ORRIDGE IN A LEAGUE OF HIS OWN
Commish to step down effective June 30
When Jeffrey Orridge spoke into microphones and recording devices being pushed into his face, the words often came off as robotic, forced.
Ask him a question and the answer would meander into another topic, a whole bunch of canned mumbo jumbo. There was a nervousness, a twitch to his personality.
Afraid to say the wrong things, the CFL commissioner came across as awkward, never as at ease as his predecessor Mark Cohon, a guy who oozed swagger and charisma. Cohon was totally comfortable being an ambassador and arbiter. Orridge, apparently, was not. Take the microphones away, take away the impact of immediate sound bites and who and what Jeffrey Orridge really is would flicker. Last year, during his travels to different CFL cities, he sought out journalists to discuss the CFL.
So for more than an hour, well beyond the time I had been allotted to speak to the commissioner, we talked about his job and family. We talked about life. He had charm. Wit. Intelligence. Compassion.
It sounded like he wanted to make a difference as the commissioner, a job he was hired for almost two years ago.
On Wednesday, with a year remaining on his contract, he stepped away from what he had called a dream job. A news release from the CFL called it “parting ways.” In a statement, Orridge talked about “differing views on the future of the league” with the CFL board of governors.
Read into that however you choose, but he was asked to leave.
In any hiring process, there’s a checklist of qualifications. In a position of such importance as the gatekeeper for a nine-team league, the checklist is long, especially when not enough people give a damn about the team in your largest city. Needless to say, in the eyes of the board of governors, Orridge had too many shortcomings.
During Orridge’s watch, the league delivered a drug-testing program for its players in partnership with the CFLPA. Tough to say it was too little, but it was certainly a long time in happening.
He also talked about the league’s domestic violence policy, its inclusiveness and its partnership with You Can Play. Orridge wasn’t really a “CFL guy.” He was an American who moved to Canada, a guy who critics said didn’t get the uniqueness of the game to the people around it or its fans.
Last September, when asked what he liked about his job, why he enjoyed being commissioner, Orridge said: “It’s is extraordinarily exciting, it’s humbling in a lot of ways. I’m exhilarated by it. The same things that keep me up at night are the same things that wake me up in the morning and give me energy. I share the enthusiasm that fans have for the game. It’s infectious. The coolest part of my job is I’m in the middle of something really special.”
During CFL Week, a test project by the league to stimulate interest among fans and media during the off-season, Orridge — who should have been front and centre — was pushed aside, barely visible.
The discomfort and disconnect between Orridge and the board of governors didn’t just happen yesterday or today. There has been pushback from both sides for months.
And now, with Orridge in place until he lifts himself out of the hot seat on June 30, the CFL has 2 ½ months to get it right — find somebody who understands the ins and outs and the politics of the league, find a Canadian with plenty of “eh game.”
In a statement, (Jeffrey) Orridge talked about ‘differing views on the future of the league’ with the CFL board of governors.