Next time you walk into your local supermarket or drug store, look at what sits on the shelves. No, not the miles of pantyhose, but the labels themselves. Each container bears the name of some bureaucratic monster, such as Flemmark®, Pens or Studly Aftershave. They all have some brand name on them. But seeing as how this is a sports column, not the financial pages, you may be asking yourself: What’s this all got to do with sports? Haven’t you noticed yet? Doesn’t anyone care as we cram into the seats of our favorite team’s home turf? Corporate sponsorship is ruining the game.
We suffer from subliminal messages every time we set foot into those arenas. Yes, those humongous corporations provide sorely needed funding to the teams who play in the parks, but drawbacks still abound: Their money has strings attached.
Look at the Florida Marlins and Miami Dolphins, who still occupy Pro Player (formerly Joe Robbie) Stadium, a facility named for Fruit of the Loom’s now-defunct athletic clothing line. Though they are receiving no money for the name, the terms of the contract have forced the stadium to retain the title for several years. Isn’t there something wrong here?
It gets better. Last summer, the Patriots were all set to move into their brand new CMGI Field. But what exactly does CMGI do? Let me check. CMGI provides technology and e-commerce solutions. Wonderful. But what about the field? Oh, that. On August 5, 2002, CMGI and the New England Patriots “agree to revise sponsorship agreement.”
Translation: CMGI withdraws sponsorship from the stadium name.
Over the next month, CMGI proceeds to lose all capital and sells out to SalesLink.
In the meantime, razor magnate Gillette takes control of the sponsorship deal and CMGI field is rechristened Gillette Stadium. Must we put up with this? NO. I went to a Rolling Stones concert at Gillette a month after CMGI withdrew. While the big signs all read “Gillette Stadium,” the plastic beer cups and directional signage still said “CMGI Field.”
The change wasted the money of the stadium signage bureau, which has since filed suit against the Patriots for stupidity.
At the same time, the Houston Astros were enjoying their second year at Enron Field. Then we find out about the accounting mess at the sponsoring company. While Enron attempts to figure out how to file bankruptcy and the female employees pose for Playboy, the Astros lose their name. A few weeks later, some nut finally comes up with the money for sponsorship. Now they play in Minute Maid Park, named for the Coca-Cola subsidiary. The name makes sense because the ball is already juiced (Go ahead, laugh at my overused joke.). Though Coke, an Atlanta company (so why are they slapping their name on a Houston venue?), isn’t going under anytime soon, the Astros are stuck with Minute Maid Park for the next twenty seven years regardless of whether the juice division fails.
Some of these sponsorships make even less sense. Phoenix’s Bank One Ballpark is most notable for the swimming pool that’s present in the outfield, not the Diamondbacks who play there.
The Philadelphia’s Flyers and the 76’ers share the Wachovia Center, which sounds fine, right. But remember, before the First Union and Wachovia merger, the venue used to be the First Union Center, which created an unpopular joke (Honey, the guys and I are going to tonight’s game. Yeah, it’s at the FU Center.). Now Philly never has to endure its sting again.
But then again, their new football stadium has my favorite name in sports: Lincoln Financial Field. All attendees get $1,000 invested in their mutual fund just for watching Donovan McNabb and ten schmoes run around. Or you can form a Circle Checking Account at the Phillies digs, Citizens Bank Park, a major improvement over the Vet.
I could go on and on with these one-liners, but I’ll continue with the article.
Even stadiums that have never been sponsored have been affected. Through 1996, the Houston Rockets played home games at The Summit, which served them fine, hosting two NBA championship teams. Then the bigwigs got the idea of getting corporate sponsorship, becoming the Compaq Center. The fans still refer to it as The Summit. In addition, the Rockets haven’t won a championship since the name change.
The worst however is U. S. Cellular Field, home of the Chicago White Sox. Originally Comisky Park, named for the franchise’s longtime owner, it had remained a constant in the landscape of changing ballparks. Even when a second stadium was built, it retained the Comisky name. Then, Jerry Reinsdorf, the supreme moron behind the team’s loss of respectability, decides he needs more cash. Now it’s U. S. Cellular Field for no apparent reason, alienating part of the Pale Hose’s loyal following. I’m outraged too; there’s only one way I’ll ever call it anything other than Comisky.
There better be an iron “no cell phone use” policy in effect.