According to Roman mythology, the goddess Juno took one look at her son Vulcan and was so appalled by his appearance that she hurled him from the top of a cliff. Vulcan tumbled to the sea below—from the mountain’s peak to the valley’s bottom—where he was discovered by nymphs and raised in caverns. Those caverns provided him with all the resources he needed to become an expert blacksmith. Vulcan dedicated his time to perfecting the art of forge, eventually becoming so masterful that the other gods desired his services. Out of iron, copper, gold, silver, and other materials, he crafted some of the most beautiful and influential items in Roman lore.
A colossal statue of Vulcan sits atop Red Mountain in Birmingham, Alabama. It is the largest cast-iron statue in the world, standing fifty-six feet tall and weighing 101,200 pounds. You can take a winding staircase to an observation deck near the head of the structure, where much of the city—the Magic City, as it’s known—is visible below: Sloss Furnaces, which first went into blast in April 1882 and produced the pig iron that facilitated Birmingham’s rise; the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, which became a symbol of the modern civil rights movement after it was the site of a Ku Klux Klan bombing that tragically killed four young girls; Regions Field, home of the Birmingham Barons, a Minor League Baseball team dating back to 1885; Railroad Park, a nineteen-acre green space in the heart of downtown, hailed as “Birmingham’s Living Room”; John’s City Diner, a local fixture serving Southern staples, with its mural that pays homage to an old city slogan: “It’s Nice to Have You in Birmingham.”
Vulcan presides over all of it, reaching his spear high toward the sky. He is the most iconic emblem of the city, meant to reflect its roots in the iron and steel industries and Birmingham’s rapid ascent into a boom town. One of the messages of Vulcan’s tale—and, thus, of the city of Birmingham—is highlighted on the official website for the statue: “Legends aren’t born, they’re forged.”1
In 2021 Birmingham became the proud new home of a G League franchise. After two decades of growth, the NBA’s minor league had just about reached its longstanding goal. Three new teams were welcomed for the 2021–22 season—the Birmingham Squadron, Motor City Cruise, and Mexico City Capitanes—bringing the total number to thirty, twenty-eight of which were single-affiliates of an NBA parent club.
Three years prior, in October 2018, the NBA’s New Orleans Pelicans announced that they had acquired the right to own and operate a G League organization in Birmingham. A lot of work was yet to be done, including the massive renovation of Legacy Arena, which would host the team’s home games. In the meantime, the franchise would begin play in Erie, Pennsylvania, as the Erie BayHawks.
“We know this has been a lengthy process, but we wanted to ensure that we found the best partner for this endeavor, as we are fully invested in our team and building basketball in the Gulf South,” Pelicans president Dennis Lauscha said in a press release. “We’ve done our due diligence and researched markets across the region, and no one matched the interest and investment that the City of Birmingham will provide.”2
Basketball in Alabama? It didn’t sound quite right. Alabama is a football state—the biggest football state in all of America. According to 2021 Google Trends data, Alabama was the most popular state for the search terms “football” and “college football.”3 When University of Alabama coach Nick Saban first joined the football program in 2007, ninety-two thousand fans came to watch the team’s intrasquad scrimmage.
Ninety-two thousand.
At an intrasquad scrimmage.
“They say college football is religion in the Deep South, but it’s not,” Sports Illustrated’s Rick Bragg wrote in 2007. “Only religion is religion. Anyone who has seen an old man rise from his baptism, his soul all on fire, knows as much, though it is easy to see how people might get confused. But if football was a faith anywhere, it would be here on the Black Warrior River in Tuscaloosa, Ala.”4
At the center of this football-crazed universe is the contentious rivalry between the University of Alabama (UA) and Auburn University (AU), the two major colleges in the state. Every Alabaman inherits a side. There can be no wavering—no straddling the line or rooting for both schools. It’s crimson and white or orange and blue, “Roll Tide!” or “War Eagle!” In a land where football is nearly religion, the Iron Bowl—the annual meeting between the two foes, which was played at Birmingham’s Legion Field for many years and derives its nickname from the influence of the steel industry in the city—is one of the most anticipated days of the year.
Of course, there is the infamous story of the late Harvey Updyke, a die-hard Alabama fan who poisoned the eighty-year-old oak trees at Auburn, situated at a popular site for fans to gather following big victories. The incident took place during the 2010–11 college football season, and Updyke called into the Paul Finebaum radio show to proudly admit what he had done.
“The weekend after the Iron Bowl, I went to Auburn because I lived thirty miles away, and I poisoned the two Toomer’s trees,” Updyke told Finebaum without a trace of remorse in his tone. “I put Spike 80DF in ’em. They’re not dead yet, but they definitely will die.”
“Is it against the law to poison a tree?” Finebaum asked.
“Do you think I care?” Updyke responded. “I really don’t. Roll damn Tide!”5
Updyke later pleaded guilty to the crime, serving more than seventy days in jail and being ordered to pay $800,000 in restitution.
Nonetheless, there are other popular sports in Birmingham. The city has several minor league sports teams: the Barons of Double-A Minor League Baseball, Bulls of the Southern Professional Hockey League, Stallions of the United States Football League, Legion FC of the United Soccer League, and now, of course, the Squadron of the G League.
Like all NBA franchises, the Pelicans sought to have their affiliate close to home. Movement back and forth from the G League was increasing every year (with the exception of seasons affected by COVID), so proximity—ideally driving distance—made life significantly easier. Sure, pro basketball hadn’t existed in Alabama for more than fifteen years, but there was clearly a craving for it. The basketball programs at UA and AU were on the rise and had become more than just a footnote in the legendary rivalry. Birmingham regularly ranked among the highest-rated local markets for nationally televised NBA games.
Situated in central Alabama, the Magic City is about a two-hour drive from Atlanta (home of the Hawks), a four-hour drive from Memphis (home of the Grizzlies), and a five-hour drive from New Orleans (home of the Pelicans). No NBA team dominates, or even controls in any discernible way, the area. The region has some Hawks fans, some Grizzlies fans, some Pelicans fans. Many Alabamans just follow their favorite NBA players, rooting for whatever team has LeBron James or Kevin Durant or the last star to come out of UA or AU. Birmingham is a significant basketball market that has never really been claimed; it is a basketball city without a basketball team.
Until now. The hope in New Orleans is that all those people, all those nomadic fans searching for a home, will fall in love with the Squadron—and, in turn, fall in love with the Pelicans.
Step one—make them fall in love with the Squadron—wouldn’t be so easy, however. Yes, Alabamans had an interest in the NBA. But minor league basketball? The G League? Most of them had never even heard of it.
“I’ve never been afraid to fail. You’re not always going to be successful. I think I’m strong enough as a person to accept failure. But I can’t accept not trying.” Renaldo Major’s hero, the great Michael Jordan, uttered those words back in 1994, as he was prepared to make a career change—quite a famous career change, actually. The NBA’s best player, then a nine-time All-Star, three-time MVP, and three-time champion, had retired from basketball and decided to give baseball a shot. He had left Chicago and arrived in the much smaller, much quieter city of Birmingham, where he joined the Birmingham Barons, a Minor League affiliate of the Chicago White Sox.
It was, unsurprisingly, a strange transition to observe. Jordan was on top of the world. He was untouchable. His greatness on a basketball court was as predictable as the sun rising each morning. And then, suddenly, he was in Birmingham, in the Minor Leagues, making $850 a month and trying to work his way to the MLB. You had to see it to believe it.
So people flocked to Birmingham. The Barons were thrown into the national spotlight, featured on the front page of major papers like USA Today and the Wall Street Journal, and on television programs like the NBC Evening News with Tom Brokaw. Games at Hoover Metropolitan Stadium (“the Met”)—fifteen miles outside the downtown area—became the hottest ticket in town.
When Jordan made his debut on April 8, 1994, fans started lining up outside the Met more than two-and-a-half hours before the gates opened. The final attendance was recorded at 10,359, less than the 14,000 some were expecting, but way more than the 4,075 the Barons had averaged the season prior.6 One hundred thirty members of the media were there, including representatives from as far away as Tokyo. The crowd roared anytime Jordan did anything. He even received an ovation after striking out in the fourth inning.
“The fans weren’t at the Met to see him play baseball,” Paul Finebaum, then a columnist for the Birmingham Post-Herald, wrote. “They just wanted to see him, period.”7
That’s how it was all season. Baseball was the sideshow; Jordan was the main attraction. He single-handedly gave a Minor League organization, which still bused to away games (as far as twelve hours to Orlando) and stayed at La Quinta Inns, a brief taste of Major League limelight. According to the Post-Herald, “More than 500 journalists from the United States and eight foreign nations covered Jordan’s Birmingham odyssey, and the Barons shattered single-game and season attendance records during his stay.”8
Jordan batted .202 with 3 home runs and 51 RBI in 127 games that season, before opting to return to the NBA in 1995. He never got a call-up to the MLB—but at least he tried.
For the Squadron, there would be no Michael Jordan. No one remotely close. Selling tickets and filling seats would not be so simple.
Every player in the G League was a former college star, but none of them possessed the fame to attract a significant fan base on their own. Plus, in the minors, rosters changed drastically every season—sometimes completely. While Birmingham was keeping the same coaching staff from Erie, it would have zero returning players.
The franchise had elaborate plans to embed itself in the community. It would host events around the city, introducing its brand, staff, and players to the people directly. It would build relationships with local organizations, support local businesses, and partner with local staples like Saw’s BBQ restaurant. All of that would help, no question. But there’s really no trick to capturing the hearts of Alabama sports fans. Ask locals, and they will tell you. Want to build a fan base in the region?
Win.
Win some more.
Keep winning.
Don’t stop winning.
As Paul “Bear” Bryant, legendary head coach of the Alabama football team from 1958 to 1982, once said, “Winning isn’t everything, but it beats anything that comes in second.” The people of Alabama worship football in large part because the college football programs in the area have been so dominant. Dominant actually undersells it. They have been nearly unconquerable, claiming twenty combined national championships.
Constructing a good G League team, with the potential to succeed right away, was easier said than done. As of mid-September 2021, the Squadron knew a handful of names that were likely to end up on the final roster. The front office had executed a trade to get Zylan Cheatham and a 2021 second-round pick from the Iowa Wolves, giving up the returning rights to guard Tony Carr and 2021 first- and third-round picks. Cheatham would spend time with the Pelicans during NBA training camp, along with a few other exhibit-ten players, including Malcolm Hill, Jared Harper, twenty-three-year-old big man James Banks III, and rookie sharpshooter John Petty Jr., all of whom were expected to eventually land in Birmingham.9 Two-way players Jose Alvarado and Daulton Hommes also seemed like safe bets to be periodically transferred to the G League throughout the season.10
The group was solid but far from a sure thing to win a lot of games, at least on paper. Squadron decision-makers weren’t focused solely on stockpiling talent, though. It was about building the right roster, finding the right fits. In that regard, they felt optimistic about the guys already in the mix. But there was far more work to do.