There are a lot more zeroes on the paychecks they sign. The employees possess a much higher profile. And the public scrutiny is far more intense.

But when it comes to comparisons between an NFL owner and, say, the guy who tried to make ends meet while operating the old neighborhood mom-and-pop grocery store where you bought nickel candy bars as a kid, there are some shared realities.

Foremost among them: Timing is everything.

And for Billy Joe McCombs, the Minnesota Vikings owner whose nickname is "Red" but whose color of preference is green and not purple, the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter's aligned with Mars.

The ever-loyal football fans of the Twin Cities might see this as the dawning of the Age of Nefarious. But when Denver billionaire Philip Anschutz last week unveiled viable plans for constructing a new facility in downtown Los Angeles by 2005, that provided an industrial-sized wedge for every NFL owner seeking leverage in stadium negotiations.

Seizing the moment, McCombs snatched the wedge, and began hammering it into place.

Anschutz has been decreed by the NFL hierarchy as a man of considerable substance and, due principally to the momentum he has created, providing the country's second-largest market with professional football again is suddenly back on the radar screen. And the blip is larger than normal.

"They've pretty much rolled out a big 'Welcome' mat for some franchise," said Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones.

And on Monday afternoon, right on cue, McCombs served a not so subtle notice that he wouldn't mind knocking the mud off his cowboy boots in Los Angeles, especially if the Minnesota legislature doesn't approve a new corral for the Vikings.

For those who weren't paying attention, or whose general reaction now is a stifled yawn every time an owner drops the "R"-word (as in "relocation) on the populace, McCombs issued a pointed statement in which he announced that the investment firm J.P. Morgan Securities has been retained to sort out his alternatives.

Those options could range from selling the team, which pundits have long predicted was the eventual aim of McCombs when he bought the franchise in '98, to loading up the moving vans and heading to San Antonio or Los Angeles or anywhere in between. Oh, yeah, there's also the possibility of staying in Minnesota, but only with a stadium to replace the obsolete Metrodome.

Toward the latter end, there was a smidgeon of progress registered over the weekend, just before the state legislature adjourned its session. In addition to passing a bill to finance a new stadium for baseball's Minnesota Twins, a franchise that wouldn't even exist right now if commissioner Bud Selig had his druthers, lawmakers agreed on some concessions that could result in a new playhouse for McCombs' team as well.

It would be hyperbole to suggest the legislature laid the foundation for finally satisfying the Vikings' demands. They sunk a few footers, but that's about it, and there figures to be a fierce debate over a proposed new facility to be shared by the Vikings and University of Minnesota when the legislature reconvenes next year.

Given his upbringing as a car salesman, McCombs knows inertia when he sees it. His business rearing is in a world that's defined by instant gratification. Ever visited an automobile showroom where some fast-talkin' salesman didn't ask what it would take to put you in a car that you could drive off the lot right now? Uh-uh. No one ever has. It is part of the high pressure tactics inherent to a trade that is equal parts hustler and huckster. So on Monday, typically, old Billy Joe McCombs turned up the pressure to "high."

It is possible, with his background, that McCombs is bluffing. More likely, since he was always viewed with typical Midwest jaundice as an opportunistic short-timer anyway, Monday's missive was more than the usual posturing. It is also notable that the league office, suddenly enamored with the notion of a team playing in Los Angeles and knowing expansion is not an option for putting one there, jumped in to support McCombs' not so veiled threat.

Despite selling out every home game, including those for the 2002 season, the Vikings ranked next to last in 2001 local revenues. As we noted in a recent story on the effects the new Heinz Field has had on the Pittsburgh Steelers, the NFL has entered an age where the stadium revenues are essential to maintaining competitiveness.

It might be difficult to argue that a team which was a playoff fixture until the collapse of last season is not competitive. Some might point to the signing bonus McCombs awarded self-proclaimed malingerer Randy Moss as a sign of ample coffers. But this is a league in which the numbers that count the most are the amount of luxury suites and club seats that a stadium includes, and the Metrodome fails in those areas.

The lobbyists who have stumped the congressional corridors of St. Paul for McCombs suggest the team will run a nearly $30 million deficit by 2004. By that point, McCombs could have the Mayflower moving vans on speed dial. Jesse Ventura, the wrestler-turned-governor of Minnesota noted Monday that McCombs is merely putting "a gun to the heads" of the locals in an effort to land his new stadium.

Well, as a man eminently familiar with faux grappling maneuvers, Ventura ought to know a real "Full Nelson" when he sees one.

There is, of course, the matter of a lease which runs through 2011. And a letter authored by late NFL commissioner Pete Rozelle that promises the Twin Cities a franchise through the end of the lease. There is also the resourcefulness and resolve of a Minnesota court system that stopped Selig and his band of contractionists in their tracks last winter. A combination of all the above could keep the Vikings in Minnesota for the long haul or, at the very least, a protracted legal battle.

But just as their seafaring namesakes were world travelers long before lengthy road trips were in vogue, the Vikings have already broken out the sextants, and McCombs suddenly has an itch for the West Coast.

Dormant since the exodus of the Raiders and the Rams, the city of Los Angeles again is promising riches, and this time there are some notable puzzle pieces in place. On Monday afternoon, McCombs became the first owner to queue up for a possible shot at becoming the most significant piece of the puzzle.

Chances are good he won't be the only one in line.

Len Pasquarelli is a senior writer for ESPN.com.