In D.C., Baseball as a Political Football

With the Stadium Vote on the Line, Both Sides Are Mixing It Up With Metaphors

Supporters of baseball in the District at a rally in Freedom Plaza that also drew some opposition to a new stadium. (By Katherine Frey -- The Washington Post)

It's the bottom of the ninth for D.C. baseball! Metaphors are flying out of the park!

"Let's welcome the mayor, our slugger!" said Charlie Brotman, the legendary stadium announcer turned PR baron, addressing a lunchtime rally at Freedom Plaza yesterday.

"We're at the bottom of the ninth, there's two outs -- but the bases are loaded!" said Mayor Anthony Williams, who then switched to a nerdier metaphor. "There's a multiple-choice test, and there are two answers. There's a no, which we're not going to use, and there's a yes."

It's a football town, and labor leader Josh Williams chose an image from the gridiron: "We are in a two-minute drill that could mean victory or defeat for the District of Columbia."

Protesters carried placards with other metaphors:

"No Rubber Stamp Council."

"Tony the Rat."

Make no mistake, it's baseball we're talking about here at the winter solstice. The D.C. Council -- 13 politicians of varying ideologies, constituencies and political ambitions -- was scheduled to vote today on a stadium lease agreement with Major League Baseball that would give rise to a ball yard on South Capitol Street. The mayor, fearing defeat, has postponed the vote. The outcome of this battle could conceivably determine whether Washington Nationals baseball becomes a permanent feature of the local scene or just a brief interlude, a fling, a momentary game of catch.

Asked what happens if the council votes down the lease, the mayor said, "I don't want to deal with that train wreck."

So you see the metaphors are running amok. This is what happens when Big Money meets Major Uncertainty. Just the sidewalks in the stadium area would cost the District $4 million. Just the artwork would be an additional $3 million -- yes, the artwork, which would be required under District law in a big project, and would please all the baseball fans who go to a game to see nice paintings.

The mayor needs seven votes and as of yesterday seemed to have only five. The mayor's office said the vote would be delayed while officials tweak the lease agreement. Wavering council members are being wined, dined, stroked, hectored, cajoled. The lame-duck mayor is flexing what passes for his political muscles (though he admits that his political skills might not be "ready for prime time").

There's a World Series atmosphere at the John A. Wilson Building -- the World Series of Poker, that is, with much talk about who's bluffing whom. Plus there's the usual political gamesmanship: tug-of-war, hot-potato, dodge ball. District politics has the unusual feature of following rules that no one is allowed to know. Those rules can change without public notice. The game's not over until it's over, and even then there can be an emergency sudden-death overtime, followed by an Official Protest and then that most sacred ritual of sport, the do-over.