By Sam Levin
By Sam Levin
By Sam Levin
By Jessica Lussenhop
By Sam Levin
By Timothy Lane
By Sam Levin
By Dennis Brown
In what may have been the tossing of the ceremonial first ball in the new-stadium game, the Cardinals' erstwhile business partners at the Post-Dispatch proclaimed Sunday, atop their "Imagine St. Louis" section, in large letters:
"The Cardinals say they need a new ballpark soon. They're hoping fans here are more supportive than their counterparts in Minnesota."
The subhead explains: "Residents of St. Paul, Minn., voted recently to reject a sales tax increase that would have helped finance a new stadium for the Minnesota Twins. The Cardinals want to build their new stadium with a public-private partnership. Are Cardinals fans willing to pitch in? If not, what happens next?"
Set aside the paper's patronizing tone, one that appears to converse with third-graders: That's how "Imagine St. Louis" reads every week, so it's not as if the Cardinals' quest for a new stadium made the editors suddenly stupid. And set aside also that team president Mark Lamping is taking the low-key road, saying little while allies like the Post do his early lobbying. This is as managed as news gets.
The headlines confirm beyond a doubt that St. Louis has entered the dress-the-turkey phase of the Cardinals' stadium campaign, just in time for a post-Thanksgiving report from the Greater St. Louis Sports Authority, an entity ordered up by the team two years ago (and dutifully provided by state government) for the purpose of getting them a new place to play.
The bottom line, which is what the business of stadium-hopping is all about, is that the Cardinals want out of Busch. They want out for the same reason that every other major-league team wants out of its stadium (unless it's in a brand-new one), which is that they can enormously improve both franchise value and profitability with the upgraded luxury suites, club seats and other enhanced revenue streams of a new stadium.
Especially if the public serves it up to them like a Redbird relief pitcher hurling in the ninth.
The Post story sounds like a call to the bullpen.
There's the Cardinals saying they need the new stadium soon, a subtle-but-significant advancement from the pronouncements by Lamping, just months ago, that all the team sought was some help in kicking ideas around for the sake of long-term planning.
Suddenly there's need. Suddenly there's urgency.
There's also preemptive guilt-tripping, laying out the hope that our fans will be more supportive than those ingrates from Minnesota who turned their backs three weeks ago on their team by refusing a lousy little sales-tax increase. Note how the terms "fans" and "taxpayers" have become interchangeable.
And, of course, there's the gentle jargon of corporate welfare -- the trusty public-private partnership -- which rolls off the tongue so much more elegantly than a phrase such as "transferring hundreds of millions of public dollars to the pockets of rich Country Day guys and their millionaire athletes." It's not a scandal. It's a partnership.
It's only natural that our daily newspaper would next wonder aloud whether the fans would be willing to pitch in. It's a curve setting up the fastball.
And here's the "out" pitch: If not, what happens next?
Oh, my. We've got uncertainty. What if the cost of maintaining an outmoded stadium from the '60s relegates us to mediocrity or worse? How can we possibly hope to compete with megasalary monsters like the Atlanta Braves and New York Mets?
Now, the hammer, the cold reality that a team never even suggests unless all else fails: What if some other city steps up with a willingness to "support" the Cardinals with tax dollars and we don't? What if we could lose our most cherished civic treasure?
No doubt the Cardinals' owners have every reason to want to stay here -- including loyalty and personal ties -- and clearly they will stay, if they get the new stadium they want. But the majority control of team ownership resides in Cincinnati -- the DeWitt family's St. Louis ties aren't so strong that its members actually live here -- and they wouldn't be the first to move a team in tears because they simply had "no choice."
At this point, the Cardinals are taking the high-road position that moving isn't even under remote consideration, focusing instead on their dedicated corporate citizenship. Already the media are parroting undocumented financial claims about the team's alleged struggles, juxtaposed with pure propaganda about what the team contributes to the local economy.
As is the sports industry's custom, the Cardinals point to every dollar spent as if it had no offset. If you didn't eat at the ballpark, would you not eat? If you didn't wear a Cardinal shirt, would you go shirtless? If you didn't pay for baseball tickets, would you simply send those dollars overseas, so that they meant nothing to the local economy?
Of course not. But you'll be hearing about all those tens of millions the Cardinals contribute to the economy, as if all the fans would either move away or hibernate without them, as if the radio and TV stations would go silent without their broadcasts.
If it makes you feel any better, we are not alone in this. This is how stadium projects are peddled everywhere. But don't take too much comfort in having that company: It is, after all, the teams' combination of market scarcity and mobility that gives them their ultimate clout in hometowns like St. Louis.
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