Everyday Obituaries: The Jim Irsay Cup

 

 

Jim Irsay was the owner of the Indianapolis Colts and a wonderfully mad bastard.

 

His dad, Bob, was a legendarily terrible owner. He’d get on the bourbon in the executive suite and ring the coach to call plays. Owned the Rams, 1972 he swapped teams with Carroll Rosenbloom, a ‘colourful gambling character’ who later died in mysterious circumstances and took the Baltimore Colts from success to disaster, got into an argument with city and state govts and one night in March 1984 several semi-trailers loaded up and shipped everything to Indianapolis.

 

Imagine waking up one morning, flicking on the radio and hearing that your football team disappeared overnight. Goddamn you , Bob flipping Irsay!

 

Jim, born June 1959, was working around the team when he was a kid, was General Manager at 24 and owner at 37, the Colts then drafted Peyton Manning, got Tony Dungy to coach, became successful again, won a Superbowl, built a new stadium with a beautiful early 20C factory aesthetic. The 2000s was a good decade for Jim.

 

Jim was a collector. Rock and roll and sport, the original scroll manuscript of ‘On the road’, Muhammad Ali’s ‘Thrilla in Manila’ boots, Kurt Cobain’s ‘Teen Spirit’ guitar, letters from Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln. He sent his rock and roll collection out on the road so everyone could have a good look at it, he had a band to support the tour, Mike Mills, Kenny Aronoff, and a revolving cast and he’d come on stage to croak his way through a song or two. He’s no singer but his take on ‘Gimmie Shelter’ is great, he really believes in rock and roll.

 

Jim did a heckuva lot of drugs and booze. He looked 20 years older than he was. He died peacefully in his sleep last week. He was born into wealth, he was indulgent and irresponsible, he made a success of the family business, he shared the spoils of his success with people who shared his passions, he had fun, he was one of the last of the old family team owners. He was a true character, a wonderfully mad bastard.

 

Bless you, Jim.

 

 

 

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