THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, November 18, 1995 TAG: 9511181500
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Tom Robinson
LENGTH: Medium: 71 lines
They're happy enough now, I guess. But don't think the time isn't near when this area's professional sports franchises will be swept up in the wave of political blackmail that is washing over the national sports business.
In fact, I already have here a secret list of demands upon local governments from our franchise owners, under the threat of moving their teams.
Actually, they're so secret they haven't even been thought up yet.
But they will be.
It's what franchise owners do.
It says here the Tides are getting just a little bit fed up with playing in that outdated dungeon called Harbor Park. The sidewalks have sunk. Gum is stuck under seats that aren't plush enough to begin with. You can't catch a decent catfish in the river out beyond rightfield, one without three eyes anyway.
The dugouts are coated with sunflower seed husks and saliva and God knows what else. The Tides only get a tugboat salute on opening night. That's respect?
The luxury suites aren't positioned correctly as to allow the undetected dumping of beer on the unwashed below. Plus, they only manage a few sellouts all season. And why's it have to be so hot?
So Tides president Ken Young has three words for Norfolk Mayor Paul Fraim:
Retractable dome, baby.
Yo, what's good for Phoenix is good for Norfolk. And if we want to be major league, then it's time our local fathers started giving away some farms like the big boys.
We gotta get with the program. A temperature controlled dome. Thirty guaranteed sellouts a year, minimum. A buck rent. Unlimited round-trip flights to Tampa for Young and his family. First class. Three balls and four strikes per Tides' at-bat.
It's a start.
Our work's cut out with the Admirals, though. First, once the City Council finishes genuflecting before owner Blake Cullen, it should award him round-the-clock use of a Zamboni and free gas or whatever the thing runs on.
New offices at Scope, multi-colored ice, nightly laser shows and floors you don't stick to are musts. For the loyal fans, the assurance of at least five brawls per game, Admirals prevailing in each. More beer and plenty of it at lower prices.
Free haircuts for coach John Brophy. Katarina Witt as publicity director would be nice.
Either that or it's ``Hel-llooo Muncie'' for Cullen and crew.
The Mariners? Hey, they count. They're going to be in soccer's big leagues in a few years, right, scarfing up all the national notoriety for Hampton Roads that comes with it.
They'll require a real stadium, rent-free naturally. The concession stand must feature international hotto doggos and soft drinks in small, medium and World Cup sizes.
They insist on lead play on the TV sportscasts, particularly requiring Bruce Rader to repeat goal-scorers' names until he gets them right.
Then we've got this CFL team, Our Pirates. Simple solution, here. Lonie wants it, Lonie gets it.
Because nobody realizes it yet, but once those American teams split from deadwood Canada, form their own league and bring the NFL to its knees, man, it's going to be so big-time around here we're going to have to close off the borders.
The cities will be broke. But we'll have our teams. And what's more important than that? by CNB