In D.C., Baseball as a Political Football
With the Stadium Vote on the Line, Both Sides Are Mixing It Up With Metaphors

By Joel Achenbach
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, December 20, 2005

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.

The council already voted to build a stadium, last year, and said the District would issue $535 million in bonds to pay for it. But the scorekeepers objected. Natwar Gandhi, the independent chief financial officer, put the real cost for a South Capitol stadium at $667 million, including financing, upgrades to RFK Stadium (where the Nationals will play in the coming season), a parking garage and various other infrastructure improvements. Other estimates of the cost are higher than $700 million, and critics of the deal say it could wind up being a billion-dollar boondoggle.

So the council may pull a John Kerry and vote against a stadium it already voted for. Almost everyone on the council is running for something next year, but it's not obvious what's the best political play. Depends on the constituency. Carol Schwartz is a crucial swing vote, and she voted no last time, a year ago, when the stadium plan was first approved by a council that included several members at the end of their terms. But it's easier to vote no when something is going to pass either way. To grasp the subtleties of this situation, you'd need to be a game theorist, someone who understands things like the Deadline Effect and the Prisoner's Dilemma.

"You have an immovable object against an infinite power. They both have ultimate say. Who wins in that stare-down? I dunno," said Jeff Neal, co-founder of Monument Realty, a major landholder in the stadium area.

There are those on the council and in the community who want to build a stadium on federal parkland next to RFK Stadium, which, the CFO's office said, would cost less money. But Major League Baseball has said that's unacceptable. The District would have to dicker with the federal government over the use of that land. And the mayor and his business allies say the RFK site would never spawn the kind of commercial and entertainment district (and associated tax revenue) they envision. Look at RFK now: It stands alone, surrounded by parking lots and residential neighborhoods.

But some council members and many community activists think the District is offering a sweetheart deal to rich baseball owners.

"This lease is a giveaway," said ANC Commissioner Mary Williams, part of the counter-rally at Freedom Plaza.

Council member David Catania, a steadfast critic of the lease, said: "The mayor pitched the taxpayers overboard long ago. Seriously. We were thrown overboard without lifejackets long ago."

Which is terrible to endure no matter what the inning is.

Major League Baseball is arguably in the most powerful position, because it's that most all-American of entities: a protected monopoly. It owns the crucial commodity, the team itself. It has refused to sell the team until the stadium deal is approved. The baseball owners can pick up and move if they want. They could take the team to Vegas.

Which brings in the poker metaphor.

"I think they're bluffing when they say they'll leave," Catania said. "MLB has found a lucrative home and deep pocket and there's no way they're walking away."

The mayor's spokesman, Vince Morris, has a different metaphor.

"Some of the council members are trying to play a game of chicken. They say, 'We've got the team, let's force Major League Baseball to bend at the knees and come to us and give us more money.' That's very naive."

Conflict is crucial to the sport of politics. Without conflict, there'd be no game, no heroes, hardly anything that could be called a victory. As the stadium fight reaches two strikes with two outs in the bottom of the ninth, everyone's hoping for a knockout punch, or a Hail Mary pass.

Prediction: It will come down to a three-point shot at the buzzer.