Imagine inheriting a billion-dollar NFL franchise and then watching it slip through your fingers because the IRS wants its cut. That is the gut-punch reality that hit Chip Rosenbloom and Lucia Rodriguez after their mother, legendary Rams owner Georgia Frontiere, died and left them the St. Louis Rams. Former general manager Billy Devaney recently sat down on a Seattle-based AM talk radio show and pulled back the curtain on one of the strangest ownership sagas in modern football — a story of family legacy, estate taxes, a Hollywood producer trying to run a football team, and the billionaire who was waiting in the wings the whole time.
A billion-dollar inheritance nobody could afford
Devaney’s most revealing comments centered on Chip Rosenbloom and Lucia Rodriguez — son and daughter of the late Georgia Frontiere and Carroll Rosenbloom — and their desperate scramble to hold onto the franchise after inheriting it from their mother. The siblings fought hard. They wanted the team. But the math did not care about sentiment.
“Chip and Lucia inherited the team from Georgia, and through a whole mess of legalese and tax issues, they tried everything they could to keep it,” Devaney explained. “But they just weren’t going to be able to.”
The killer? Estate tax. The Rams were valued at over a billion dollars, but that wealth was locked up in a football franchise — not exactly the kind of asset you can liquidate at the corner bank. The taxman still wanted cash. And when you owe the federal government a staggering sum on an illiquid billion-dollar asset, the only move left is to sell. The Rosenbloom siblings had no choice. The team had to go.
The cruelest twist of timing
Here is where the story takes a turn that borders on absurd. Thanks to legislation passed in 2001, there was no estate tax in 2010. Zero. If Frontiere had died just a bit later, her children could have inherited the Rams without the crushing tax burden that forced the sale. But timing is merciless, and the loophole arrived too late to save the Rosenbloom family’s ownership.
Meanwhile, with the franchise on the auction block, the Rams’ front office was running on fumes. Devaney pointed directly to the financial squeeze and its impact on team-building — most notably the massive contract handed to quarterback Sam Bradford, the last rookie to cash in before the NFL implemented its new rookie wage scale.
“They didn’t have much money to spend, and a lot of it went to Bradford,” Devaney noted.
So picture this: a franchise hemorrhaging money, a front office trying to build a roster with one hand tied behind its back, and two heirs who actually wanted to keep the team but simply could not swing it. That was the Rams during the Devaney era.
The heirs who actually wanted in
Devaney’s account shattered a popular narrative from that period — that Chip Rosenbloom and Lucia Rodriguez had zero interest in running an NFL team. The reality was the opposite. They wanted it. Chip Rosenbloom, better known in Hollywood circles as a film producer, faced a steep learning curve in professional sports ownership, but the desire was real. The money just was not there.
Their efforts to retain the franchise ultimately fell short, and the Rams went up for sale. Auto parts magnate Shad Khan lined up as the buyer in 2010. The deal looked done. Then Stan Kroenke — who already owned a 40 percent stake in the Rams — played his trump card. Kroenke exercised his first right of refusal, outmaneuvered Khan, and seized full ownership of the franchise. Just like that, the Rams belonged to one of the richest men in America.
Kroenke takes the wheel
Devaney, looking back on the whole saga, believes the Rams landed in better hands. Despite the firestorm surrounding the team’s eventual relocation back to Los Angeles, Kroenke’s financial firepower and willingness to spend have reshaped the franchise from top to bottom.
“Kroenke is a committed owner,” Devaney said. “You can see it in the moves he made—hiring Jeff Fisher, landing key free agents, and stockpiling draft picks. He’s put the franchise in a position to succeed.”
That commitment stood in stark contrast to the Georgia Frontiere era. Devaney did not mince words about the inconsistency that defined her ownership — years of dysfunction punctuated by one brilliant, almost accidental run of success.
“There was never that kind of commitment under Georgia,” Devaney added. “Any LA or St. Louis fan can tell you that, except for that anomalous stretch with Vermeil, the Faulk trade, and a few years of not screwing up draft picks.”
Translation: outside of head coach Dick Vermeil’s magic and the legendary trade for Hall of Fame running back Marshall Faulk, the Frontiere-era Rams mostly drifted.
A franchise reborn, a family left behind
The Rams under Kroenke became a different animal. A new stadium in Los Angeles. A stacked front office. Real investment. The franchise transformed from a punchline into a contender. For Chip Rosenbloom and Lucia Rodriguez, the sale was bittersweet — a family legacy surrendered not because they wanted out, but because the tax code forced them out.
Devaney’s account is a sharp reminder that owning an NFL franchise is not just about money — it is about having the right kind of money at the right time. The Rosenbloom siblings inherited a billion-dollar team and still could not afford to keep it. Kroenke, already sitting on a 40 percent stake and a fortune large enough to absorb the cost, was always the most likely endgame. Family legacy lost to fiscal reality, a Hollywood producer outgunned by a real estate titan, and a franchise that had to change hands before it could change its fortunes.
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