fun for the kids.

After snagging a pair of upper deck general admissions seats, we settled in for the pre-game entertainment. The local high school’s drumline performed before both team’s cheerleaders joined forces for a dance choreographed to one-third of Bob Seeger’s “Old Time Rock and Roll.” It was at that moment we realized the second conspiracy of the day. With all eight teams having played every regular season game in Birmingham, had the league really contracted eight different cheerleader squads?

Or…

Had they just hired one squad who’d then split into two groups for each game and donn the uniforms of whichever teams happened to be playing on a particular day? It’s one thing to recruit football players who still wanna chase the dream of “pro ball,” but how many cheerleaders could you realistically get for this venture? What would that conversation even be like?

“So, you’re going to work in Alabama all Spring.”

— “Neat! Down on the gulf by the beaches and ocean?”

“Well, uh, actually…a few hours away from all that, but once summer rolls around you get to go to Canton, Ohio.”

— “Oh, cool! Cleveland!?”

“No. Worse.”

The dreaded Philadelphia Stars take the field.

We didn’t get too far into unraveling the mystery before the video boards demanded everyone’s attention. Through the speakers, a narrator read over the league’s alternative rules. The one’s that the NFL is too afraid to use because then their games might actually be enjoyable, entertaining, and fun. After each rule change video concluded, the announcer would loudly and proudly remind us all that: “THIS. IS. THE. U. S. F. L.” And then there’d be one of those really fast, unintelligible legal disclaimers like it was a commercial for erectile dysfunction medication with dangerous side effects. “If this football game lasts longer than four hours, seek medical help immediately.”

“He [the narrator] sounds like he’s trying to sell me lottery tickets,” Lammi mused.

“If I hit the lottery maybe I could afford to be friends with someone else besides an awful Philly Stars fan,” I both thought and sternly expressed to him.

There was little time to dream of better company, though, because soon the national anthem was sung and the coin toss was completed. Despite featuring a red, white, and blue logo and bearing the name of the greatest nation on God’s green earth—the United States Football League’s Super Bowl didn’t feature a flyover. Not that it mattered, really. We were sure that the halftime show would more than make up for it.

The Super Bowl drew a packed house, including these fans who made a sign in support of the Stars’ mascot who’s apparently named “Blob.”

It had all come down to this. The Stallions kicked off to the Stars, the crowd roared, and the stadium speakers kept making announcements for a lost child. Was Tyler ever reunited with his family? We assumed so since eventually the beckoning subsided. The audience was then treated to off-brand music such as an instrumental, slightly changed version of that Puff Daddy/Led Zepplin mashup that had been made for the 1999 Godzilla film starring Matthew Broderick.

There was plenty of time to discuss the rules and regulations of commercial music rights because the Super Bowl moved very, very slowly. Thanks to being broadcast on network television, “TV timeouts” abounded. We understood that anyone who’d stumbled across this game at home and then subsequently dropped their remote out of reach most definitely needed to know that Applebees is where one can in fact “eat good” in “the neighborhood.” However, in person at Tom Benson Hall of Fame Stadium, the action was slower than an Applebee’s server who’s intentionally taking their time to bring you another round of “dollaritas.”

Ultimately, the USFL needed to make money by using a mix of traditional tactics like advertising, and innovating with new ideas such as cryptocurrency and NFT’s. One of the league’s big promotions at the Super Bowl was the use of Non Fungible Tokens. What exactly is an NFT? Neither of us could’ve told you and I’ve never been convinced to care no matter how many Elon Musk fans on Twitter whine about the things losing their inflated value. Although, if the USFL wasn’t going to make it after this season and there was only one souvenir that could beautifully sum up its brief existence in that year of our Lord 2022: it HAD to be an NFT. So, Lammi and I acquiesced and set up our first crypto accounts, scanning the scoreboard QR code to register for our exclusive USFL commemorative NFTs. The confirmation screen said we’d get them in two weeks.

Eventually, our conversation drifted back to speculation over the halftime show. Who would we be treated to? A true patriot such as Kid Rock or Lee Greenwood? Some real rockers like the Limp Biscuits? Or someone with a positive, uplifting message such as Michael W. Smith? As the second quarter concluded—and with Smashmouth already having been eliminated as a possible option—it had all come down this.

All we ended up getting, however, was another performance by the cheerleader conspiracy crew.

But hell, it didn’t matter. The USFL is all about the game! America’s game! This league wasn’t about politics, celebrities, or commercialism. No one here was trying to attack the values of good hearted, God-fearing, flag waving, 2022 Best-In-Class Chevy Silverado with Multi-Flex Tailgate™ driving football fans! I mean, gosh darn it: the only kneeling we even saw was for pregame prayers!

THIS.

WAS.

THE.

U.

S.

F.

L.

And this was the Super Bowl.

All kidding aside: the game drew a large, invested crowd to a beautiful stadium.

We concluded halftime by indulging in nachos, popcorn, and a few Coors Lights. We totally forgot about that “beef-n-cheddar” situation.

• • •

Uh, Christ, hang on a second. Where the hell is that DoorDash order?

“Probably another hour, the estimated time keeps getting longer,” Lammi says from across the room.

If Sheetz didn’t want two idiots ordering Oreo milkshakes, mozzarella sticks, deep fried Mac-n-cheese bites, pizza, and jalapeño poppers this late at night—they really shouldn’t make it available. Frankly, this is on them, not us.

Anyways…

• • •

In the second half, everything went crazy. My Stallions missed a field goal while the Stars snagged back-to-back touchdowns to pull ahead by three. There were interceptions and incredible plays as Baltimore regained the lead only for Philadelphia to jump back within striking distance.

“It had all come down to this and we were glued to the action…”

…is what I would’ve said had we been paying attention to anything on the field, but we were pretty distracted. As 20,000 fans watched with anticipation, we poured over our phones like the selfish millennials we are. We’d gotten word that there was this really cool local bar known for great hot dogs, but it would be closing at 11 PM. So, at around 10 PM with the Super Bowl still pretty much anyone’s game, we left in search of dinner.

Rare photo of an actual sidewalk in Canton, Ohio.

Neither Uber nor Lyft would respond and we very quickly found ourselves once again on foot. As the interstate echoed on one side and holiday fireworks boomed on the other, there’d be no golf cart good samaritans to save us this time. After walking beneath the highway and around a cemetery, we found ourselves in a neighborhood which continued to highlight Canton’s lack of interest in pedestrian safety. That city loves football, but apparently really hates sidewalks.

No sidewalk here, just gravel.

Earlier in the day we didn’t want to spend $30 a piece to visit the Pro Football Hall of Fame. But if someone had said that our admission cost would’ve gone towards repairing the city’s sidewalks, we would’ve forked over the cash immediately.

Seriously, what’s the deal?

“Wanna go somewhere in CANTON? Well, you CAN’T ON sidewalks!”

I was apparently so proud of this joke in the moment, that I wrote it down three times in my notes.

Downtown Canton.

Two and a half miles later, we found a bar that not only had its hot dog kitchen closed, but was apparently shutting down its taps for the evening as well. Still, the proprietors took pity on two tired football fans and poured us a few as they prepared to close up. A regular sitting at the other end of the bar told us two things:

1) How good the hot dogs we couldn’t get were

and

2) That apparently the Super Bowl had featured an insanely exciting ending

The Stallions had done it. They were Super Bowl champs, the pride of Baltimore! After hearing this news, Lammi and I sipped our drinks in silence. We both knew in that moment that there was nothing left to say. We’d just experienced the Super Bowl. What else could there ever be for two super friends to do?

The best beers are paid for by sad Stars fans such as Lammi.

We then made one final jaunt back towards our hotel. Nearing the DoubleTree by Hilton, one of those goofy tricycle motorcycles drove by, revving its midlife crisis motor and blaring Daniel Powter’s 2005 smash hit from the stereo: “YOU HAD A BAD DAY!”

But you know what?

We most definitely hadn’t.

We’d just been to the Super Bowl. And evidently so had everyone else at the 330 Bar & Grill, a hotel watering hole that had stayed open late on a Sunday night so that all of us could gather around and toast to a successful spring football season. Would the league be back next year? All of us clanking our Budweiser bottles seemed to think so and it’s that kind of positivity I choose to channel now. As I once again yell at Lammi and ask about our DoorDash order.

• • •

“Almost here,” he says.

• • •

Two hours later, we finally had our food.

And two days later, the USFL folded.

We never got our NFT’s.

Thanks to Ryan Lammi for bring a good friend that both travels and puts up with me (and who orders Sheetz).

EDIT: Ok, I wrote the “league folded” line because I just assumed that’s what was going to happen, but as of this publishing—the league is apparently all set to go for a second season. We still haven’t received our NFT’s, though.

EDIT 2: Figured out the NFT thing. Here it is…

…please don’t screen shot or right click + “save as.”

 

CLOSING NOTE: All sarcasm and hyperbole aside, Canton is a really cool town and we had a blast. Special thanks to everyone we met, especially the bartenders at Milestone and the folks at Mark’s Model World for their hospitality. If the third version of the XFL holds their championship game in Canton next year, we’ll be back for sure…

…when “it” has once again “all comes down to this.”

Also: shout out to Bob Brumberg for his help with this story—listening intently as I attempted to read a draft out loud while downing several creamsicle flavored cocktails.

Since 2007, the content of this website (and its former life as Queen City Discovery) has been a huge labor of love.

If you’ve enjoyed stories like The Ghost Ship, abandoned amusement parks, the Cincinnati Subway, Fading Ads, or others (like this nonsensical story about spring football) over the years—might you consider showing some support for future projects? 

Ronny Salerno https://ronnysalerno.com
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