In a league governed by offseason time frames, the clock inexorably moves toward one key calendar date after another. Yet the latest deadline passed quietly last Friday afternoon.

And "quietly" is the operative term. Given the silence that is about to ensue over the next four months for those players still tagged with a "franchise" free-agent marker, it is also most appropriate.

	Safety Tebucky Jones, the Patriots' "franchise" player, could be dealt to the Saints during the league's annual meeting next week in Phoenix.

Because none of the "franchise" players signed long-term contracts before the Friday 4 p.m. ET deadline, there is now in place an unofficial moratorium on discussions, one in which the two sides will only grow more intransigent in their respective negotiating stances. Until mid-July, there will be nary a conversation between team salary cap specialists and agents for "franchise" players.

If history is an indicator, you will use your backyard picnic table at least a dozen times before the two sides meet at the negotiating table again. Even in Alaska, they'll wear shorts before long-term discussions with "franchise" players resume.

The reason? In one of those fine-print articles of the NFL collective bargaining agreement, it stipulates that a long-term agreement reached by a "franchise" free agent after March 15 but before July 15 results in the "franchise" tag remaining on the player through the length of his contract.

It may be little more than esoterica for fans, but -- to the teams and the players involved -- it is a critical guideline.

Let's say the Seattle Seahawks had signed offensive tackle and "franchise" designee Walter Jones to a six-year contract after the Friday deadline. By rule, Jones would have been tagged the team's "franchise" player through the 2008 season. More significantly, the Seahawks would not have been able to use a "franchise" marker to retain any other player during that stretch.

Contracts negotiated after July 15 characteristically allow a team to regain its "franchise" designation for future use.

Although last Friday was March 14, it essentially represented the March 15 deadline, because the league does not accept transactions over the weekend. So at the close of business last Friday afternoon, the business of negotiating with the "franchise" players essentially closed down for four months.

Just as the deadline stopped cold any negotiations that were transpiring at the time, it also signaled the start of the bickering season, because both the players and teams will use the next four months for verbal sparring.

In short, let the acrimony begin. In some cases it already has.

The representatives for St. Louis offensive tackle Orlando Pace, aghast that Rams officials never responded to their proposal for an $85 million contract that included a $23.8 million signing bonus, have demanded that their client be traded. Rams president John Shaw termed their position "crazy."

Gary Wichard, the agent for Patriots free safety Tebucky Jones, received a letter from New England management last week requesting that his client still report for offseason conditioning sessions and mini-camps. Uh, memo to Bill Belichick: Don't expect a "Sir, here, sir!" response when you reach Jones' name on the offseason roll call.

Burdened by the "franchise" designation a year ago, Walter Jones was invisible last offseason at all Seattle team functions. It's a pretty darned good bet that, in his second go-round with the "franchise" tag, Jones won't react any better to the lack of mobility imposed on him by Seahawks management this spring.

Pace isn't about to show up for the Rams' offseason workouts absent a long-term accord. The agent for Baltimore cornerback Chris McAlister said his client hasn't determined how he will handle the mini-camps, but Ravens officials expect him to be a no-show.

It certainly is in keeping with the not-so-grand tradition of "franchise" free agents. For the seven "franchise" players still without long-term deals -- the eighth, wide receiver Peerless Price, was traded from Buffalo to Atlanta and signed a seven-year contract -- football is about to become an afterthought.

	"	You're kind of in limbo, because you're really not part of anything, in a sense. It's like everything is on hold for four months. "
		— Jaguars safety Donovin Darius

"You're kind of in limbo, because you're really not part of anything, in a sense," said Donovin Darius, Jacksonville safety and "franchise" player. "It's like everything is on hold for four months."

There could be, however, relief of a sort for one or two of the "franchise" players. There have been trade discussions between the Patriots and New Orleans Saints about Tebucky Jones, and those negotiations will resume at next week's annual league meeting in Phoenix. There is always the chance, too, that a team hard-pressed for salary-cap room in the next couple of months could rescind the "franchise" designation and make the player an unrestricted free agent.

But being stripped of a "franchise" marker, depending on the timing, could be disastrous for a player. Being dumped into an open market where there is little money remaining under the salary cap of most teams doesn't represent the best side of total freedom. That is why Minnesota Vikings tight end Jim Kleinsasser signed the "franchise" qualifying offer for one year, the only player to do so.

At least now, Kleinsasser has guaranteed himself $3.05 million for 2003, and he can sign a long-term extension later. The other "franchise" players are still at risk, since they have not signed the qualifying offer, and could be dumped into the market in June or July when teams' budgets are tapped out.

All of this is ironic, since the "franchise" label was originally designed to be a badge of honor, way back in the earliest days of the collective bargaining agreement. The marker has taken on some negative implications, however, and the next four months will likely magnify the downside.

From now until mid-July, it figures to be quiet indeed on the negotiating front for "franchise" players, as teams and agents hunker down in their respective bunkers. It is silence, for sure, that will be anything but golden.

Len Pasquarelli is a senior NFL writer for ESPN.com.