The problem with arranged marriages is that however good the reasons for the match, no one really knows whether the bride and groom will get along. British sports fans' love affair with the National Football League has been no exception. For the past four seasons, Britain's athletic affections have been wooed by television courtiers offering weekly 75-minute highlight films. The lords of commerce, N.F.L. Properties, have tried to sweeten the romance by selling $12 million worth of logo-emblazoned paraphernalia annually. Grass- roots support for the liaison was growing in the form of a new youthful obsession that has seen 110 amateur football teams formed in just three years.
But how would the bride react when she reached the altar and saw the real thing, in the form of the Chicago Bears and the Dallas Cowboys, waiting for her in Wembley Stadium? Well, the honeymoon may not be over, but when the much ballyhooed American Bowl came to an end last week in London, it was clear that American football has yet to find domestic bliss in Britain. "You can't beat the spectacle," said one fan as he shuffled toward the exits, "but don't you think that 3 1/2 hours is rather much for a onehour game?"
This was the first contest played in London under N.F.L. auspices (two earlier ones were sponsored by private promoters). With the U.S.F.L. decision to retire from the field this year in the wake of an adverse court decision, the N.F.L. is set to solidify its hold on Americans and has designs on Europe. Building on 4 million British viewers a week, the league is trying to penetrate cable and pay-TV markets in a half a dozen more European countries. The London visit by the Bears and Cowboys was tailor-made for proselytizing, and the teams were turned into ambassadors for the sport. Players posed for pictures in full protective gear and answered awed questions about their size with a deprecating "265 lbs., but I'm only 6 ft. 4 1/2." The visitors were such outsize and obvious celebrities in London that the Bears' William ("the Refrigerator") Perry, who endorses a local supermarket chain, required his own bobby bodyguard. Even Dallas Coach Tom Landry got into the goodwill act by putting on a bobby's helmet for photographers. He looked no worse than he does in his customary porkpie hat.
The game had sold out months ago in just a few days, and not even a cold, driving rain could deter the lucky 82,699 ticket holders. They filed into Wembley past souvenir hawkers peddling T shirts, caps and, of all things, Confederate flags, one of the odder English associations with American football. A comfortingly familiar concert by the Band of the Grenadier Guards filled some of the pregame wait. Culture shock began in earnest with the arrival of the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders, who romped onto the field and high-kicked for the astonished audience. "What is this?" a Brit demanded, as he riffled furiously through his program book.