While the county fights Judge Gordon's decision, the digging and destruction will likely resume on Key Biscayne. Drive out there and take a look—after all, you're paying for it.
But remember that if the Mathesons prevail (and there's a good chance they will), the stadium will come tumbling down. If that happens, shovels should be distributed immediately to the county manager and each gung-ho commissioner. Bus them to Crandon Park and make them clean up their mess.
Sort of an old-fashioned groundbreaking, in reverse.
Metro tumbled into sand trap with golf club
June 26, 1994
If P.T. Barnum were alive to watch the Metro Commission in action, he'd probably revise his famous axiom. Not only are suckers born every minute, they invariably get elected to political office.
Dade politicians are big suckers for sports. They've got a history of blowing public funds on extravaganzas that fail to produce the windfall promised by hungry promoters. The most infamous entitlement programs are the Lipton tennis tournament and the Miami Grand Prix.
Now another sport is sucking precious dollars out of the county coffer: golf. So far, unsuspecting taxpayers have forked out $8.9 million on the Golf Club of Miami. That's not a typo: $8.9 million—with about $8 million more to come.
Even using silk flags and the lushest Bermuda grass, it hardly seems possible to spend so much to spruce up a few fairways.
Here's what happened. Five years ago, the county contracted with the PGA Tour to rejuvenate the Golf Club of Miami in North Dade. The courses had gotten ratty, and worried neighbors voted to tax themselves to purchase much of the property. The county had the rest.
The PGA Tour eagerly offered to run the place and touted itself as capable and experienced. The prestige of attaching the Tour's name was supposed to attract a luxury hotel and hordes of golf-crazy tourists.
As it turned out, a bunch of chimpanzees couldn't have negotiated a worse contract than the one approved by Metro commissioners. Ironically, the only one opposed to it was then-Mayor Steve Clark, the county's undisputed authority on all golfing matters. Clark said the Golf Club of Miami deal was no good, and he was right.
Oh, the courses are in better shape today, and they're finally making a modest profit. Unfortunately, the county's seeing little of it; $500,000 annually comes off the top, for the PGA.
How bad was the contract? Item: new cart paths. The Tour's price tag: $558,000, or about three times the going rate. The Caddyshack Commission said sure. Since 1989, the Golf Club of Miami has drained a small fortune from the county's general fund, including $863,000 a year in bond payments. We're stuck with those until 2004.
Of course, the big luxury hotel never materialized, costing Metro another $4.2 million in bed taxes to repay investors. Incredibly, the Parks Department also "loaned" the golf club $4. i million to construct a third course, an executive-style par 62. Not only was the price higher than many first-class par 725, but the short course lost a tidy $460,000 in its first two years.
The county claims all of that money eventually will be paid back out of future revenues from the golf club. Sure. When they raise the greens fees to $2,000 a day.
In addition to the $8.9 million in general funds, the Golf Club of Miami has received much more from other public sources. Metro commissioners grabbed $3.5 million from the sports-franchise bed tax and built a new clubhouse dedicated to one of their own, Sherman Winn. His name on the building is a fitting reminder of the suckers who paid for it.
Defending the project, county officials say the funds spent on the Golf Club of Miami aren't a total waste. Said one: "At least we've gotten into public ownership three pretty nice golf courses."
And a dandy bargain it is. Let's see … 54 holes at a minimum final cost of $24.6 million. That comes to about $455,555 per fairway.
From now on, golfers will have an option of replacing their divots, or listing them with Century 21.
Wayne skating on thin ice of fan loyalty
July 23, 1995
Wayne Huizenga says he's moving or selling the Florida Panthers if somebody doesn't build him a new arena. Gonna get the puck out, he says.
The announcement came at a press conference during which a testy Huizenga expressed no fondness for Broward officials, who'd rejected a tax on tourists or restaurants to finance a new $ 165 million hockey rink.
Instead, the county had rashly suggested that Mr. Blockbuster himself should pony up a heftier chunk of the arena money—an option no self-respecting sports tycoon likes to contemplate.
The common philosophy is that sports fans should be so darned grateful to have a big-league franchise that they ought to subsidize it with taxes.
It's not enough to pay for overpriced parking, overpriced tickets, overpriced junk food and overpriced souvenirs. No, you should pay for the overpriced facilities, too.
Happens all over. That's how St. Louis lured the Rams from Los Angeles: new stadium, sweet deal. For many owners it's proved a successful extortion: Build me a new place to play, or I'll take my team elsewhere.
When the ungrateful citizenry of Broward balked at bankrolling a hockey stadium, Huizenga stomped off. Even if the county comes crawling back, he declared, the deal's off.
So there. Nah, nah, nah.
Huizenga says he needs help because the team is losing $1 million a month by sharing the Miami Arena with the Heat. He wants a new ice palace tiered with posh, high-priced skyboxes.
Not so long ago, politicians would've bellied across broken glass to appease Huizenga. The mood today is slightly less worshipful, and the reason is simple. Voters are tired of using public monies to enrich millionaire sports owners.
South Floridians have contributed heavily, if not knowingly, to the downtown arena, as well as a private Grand Prix track and a tennis stadium. It's welfare for the rich, disguised as civic boosterism.
Huizenga's grim account of the Panthers' finances is troubling. Here's a team (unlike other local franchises) that plays to 97 percent capacity, yet still manages to bleed red ink. That's quite a trick.
How did such a sharp businessman fall into such a stinky deal? Clearly, Huizenga agreed to share the arena only because he was sure he'd be getting a new one soon, courtesy of some hockey-crazed municipality. Unfortunately, he misjudged.
His assertion that more luxury skyboxes will save the Panthers is equally suspect, considering that the relatively few skyboxes in the Miami Arena aren't sold out.
One positive thing to come from Huizenga's tantrum is a possible partnership with Heat owner Micky Arisen, also in the market for a new venue. Together, they've got more capital to invest, and a better chance of turning a profit.
A similar joint deal worked well in Chicago. There, the basketball and hockey teams split both the cost and revenues from the new $175 million United Center. Both teams are making money.
But here's the real shocker: The Chicago arena was constructed largely with private funds. The owners, not taxpayers, picked up the tab. What a radical concept.
Unfortunately, building a new arena here would kill the old one, which isn't that old and wasn't so cheap. It would be better if Huizenga and Arisen joined forces (and bankers) to refurbish the current Miami Arena in the high style they desire.
Right now, the most valuable part of the Panthers franchise is fan loyalty, but that can change quickly. An owner's ultimatum for luxury skyboxes cuts no ice with the folks in the cheap seats.
Let Broward have its arena—and the debt
February 1, 1996
Dade taxpayers should breathe a collective sigh of relief this week. They might be off the hook for a new sports arena.
Broward County has impulsively offered to build a basketball-hockey emporium to keep both the restless Miami Heat and the money-losing Florida Panthers in South Florida.
Price tag: $212 million, minimum. Most of the dough would come from a 2 percent hotel-bed tax, backed by county bonds.
Broward voters haven't been asked for their op
inion, as a public outpouring of skepticism might discourage Heat owner Micky Arisen (who has already threatened to move his team) and Panthers owner Wayne Huizenga (who's supposedly trying to sell his).
By a 5—1 vote, Broward commissioners vowed to spring for a new arena if the teams sign in advance and agree to share revenues with the county. The deal is far from sealed, and Dade officials are hurriedly polishing a new pitch of their own.
Only in the irrational realm of big-league sports can two of the richest guys on the planet sit back and watch suckers plead for the privilege of building them a palace.
In Broward, three cities have hurled themselves worshipfully at Arisen's and Huizenga's feet. Fort Lauderdale has a downtown site off Interstate 95. Pompano Beach is pushing a parcel near the harness track. And Sunrise has property located near West Broward 's social and cultural shrine, the Sawgrass Mills outlet mall.
The Sunrise Heat? The Pompano Panthers? These days anything is possible—witness the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim.
Backers say a sports arena will bring to a neighborhood great jobs, economic prosperity, national prestige and immeasurable civic pride.
Sound familiar? These are the same promises heard when basketball promoters lobbied for the building of the Miami Arena, which has not exactly revitalized the downtown area.
In fact, a new fiscal study of 35 major sports facilities finds little positive economic impact on the communities that turned cartwheels to attract them. Arenas and stadiums are strictly designed to make money for the team and its owners.
There's nothing wrong with the Miami Arena. It's not old, it's not falling apart, and it's not too small—in fact, on some nights it's downright cavernous for the crowd that shows up.
Sure, it's in a tough neighborhood, but that's true in other basketball and hockey cities. It's not the fans who are complaining loudest about the facility, it's Arisen and Huizenga. They want more seats and more luxury skyboxes, which are hugely profitable.
Sports owners all over the country engage in the same strong-arming of loyal fans and local taxpayers: Give us what we want, or we'll bolt. And too often they do.
That's because there's always another town with an inferiority complex and gullible politicians willing to put up somebody else's money. It's not about economic betterment, it's about egos. Every place lusts for its own pro sports team.
Listen to what Fort Lauderdale's city manager said about the benefits of a new arena: "This will bring Broward County out of the shadow of Dade."
A baffling remark, considering that Broward is already growing much faster than Dade, and is internationally perceived as a safer and more desirable place to live.
The only shadow Broward residents ought to worry about is the one made by a tower of debt, which is what they'll be trapped under if Arisen, Huizenga or some future sports tycoon gets antsy again in a few years.
Which seems to be the nature of the game.
A rejected rough draft of the latest Letter of Intent to move the Heat and the Panthers from Miami to Broward County:
"And whereas we could move to Boca Raton;"
"Whereas we, Micky Arisen and Wayne Huizenga, the owners of the Miami Heat and the Florida Panthers, respectively, are committed to terminating our leases at the present Miami Arena, (hereinafter referred to as 'The Dump');
"And whereas neither of us intends to finance, wholly or in large part, the construction of a new sports arena, despite the fact we're both stupendously wealthy, and could probably pay for the whole darn thing out of our personal money-market accounts;
"And whereas the prospect of losing basketball or hockey has spurred local politicians to a burst of fiscal cleverness hitherto unknown in more mundane crises, such as juvenile crime or classroom overcrowding;
"And whereas the Broward County Commission has expressed verbally and in writing an almost pathological eagerness to construct a new sports arena for us, at considerable expense and public risk;
"And whereas said Broward Commission (hereinafter referred to as 'The Big Suckers') have acquiesced on numerous key points concerning the division of future arena revenues, including ticket sales, luxury box leases, food and souvenir concessions;
"And whereas, in the face of such blind generosity, we'd have to be out of our cotton-pickin' minds to fork out a nickel from our own pockets;
"We therefore declare our intention to move the Miami Heat and Florida Panthers to Broward County, providing all parties agree that:
" (a) This Letter of Intent shall be entirely non-binding (hereinafter referred to as 'worthless' or 'not worth the paper it's printed on').
" (b) This Letter of Intent shall not deprive us of our right to jerk Broward County around while we wait for other offers.
"Such jerking around (hereinafter referred to as 'thoughtful reconsideration') shall include but not be limited to postponing or ignoring agreed-upon deadlines, making coy and ambivalent public statements about where the teams wish to play, and generally stalling whenever it suits our purpose;
"And whereas, to our vast amusement, civic leaders and elected officials in Dade County have recently expressed an almost desperate desire to keep the Heat and/or the Panthers;
"And whereas we'd be foolish not to sit back and watch Dade and Broward compete like little children for the privilege of building us a brand-new $200 million arena;
"And whereas we don't particularly care where the money comes from, as long as it's not ours;
"And whereas Dade authorities appear every bit as gullible and easy to intimidate as those in Broward;
"And whereas while we find it hard to believe that local politicians are goofy enough to build two new arenas, we cannot rule out the intriguing possibility;
"Therefore each of us individually retains the right to pretend this Letter of Intent to Broward commissioners is a gag, and to continue negotiating for an extravagant new arena with Dade officials (hereinafter referred to as 'Even Bigger Suckers');
"Such negotiations with Dade may continue until the very day that construction on the Broward arena is completed. At that time one or both of us will sign an Amended Letter of Intent, allowing the Heat and/or Panthers to play in Broward County until something a little better comes along.
"Your pals, Wayne and Micky."
Team rebates send tax money down the drain
March 16, 1997
Wayne Huizenga is about to pick our pockets for another $60 million.
But don't fret, it's all for a good cause: spiffy new toilets at the former Joe Robbie Stadium!
Huizenga believes that all Florida taxpayers—most of whom have never brought their bladder to a football game—should subsidize renovations such as upgraded concession stands, concourses and restrooms.
This, after they've already bankrolled the conversion of JRS into a baseball park. Huizenga glommed the first $60 million on behalf of the Florida Marlins. Now he wants an identical handout for the Dolphins. Is the Legislature slutty enough to roll over twice for the same smooth-talking billionaire? Not only is it possible, it's virtually a sure bet. (He's getting another 60 mil for the Panthers' new arena.)
The money is a massive rebate of sales tax revenues—spread over 30 years—which would otherwise be frittered away on extravagances such as elementary schools. And, after all, what's more important to Florida's future—new textbooks for kids, or new chili-dog stands for Wayne? See, up in the Capitol, them boys loves their sports. In 1988, they approved a tax kickback to lure big-league franchises from other states. Since then, the loophole has been enlarged to funnel millions to pro teams that are already here, but have threatened to defect. Huizenga isn't the only tycoon to cash in. Owners of the Tampa Bay Bucs and the Orlando Magic have also taken advantage of the exemption. And Micky Arison is using his $60 million rebate to help finance the new arena for the Miami Heat.
But only Wily Wayne has tried to double-dip from the same jackpot. He figures he deserves a capital improvement subsidy for every sports team he owns, eve
n if two of them happen to play in the same ballpark. But just to show what a big heart he's got, Huizenga promises not to use any tax money to doll up the exclusive private suites and corporate skyboxes.
According to Wayne's lobbyist Ron Book (and we know he would never lie), the rebate will be spent "only in the areas that are accessible to the general public."
That means you'll be able to admire firsthand the gleaming new porcelain in your favorite fixture—for which you'll be paying, along with your game ticket, parking fees, programs, cheese nachos and the beer you're now getting rid of.
It's a swell deal for Huizenga. But as long as elected lawmakers do what billionaires tell them, billionaires will continue to ask for outrageous favors.
Ordinary folks needn't bother. Nobody who runs a mom-and-pop diner could con the state into buying them a new Mr. Coffee, much less a wall-to-wall renovation. Nor would they dream of trying.
Then again, ordinary folks can't afford to shower politicians with the hefty campaign donations that Huizenga spreads around. That's how votes are bought, and that's how these boondoggles are orchestrated.
If Stadium Giveaway II sails through the Legislature as expected, as much as $120 million in public funds will have been earmarked for improvements to JRS. That particular crater in the state's tax booty will be filled with other money—yours, mine, the folks with the diner.
To help groveling lawmakers defend their obeisance, Huizenga's forces have provided a sheath of hilariously inflated statistics about how much the Dolphins' eight regular-season home games contribute to South Florida's economy.
Think about that when you visit one of Wayne's new toilets.
You could flush yourself silly, but you'll never catch up to them boys in the Capitol.