Before Politics, There Was the USFL
Long before Donald Trump became president, he was already showing the public a style that would later become familiar on a much larger stage. In the early 1980s, that stage was professional football. Trump owned the New Jersey Generals of the United States Football League, better known as the USFL. The league played in the spring and was trying to establish itself as a serious alternative to the NFL. It attracted major college stars, veteran professionals, television contracts, and wealthy owners willing to spend money. Trump entered that world with exactly what people would later expect from him: confidence, publicity, big promises, and an appetite for winning. He wanted the Generals to become the league’s glamour franchise. He signed famous players and pushed aggressively for changes he believed would increase the league’s value. Some people thought that energy might help the USFL challenge the NFL. Others eventually believed Trump’s strategy helped push a vulnerable league toward collapse. The whole story is worth revisiting because football became an early laboratory for a leadership style America would see again decades later.
Doug Flutie Was the Biggest Name in College Football
Doug Flutie came out of Boston College as one of the most famous college football players in America. He had won the 1984 Heisman Trophy and became nationally known after his famous last-second touchdown pass against Miami. Flutie was exciting because he could improvise when a play broke down. He was also only about five-foot-ten, which made NFL scouts question whether his style could translate to professional football. Those doubts did not make him untalented. They made him unconventional. Trump saw something else entirely because Flutie was marketable. He was young, handsome, famous, and already connected to one of the most dramatic plays in college football history. Put him in a backfield with Herschel Walker and suddenly the Generals had two recent Heisman winners generating national attention. To Trump, that publicity had enormous value.
The Coach Wanted Something Different
Walt Michaels, the Generals’ head coach, reportedly did not share Trump’s enthusiasm about making Flutie the centerpiece of the offense. Michaels had already worked with veteran quarterback Brian Sipe and was comfortable with a more traditional approach. According to later reporting, Michaels believed Randall Cunningham would have been a better fit if the team wanted a young college quarterback. Cunningham was taller, exceptionally athletic, and would eventually become one of the NFL’s most dynamic quarterbacks. Michaels reportedly tried to explain the football reasoning behind his preference. Trump wanted Flutie anyway. That difference tells us something important about how owners and coaches can see the same decision differently. The coach was thinking about scheme, development, and what kind of quarterback fit his offense. The owner was also thinking about headlines, visibility, star power, and what the signing would say about his franchise. Trump owned the team, so his preference won.
The Contract Was Enormous
In early 1985, Flutie agreed to a deal commonly reported at roughly five years and $7 million. At the time, the contract was believed capable of making him the highest-paid player in professional football and the highest-paid rookie in American professional sports. That was serious money in 1985. The deal generated exactly the attention Trump wanted. Newspapers covered it nationally. Television followed Flutie into training camp. The Generals promoted their new quarterback as a major attraction. Trump understood that buying celebrity could buy publicity even before anybody knew whether the football decision would work. That instinct became part of his public identity long before politics. He knew the value of getting people to talk about something. The question was whether attention and football success would turn out to be the same thing.
Brian Sipe Had Already Been There
The strange part was that the Generals were not entering 1985 without a capable quarterback. Brian Sipe had already been their starter and had once been the NFL’s Most Valuable Player with the Cleveland Browns. During the 1984 USFL season, Sipe helped New Jersey finish 14–4. The Generals were therefore not a desperate football team searching for anybody who could throw a pass. Trump wanted something more dramatic. After Flutie arrived, Sipe was traded to the Jacksonville Bulls. That move removed any real question about who would become the face of the offense. Michaels could talk about letting Flutie develop slowly, but a quarterback receiving that much money and publicity was not going to sit quietly for long. Contemporary coverage noticed the contradiction immediately. Trump had bought a star, and stars are expected to play.
Flutie Struggled, but Calling Him Terrible Goes Too Far
The viral version of this story sometimes says Flutie simply “sucked” with the Generals, but that description goes farther than the numbers justify. His passing statistics were uneven. Flutie completed only about 48 percent of his passes for 2,109 yards, 13 touchdowns, and 14 interceptions in 15 games. Those were not elite numbers. He also rushed for 465 yards and six touchdowns, which demonstrated the improvisational ability that had made him special in college. He suffered a broken collarbone late in the season. The Generals still finished 11–7 and reached the playoffs. Herschel Walker, not Flutie, was the team’s biggest offensive force and rushed for a professional football record 2,411 yards that season. So Flutie’s rookie year was disappointing relative to the enormous contract and publicity, but it was not evidence that he could not play professional football. His later success in Canada and the NFL would settle that question.
The System Was Not Built Around His Strengths
There was also a football problem beyond Flutie’s individual ability. Michaels preferred a traditional running offense and often wanted his quarterback operating from the pocket. Flutie was at his best moving around, improvising, rolling outside, and creating opportunities when the original structure broke down. Contemporary analysis pointed directly to that conflict. A shorter quarterback becomes especially vulnerable when forced to stand behind much taller offensive and defensive linemen. Flutie’s mobility helped compensate for that disadvantage. If the coaching philosophy limits the thing that makes a player unusual, the player can begin looking worse than he actually is. That does not excuse mistakes or poor throws. It simply means talent and system have to fit each other. Trump had bought the player he wanted without necessarily buying the offensive philosophy needed to maximize him. That is another business lesson hidden inside the football story.
Then Trump Wanted Help Paying for Flutie
One of the most remarkable moments came after Trump had already made the expensive signing. In April 1985, he asked other USFL owners to provide partial reimbursement for Flutie’s contract. Trump’s side argued that Flutie benefited the entire league because his fame increased publicity. A spokesman using the name John Barron said other owners had encouraged Trump to pursue Flutie for the good of the USFL. Trump therefore believed they should help cover the cost. I can understand the logic from one narrow business perspective because a league-wide attraction can create benefits beyond one franchise. But there was an obvious problem. Trump had made the decision, signed the contract, received the publicity, and controlled the player. Now he wanted competitors to share the expense. Not surprisingly, other owners were not eager to subsidize the Generals’ payroll. The episode showed how Trump could frame one of his own aggressive decisions as something everybody else should financially support.
John Barron Became Part of the Story
The name John Barron would later become famous for reasons extending far beyond football. Trump used “John Barron” as a pseudonym when speaking with reporters, presenting Barron as a Trump Organization spokesman or executive. During the USFL period, statements attributed to Barron appeared in reporting about Trump’s dealings. The technique allowed Trump to talk about himself while sounding as though another person inside his organization were offering the praise or explanation. That is extraordinary when viewed from today’s distance. Publicity was not merely something that happened to Trump. He actively managed and shaped it. He understood that stories about Trump were valuable whether the stories involved real estate, football, celebrity, or controversy. The media itself became part of the business strategy. That lesson became central to virtually everything he later did. The USFL was one of the places where that style became visible.
The League Was Already in Trouble
It is important not to blame every USFL problem on Donald Trump because the league was financially unstable before it collapsed. Teams were losing large amounts of money. Some owners spent aggressively on stars without developing enough revenue to support those payrolls. The Los Angeles Express became one dramatic example after signing Steve Young to a huge contract and later falling into serious financial trouble. The league as a whole reportedly lost more than $100 million during its first two seasons. Some franchises folded, merged, moved, or were taken over. That instability matters because a healthy sports league does not disappear simply because one owner makes bad decisions. The USFL contained structural problems from the beginning. But Trump pushed one of the most consequential strategic changes the league eventually adopted. He wanted spring football to become fall football and challenge the NFL directly.
Spring Football Was the Original Advantage
The USFL’s original idea was actually pretty clever. The NFL owned the fall. Instead of fighting the giant directly, the new league would play during the spring when football fans had fewer alternatives. That gave television networks programming during another part of the year. It gave football fans games when the NFL season was over. It also allowed the league to build its own identity rather than asking customers to choose between USFL and NFL games every Sunday. Some franchises developed respectable followings under that model. Trump disliked the idea of permanently remaining the smaller spring league. He believed moving to the fall would force the NFL to confront the USFL. His larger goal appeared to involve either a merger, a financial settlement, or an opportunity for some USFL franchises to join the NFL. From an aggressive business perspective, he was trying to create leverage. The danger was that the USFL was placing its survival against a vastly stronger opponent.
John Bassett Saw the Danger
John Bassett, owner of the Tampa Bay Bandits, became one of the strongest opponents of Trump’s fall strategy. Bassett believed the league should continue building itself as spring football rather than trying to fight the NFL head-on. He had already built successful sports enterprises and understood how difficult the financial battle could become. The disagreement between Bassett and Trump became deeply personal. Bassett eventually wrote Trump a remarkable letter complaining about the way Trump treated fellow owners and league officials who disagreed with him. He accused Trump of personally denigrating people who refused to salute and dance to his tune. Then Bassett warned that if Trump personally scorned him again, he would punch him in the mouth. He closed that extraordinary letter with “kindest personal regards.” The wording was almost funny, but the dispute underneath it was serious. Bassett believed Trump’s style was alienating the very partners whose cooperation the league needed in order to survive.
Leadership and Humiliation Do Not Mix Well
That Bassett letter says something about leadership that extends far beyond football. A strong leader will encounter disagreement. The question is whether disagreement becomes information or insult. If everybody who challenges the leader gets humiliated, people eventually stop challenging bad ideas. They may remain quiet even when they see danger ahead. That can create a room full of agreement without creating a room full of wisdom. Bassett was warning Trump that his treatment of other owners was damaging relationships. He was essentially saying that partnership requires respecting people who do not automatically follow your lead. Whether one agrees with Bassett’s strategy or Trump’s, that principle matters. A league made up of independent owners could not function like one man’s private company. Cooperation was not optional.
Bassett Died Before the League Collapsed
Bassett became seriously ill with cancer and died in May 1986. The USFL’s planned fall season never happened. That timing helped transform Bassett into something of a symbol for the road the league did not take. Supporters of spring football could later say that the strongest defender of that model had been pushed aside by illness and death just as Trump’s strategy became dominant. I would be cautious about saying Trump literally “stepped over Bassett’s corpse” because that language is interpretation rather than historical fact. But Trump certainly did not retreat from his own strategy after Bassett was gone. He continued presenting the league’s problems through his own understanding of what other owners had done wrong. Years later, Trump wrote that his greatest USFL miscalculation had been overestimating the strength of his fellow owners. That tells you how he interpreted the collapse. The failure remained, in his telling, largely a failure of other people’s weakness rather than his own strategy.
The Move to Fall Was a Gamble
After the 1984 season, USFL owners voted to move their schedule to the fall beginning in 1986. That put the league on a collision course with the NFL. Moving also endangered the television arrangements supporting the USFL’s spring existence. The plan increasingly depended upon legal action against the NFL. If the USFL could win a massive antitrust judgment, the financial award might rescue the league. Alternatively, enough pressure might force some kind of merger or settlement. Those possibilities made the strategy attractive to owners willing to gamble. But gambling is exactly what it was. The league was no longer depending primarily upon fans, television ratings, and normal sports economics. It was increasingly depending upon a courtroom producing a transformative outcome. That is a dangerous place for any business to find itself.
Then Came the NFL Lawsuit
The USFL sued the NFL for antitrust violations. Trump became one of the most visible forces behind the litigation. The league argued that the NFL had monopolized professional football and prevented the USFL from obtaining the television opportunities it needed to compete. The trial lasted weeks and generated thousands of pages of testimony and evidence. Trump testified. NFL Commissioner Pete Rozelle testified. Television executives, owners, and other major figures became involved. Then something almost unbelievable happened. The jury found that the NFL had indeed maintained monopoly power in professional football. The USFL technically won part of its case. But the jury awarded only one dollar in damages.
Three Dollars and a Dead League
Under antitrust law, that one dollar was automatically trebled to three dollars. The league had gambled much of its future on litigation and walked away with less money than a fast-food lunch cost even in 1986. The symbolic victory could not pay salaries. It could not fund franchises. It could not create a television contract. The planned fall season was suspended, and the USFL never returned. Saying Trump alone “killed” the league oversimplifies a complicated failure involving unstable owners, excessive spending, weak finances, and other strategic problems. But sports historians and former owners have repeatedly identified his push toward fall football and confrontation with the NFL as a major factor in the league’s demise. The Generals themselves had actually been competitive under Trump. The larger strategic gamble was where the consequences became enormous. Sometimes winning the argument is meaningless if the victory destroys the thing you were trying to save.
Hundreds of Players Lost Their League
When business stories are told through owners and lawsuits, ordinary workers can disappear from the narrative. The USFL employed football players, coaches, trainers, equipment workers, administrative employees, stadium staff, and others trying to make a living. Some players eventually moved into the NFL or Canadian Football League. Others never received another comparable professional opportunity. For them, the league’s collapse was not a fascinating business-school case. It meant a paycheck disappeared. It meant a career path closed. It meant a dream some had spent their entire lives pursuing suddenly lost the league that made it possible. Wealthy owners could move on to other businesses. Players living on much smaller salaries did not necessarily possess that luxury. Leadership decisions always look different when viewed from the bottom of the payroll.
The Generals Were Not Actually a Bad Team
Another correction matters because the story becomes too convenient if we pretend everything Trump touched in the USFL immediately failed. The Generals improved significantly after he became owner. They went 14–4 in 1984 and 11–7 in 1985. Herschel Walker became one of the league’s biggest stars. The roster contained substantial talent. Trump was willing to spend money to improve the team. His marketing instincts generated attention. That is precisely why the story is more interesting than saying he simply knew nothing about football. There were things he did effectively. The problem was the tension between building one glamorous franchise and building a sustainable league. A strategy that helped Donald Trump’s visibility could still create problems for the collective institution.
Attention and Success Are Not the Same Thing
That is one of the strongest lessons I take from the Flutie signing. Trump got attention. In that sense, the signing worked exactly as intended. The newspapers wrote about Flutie. Television crews followed him. Fans talked about him. The Generals looked glamorous. But attention did not automatically produce a championship or save the USFL. Publicity can open a door, but something still has to walk through it. If the underlying organization cannot sustain what the publicity promises, the spotlight eventually exposes the weakness instead of hiding it. Trump has always understood attention better than most people. The larger question has always been what happens after everybody is watching.
The Need to Make Every Decision Look Successful
I also find the attempt to get other owners to help pay Flutie’s salary revealing. When the signing created publicity, Trump described that value as something the whole league was benefiting from. That gave him an argument for spreading the cost. This is a familiar leadership habit in business and politics. A leader makes a major decision and then frames any positive result as proof of brilliance. Costs become somebody else’s responsibility. Negative consequences become evidence that others failed to support the vision properly. That does not mean every Trump decision follows this exact pattern. But the USFL provides an unusually early example of why critics later recognized something familiar in his political behavior. The instinct to dominate the narrative was already present.
Trump Was Not Afraid of Conflict
One thing nobody could reasonably say about Trump during the USFL years was that he lacked nerve. The NFL was already America’s dominant professional sports league. Most new leagues would have been content finding a profitable space the NFL did not occupy. Trump wanted to confront it. He believed aggression could create leverage. Sometimes that attitude can produce extraordinary success because timid organizations rarely disrupt established industries. Sometimes it can also produce catastrophic risk. Courage and recklessness can look almost identical before the outcome is known. The difference often lies in how carefully somebody evaluates what happens if the gamble fails. The USFL had very little margin for failure. When the legal strategy produced only three dollars, there was almost nothing underneath it capable of keeping the league alive.
Doug Flutie Was Not the Failure Some People Remember
I also want to give Flutie fairness because history eventually proved that professional football had underestimated him. The Los Angeles Rams selected him late in the 1985 NFL Draft after he had already committed to the USFL. His size continued following him everywhere. After the USFL folded, he played briefly in the NFL before moving to Canada. In the Canadian Football League, Flutie became one of the greatest quarterbacks the league had ever seen. He won multiple Most Outstanding Player awards and Grey Cups. Then he returned to the NFL and became a successful starter with Buffalo and San Diego well into his thirties. So Trump’s belief that Flutie possessed unusual star potential was not ridiculous. The contract may have been excessive for the situation, and the Generals may have handled the football transition poorly, but the player himself ultimately proved he belonged. That nuance keeps the lesson from becoming too easy.
Randall Cunningham Became Great Too
The irony is that Walt Michaels’ preference for Randall Cunningham also aged extremely well. Cunningham became one of the most exciting quarterbacks in NFL history. His combination of arm strength, size, speed, and creativity helped change how people imagined the quarterback position. He became a star with the Philadelphia Eagles and later had an extraordinary season with the Minnesota Vikings. So this was not really a choice between a talented quarterback and a useless one. It was a choice between two highly unusual talents with very different physical profiles. Michaels preferred the player he believed better fit professional football and his system. Trump preferred the player carrying the biggest immediate national spotlight. Both men saw something real. The disagreement was about which kind of value mattered most at that moment.
The USFL as an Early Political Preview
I understand why people look back at this story and see a preview of Trump’s later political career. There is the attraction to celebrity. There is the belief that aggressive negotiation can force a larger institution to surrender something. There is the willingness to insult allies who resist. There is the preference for controlling the public narrative. There is the tendency to portray opposition as weakness or disloyalty. And there is the willingness to make enormous bets in pursuit of a transformative victory. Those similarities are worth discussing. But history works best when we identify patterns without pretending a 1980s football league mechanically predicted every decision a future president would make. A football franchise and the United States government are radically different institutions. The consequences are obviously different too.
Character Shows Up Before the Stakes Get High
What I do believe is that people often show us their basic leadership habits long before the stakes become enormous. Money can change. Titles can change. The size of the organization can change. But the way somebody responds to criticism can remain surprisingly consistent. The way a person handles loyalty can remain recognizable. Their appetite for risk can travel from one arena to another. Their relationship with publicity can become part of their identity. Their instinct for taking responsibility or assigning blame can become habitual. That is why old business stories sometimes matter when evaluating public leadership. They do not give us prophecy. They give us evidence about patterns.
A League Is a Partnership
The USFL also reminds me that institutions survive through cooperation even when their members compete. Every football owner wants their team to beat every other team. Yet those same owners need one another because no team can play a league by itself. They need common rules. They need television contracts. They need scheduling. They need opponents financially strong enough to remain in business. That creates a strange relationship where competitors are also partners. Politics has something similar. Parties compete fiercely, but democracy still requires institutions all sides agree to preserve. When winning becomes more important than the survival of the shared institution, everybody eventually loses something. The USFL learned that lesson the expensive way.
Summary
Donald Trump’s USFL years provide an unusually revealing chapter of his public life before politics. He bought the New Jersey Generals and aggressively pursued star players and publicity. In 1985 he signed Heisman winner Doug Flutie to a contract reported at roughly five years and $7 million, one of the richest deals in professional football at the time. Coach Walt Michaels reportedly preferred Randall Cunningham and had concerns about Flutie’s size and fit. Flutie struggled as a passer but was not the complete failure later retellings sometimes suggest. The Generals still finished 11–7, and Flutie later proved himself as a professional quarterback. Trump then asked other USFL owners to help reimburse part of Flutie’s contract because he argued that the signing benefited the whole league. He also became the strongest advocate for moving the USFL from spring to fall and confronting the NFL. The league won part of its antitrust lawsuit but received only three dollars after trebling, and the USFL soon ceased operations. Trump did not single-handedly destroy the league, but his fall strategy and NFL confrontation were major factors in its collapse. The story remains important because many of the leadership habits visible there would later become familiar to the American public.
Conclusion
When I look back at the USFL, I do not see a simple story about Donald Trump being right about everything or wrong about everything. He understood publicity. He understood star power. He built a competitive football team and recognized something special in Doug Flutie that many NFL people underestimated. But he also pushed a fragile league toward a confrontation with an institution far stronger than itself. He clashed personally with partners who challenged him. He made enormous bets and expected others to help support the consequences. When the USFL’s legal victory produced three dollars instead of salvation, the league had nowhere left to go. That is why the story still matters forty years later. Sometimes the clearest evidence of how somebody will use great power can be found in what they did when the power was much smaller. The USFL was only football, but leadership habits were already on the field.