The NFL Machine

In this era of bad-boy businessmen and the corporate perp walk, it's hard to imagine any CEO commanding a police escort--unless he's cuffed in the backseat of a patrol car. Still, that's what is waiting for Paul Tagliabue as his private jet touches down in Tampa in early December. Why the rock-star treatment? Simple. From September to February, this bookish 62-year-old with the button-down look of a corporate lawyer controls the passion of America--the 32 teams of the NFL. Besides, he can get Super Bowl tickets.

There are hours to go before the Tampa Bay Buccaneers face the Atlanta Falcons, but Tagliabue hops into a black Lincoln Town Car buffered by two police cruisers. As sirens blare and lights flash, the commissioner's car is guided through pregame traffic directly into the caverns beneath Raymond James Stadium. Fans treat him like a celebrity, too. "Hey commish, over here," shouts one Warren Sapp wannabe in a bright-red No. 99 jersey as he snaps a photo. The 6-foot, 5-inch Tagliabue signs autographs and chats with security guards before strolling out onto the lush field to watch warm-ups. He quickly notes that the socks of Falcons star quarterback Michael Vick are scrunched down around his ankles in violation of league rules. They are pulled up tightly by kickoff time.