The Miami Herald
Posted on Sat, Jul. 16, 2011
Cleveland’s betrayal still stings
Fred Grimm
fgrimm@MiamiHerald.com
My compassion for the Cleveland sports fans, and the big sorry hole left in their collective psyche by the defection of Lebron James to South Florida last summer, ain’t much.
Their mass despair would need to fester another two decades to even the ledger, considering what Cleveland did to us.
A deal negotiated last week might finally allow local taxpayers to unload the detritus left years ago when a low-down sports franchise from Cleveland abandoned disaster-stricken South Florida, slouching away with all the nobility of a philandering husband running off with the household checkbook and his new lover.
On June 8, 1991, the Cleveland Indians signed an agreement with the town of Homestead to make the city’s new baseball stadium its spring training home. Such hopeful symbolism. The Herald wrote, “The Homestead Sports Complex stadium rises out of the bogs east of Florida’s Turnpike, a silver and pink vision of the future climbing out of Homestead’s past.”
The sports writers tended to gloss over the details, which amounted to grand theft. The city, to satisfy the Indians, had to guarantee the sale of 5,000 season tickets and build two dormitories for baseball players at the stadium complex. Cleveland wangled an agreement with the city to subtract $100,000 from the $225,000 annual rent to offset the team’s travel costs around Florida’s Grapefruit League.
Of course, most of the $21 million cost of the stadium was covered by the county’s hotel bed tax. Essentially, Miami Beach was paying for Homestead’s “silver and pink vision of the future.”
On August 24, 1992, Hurricane Andrew drastically altered that vision. The damaged stadium, instead, became a symbol of Homestead’s determination to recover. The city rushed the ballpark repairs, spending $6.4 million and finishing the job in just five months.
The team from Cleveland, however, weighed compassion for a devastated city against the unctuous clamor of other Florida towns willing to grovel like concubines at the feet of professional sports team owners. Cleveland owner Dick Jacobs absconded.
South Florida’s reaction was captured nicely by Herald sports columnist S.L. Price: “So this is how a community dies. A hurricane rips through... and when the place has struggled just to get back on its knees, a man named Jacobs creeps up from behind and swings hard. He’s got a bat in his hands, and there is blood on it.”
The big sad pink legacy of the Cleveland Indians, with 6,477 seats and 14 luxury skyboxes, has been moldering in Homestead since then, in want of a tenant, costing the city a half million dollars a year just for maintenance. Last week, a Miami sports media company signed a deal to repair and lease the stadium, with an option to buy it, eventually, for $16 million.
Of course, over the years, a number of would-be entrepreneurs have come sniffing around the stadium property. Deal were floated (and sunk) for a kind of sports medicine and adult baseball fantasy camp and another for an entertainment complex.
In 2004, an outfit called Sports World Universal took over the stadium, rent free, promising extensive repairs. The city repossessed the complex a year later, after noticing that no renovations had taken place. A developer once offered to buy the land and build a subdivision. A charter school moved into the old dorms. In 2006, the Marlins, in the process of extorting a better deal from the city of Miami, feigned interest in replacing the Homestead park with a new major league stadium.
At least, La Ley Sports, Homestead’s latest suitor, has painted the old pink elephant red and white. That’s progress.
Of course, in my moral outrage, I’m overlooking that Homestead, back in 1991, had stolen its would-be spring baseball team from Tucson, Arizona.
Two years later, after the Winter Haven city manager said, indignantly, “I can tell you officially and unequivocally, there have been no talks, formal or informal, about the Indians signing a long-term contract here,” Winter Haven agreed to whatever Cleveland wanted. S.L. Price wrote, “So there it is, the way you knew it would come down because there is no honor among thieves or baseball owners. Not when it comes to money.”
Two years ago, Cleveland jilted Winter Haven for a new lover and took off for Goodyear, a soulless collection of strip-malls and subdivisions in the Arizona desert. The city of Goodyear had spent $108 million in public money on a spring baseball complex, based on the same kind of mendacious pro sports economics — the promise of so many new tourists, so many new jobs — that convinced our own civic leaders to build the Marlins a $500 million (and counting) baseball stadium in Miami.
But when the Indians abandoned Homestead, it was somehow a more odious betrayal than the usual pro team running out on one city for a better deal from another. More vile than, say, when Los Angeles Dodgers slouched out of Dodgertown, their home for 60 springs in Vero Beach, for a fatter deal in Arizona.
Cleveland, without much protest from their hometown fans back in Ohio (the same crowd who lately have been characterizing our NBA franchise as treacherous) absconded from a place that was reeling from disaster, that was clinging (and investing precious recovery funds) in the mythical solace of baseball.
If last week’s deal on that old stadium works out, we’ll still need 19 more good years from Lebron just to make the hurt seem even.
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