There’s a mystique about football played on rugs under a concrete sky. From a sufficient distance it is resplendent in its furious pace, wide open action, and those quivering dasher boards after a hard hit, so you think, hey why not? Worst case, it’s just one night. But you’re bewitched by the possibility that it can grow into a meaningful relationship to carry you through the summer, so you are drawn in.
For many, that journey often leads to disappointment. Under the lustrous guise of a professional sport, you find a game saturated with an amateurism that has tarnished your infatuation. You wonder how you got this far off the road of mainstream sports. You’ve worn a tux to a tractor pull, and now you feel duped.
It’s the classic definition of a ‘fifty yarder’: pretty from afar, but far from pretty up close. It’s only fitting that it should be played on a field of similar dimension. Well, we don’t think it has to be this way. That’s why we’re here: to reclaim arena football’s first-night beauty by distilling it drop by drop from the solution in which it has been diluted.
This game is more than just a football holdover until Labor Day. It has a uniqueness and pageantry all its own, and we’re here to celebrate it. But we’re also here to call it on the carpet (pun intended), to hold those who pull it back to the mean accountable, whether they are wearing cleats or a headset, sitting in a front office or behind a camera.
We don’t beat-write, we don’t retread news items. We’ll offer analysis and critical commentary, and we’ll express opinions – sometimes responsibly, other times emotionally. You are free to do the same.
Fifty Yarder: 