Continued:
When Ford bought the team, the NFL and AFL were still three years away from their historic merger. The NFL was hardly a mom-and-pop shop, but it was not the global behemoth it is now. Back then, Ford was also leading Ford Motor Company’s design team while serving on its board of directors, not fully retiring from the auto business until 1995. For most of Ford’s run, the Lions were an expensive side hustle.
His personal investment was more or less in ceremony, until a decision needed to be made. That resulted in frantic, reactionary moves that only served to keep the cycle of heartbreak spinning. If an owner has more investment in the business of a team than its competitive health, everything’s doomed.
The Lions are not a hobby or a side project for Hamp, who became one of the team’s vice chairs when her mother took ownership in 2014. Based solely on her actions since becoming principal owner, it’s fair to suggest that, for Hamp, the Lions are closer to family.
When the Lions hired ex-GM Bob Quinn (who personally hired coach Matt Patricia) in 2016, the process was a mess. Martha Ford, approaching 90, had been team owner less than two years, and the lack of a concrete plan was obvious. That led to the NFL appointing a third party, Ernie Accorsi, to help. The vision for Detroit’s future wasn’t really concocted in Detroit, but in a sterile office someplace else.
The result was a disaster. And by the time she fired both on Nov. 28, 2020, Hamp told team president Rod Wood the new search had to be different. This search, they felt, had to transcend usual business. Hamp wanted it to stay in the family. But not the Ford family. The Lions family.
A short time later, Wood called Chris Spielman, one of the greatest Lions to ever wear a helmet. One of the family’s proudest members.
Spielman was a young star on the 1991 Lions team that went 12-4 and beat Jimmy Johnson’s Cowboys in the playoffs. A year later, Spielman’s Lions watched the playoffs at home as Dallas — which took care of its young talent — took its first step toward becoming the team of the ’90s.
Detroit’s ’91 team followed an inspired run to the NFC Championship Game with heartache. Eight months after Mike Utley was paralyzed during a game, fellow starting guard Eric Andolsek died after being hit by a truck in Louisiana. A month earlier, ace defensive backs coach Len Fontes, brother of Lions head coach Wayne Fontes, died of a heart attack.
And there was also resentment. A data dump in 1992 stemming from an NFL antitrust lawsuit revealed Wayne Fontes was one of the lowest-paid head coaches in the NFL. Nearly every key player from the 1991 team eventually left because the Lions wouldn’t pay them.
Thus, the 1991 Lions are known as a singular entity in Detroit, rather than the start of something bigger. The last Lions team to win a playoff game.
Spielman himself, a fan favorite who epitomized literally everything the area stood for during that run, was eventually allowed to leave for the Buffalo Bills after the 1995 season for a deal worth $2 million annually. The Lions replaced him with an older player for less money. Ford raised ticket prices in 1996, and the Lions went 5-11. For the 1997 regular-season finale at the Pontiac Silverdome, the Lions still managed to sell more than 80,000 tickets — 18,000 in three days to avoid a local TV blackout — to see Barry Sanders break the 2,000-yard season rushing mark.
If you’ve ever asked yourself why Detroit Lions fans still exist after all this, why anyone bothers to scrounge an ounce of hope after being kicked in the teeth more times than they can count — the answer is simple: This place and the people that make it are just tougher than you.
“Don’t be surprised if you see me back here someday in some capacity or other,” Spielman told the Free Press the day he left in 1996.
A week after Wood’s initial call to Spielman, the two spoke again. Spielman was in Cincinnati set to call a Cowboys-Bengals game for Fox. At some point, Wood asked if Spielman would talk with Hamp. Already excited about the possibility of rejoining his favorite franchise, Spielman said absolutely. Along the way, Hamp and Wood told Spielman things would be different this time. They talked of their plan to listen, to collaborate and to be invested. Hamp told Spielman this mission — the fixing of the unfixable — had become personal for her. She asked him for help and told him that, with trust and communication, they could give Detroit its football team back for the first time in 75 years.
When Spielman hung up the phone inside his Cincinnati hotel room that Saturday, he had enough energy to run through a padlocked door. His first move after the call was to find his Fox producer.
“Hey,” Spielman said. “This is my last game. I’m going to the Lions.”
Four days later, just as he had more than 30 years ago, Spielman put some stuff in a car and drove it to Detroit without so much as a blink.
“I have zero regrets,” Spielman told The Athletic’s Colton Pouncy. “It’s been an amazing journey and it’s been amazing because we’re at a point where we’re, I believe, legitimate contenders.”
However, Spielman did not hire Campbell or Holmes. Hamp did, bringing both on board in January 2021. She insisted she wanted to “do right by” the Lions and set the franchise up for an honest shot at success for the first time in forever. That was enough for Spielman, who worked his contacts and assisted Hamp and Wood throughout both searches. The culture they’ve created revolves around simple things: collaboration, telling the truth, being yourself and loving football. Detroit things.
In 2021, after being saddled with a salary cap in hell, a quarterback (Matthew Stafford) who wanted out, another (Jared Goff) nobody else wanted and a roster gutted to the studs, the new group Hamp assembled started its first season 0-10-1. At 1-5 in year two, a frustrated Hamp called an impromptu news conference only to let reporters know — in case they were wondering — she was still all-in on Campbell, Holmes and every person in her building.
The Lions went on to win eight of their final 11 games, beating Aaron Rodgers in his Lambeau Field swan song and missing the playoffs by a hair. In the visiting locker room after the finale, Campbell — nose red from the cold, snow cap still atop his 6-foot-6 frame — told a young locker room suddenly oozing confidence that “this is just the beginning.” Standing to his right, more than a foot shorter with an even bigger grin, was Hamp.
“I’m just telling you, I’m just freakin’ telling you — I’ve been around as a player and a coach in this league,” Campbell shouted as he pulled Hamp in for a hug. “We’ve got the best owner. Everything you could possibly need, every resource — she thinks about you guys all the time, man, she knows everything about you, she’s rock solid and as good as they come.
“She’s competitive. And, boy, she loves to win.”
What does it take to fix the unfixable? Tough people. True believers.
A coach who eats kneecaps. A general manager who lives to scout talent. A selfless assistant who just wants to help. And an owner who wants nothing more than to make her family and city proud as she gets to live a dream.
Win or lose in 2023, these are not the Same Old Lions. And that’s pretty easy to fall in love with.
His personal investment was more or less in ceremony, until a decision needed to be made. That resulted in frantic, reactionary moves that only served to keep the cycle of heartbreak spinning. If an owner has more investment in the business of a team than its competitive health, everything’s doomed.
The Lions are not a hobby or a side project for Hamp, who became one of the team’s vice chairs when her mother took ownership in 2014. Based solely on her actions since becoming principal owner, it’s fair to suggest that, for Hamp, the Lions are closer to family.
When the Lions hired ex-GM Bob Quinn (who personally hired coach Matt Patricia) in 2016, the process was a mess. Martha Ford, approaching 90, had been team owner less than two years, and the lack of a concrete plan was obvious. That led to the NFL appointing a third party, Ernie Accorsi, to help. The vision for Detroit’s future wasn’t really concocted in Detroit, but in a sterile office someplace else.
The result was a disaster. And by the time she fired both on Nov. 28, 2020, Hamp told team president Rod Wood the new search had to be different. This search, they felt, had to transcend usual business. Hamp wanted it to stay in the family. But not the Ford family. The Lions family.
A short time later, Wood called Chris Spielman, one of the greatest Lions to ever wear a helmet. One of the family’s proudest members.
Spielman was a young star on the 1991 Lions team that went 12-4 and beat Jimmy Johnson’s Cowboys in the playoffs. A year later, Spielman’s Lions watched the playoffs at home as Dallas — which took care of its young talent — took its first step toward becoming the team of the ’90s.
Detroit’s ’91 team followed an inspired run to the NFC Championship Game with heartache. Eight months after Mike Utley was paralyzed during a game, fellow starting guard Eric Andolsek died after being hit by a truck in Louisiana. A month earlier, ace defensive backs coach Len Fontes, brother of Lions head coach Wayne Fontes, died of a heart attack.
And there was also resentment. A data dump in 1992 stemming from an NFL antitrust lawsuit revealed Wayne Fontes was one of the lowest-paid head coaches in the NFL. Nearly every key player from the 1991 team eventually left because the Lions wouldn’t pay them.
Thus, the 1991 Lions are known as a singular entity in Detroit, rather than the start of something bigger. The last Lions team to win a playoff game.
Spielman himself, a fan favorite who epitomized literally everything the area stood for during that run, was eventually allowed to leave for the Buffalo Bills after the 1995 season for a deal worth $2 million annually. The Lions replaced him with an older player for less money. Ford raised ticket prices in 1996, and the Lions went 5-11. For the 1997 regular-season finale at the Pontiac Silverdome, the Lions still managed to sell more than 80,000 tickets — 18,000 in three days to avoid a local TV blackout — to see Barry Sanders break the 2,000-yard season rushing mark.
If you’ve ever asked yourself why Detroit Lions fans still exist after all this, why anyone bothers to scrounge an ounce of hope after being kicked in the teeth more times than they can count — the answer is simple: This place and the people that make it are just tougher than you.
“Don’t be surprised if you see me back here someday in some capacity or other,” Spielman told the Free Press the day he left in 1996.
A week after Wood’s initial call to Spielman, the two spoke again. Spielman was in Cincinnati set to call a Cowboys-Bengals game for Fox. At some point, Wood asked if Spielman would talk with Hamp. Already excited about the possibility of rejoining his favorite franchise, Spielman said absolutely. Along the way, Hamp and Wood told Spielman things would be different this time. They talked of their plan to listen, to collaborate and to be invested. Hamp told Spielman this mission — the fixing of the unfixable — had become personal for her. She asked him for help and told him that, with trust and communication, they could give Detroit its football team back for the first time in 75 years.
When Spielman hung up the phone inside his Cincinnati hotel room that Saturday, he had enough energy to run through a padlocked door. His first move after the call was to find his Fox producer.
“Hey,” Spielman said. “This is my last game. I’m going to the Lions.”
Four days later, just as he had more than 30 years ago, Spielman put some stuff in a car and drove it to Detroit without so much as a blink.
“I have zero regrets,” Spielman told The Athletic’s Colton Pouncy. “It’s been an amazing journey and it’s been amazing because we’re at a point where we’re, I believe, legitimate contenders.”
However, Spielman did not hire Campbell or Holmes. Hamp did, bringing both on board in January 2021. She insisted she wanted to “do right by” the Lions and set the franchise up for an honest shot at success for the first time in forever. That was enough for Spielman, who worked his contacts and assisted Hamp and Wood throughout both searches. The culture they’ve created revolves around simple things: collaboration, telling the truth, being yourself and loving football. Detroit things.
In 2021, after being saddled with a salary cap in hell, a quarterback (Matthew Stafford) who wanted out, another (Jared Goff) nobody else wanted and a roster gutted to the studs, the new group Hamp assembled started its first season 0-10-1. At 1-5 in year two, a frustrated Hamp called an impromptu news conference only to let reporters know — in case they were wondering — she was still all-in on Campbell, Holmes and every person in her building.
The Lions went on to win eight of their final 11 games, beating Aaron Rodgers in his Lambeau Field swan song and missing the playoffs by a hair. In the visiting locker room after the finale, Campbell — nose red from the cold, snow cap still atop his 6-foot-6 frame — told a young locker room suddenly oozing confidence that “this is just the beginning.” Standing to his right, more than a foot shorter with an even bigger grin, was Hamp.
“I’m just telling you, I’m just freakin’ telling you — I’ve been around as a player and a coach in this league,” Campbell shouted as he pulled Hamp in for a hug. “We’ve got the best owner. Everything you could possibly need, every resource — she thinks about you guys all the time, man, she knows everything about you, she’s rock solid and as good as they come.
“She’s competitive. And, boy, she loves to win.”
What does it take to fix the unfixable? Tough people. True believers.
A coach who eats kneecaps. A general manager who lives to scout talent. A selfless assistant who just wants to help. And an owner who wants nothing more than to make her family and city proud as she gets to live a dream.
Win or lose in 2023, these are not the Same Old Lions. And that’s pretty easy to fall in love with.
