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Florida house kills Dolphins subsidy, CEO says "Screw renovations if we have to pay for them"
Posted on May 6, 2013 by Neil deMause
Man, just when we were gearing up for a nice ridiculous Miami Dolphins stadium subsidy campaign, the Florida house had to go and ruin everything by failing to vote on a stadium renovation subsidy bill before the end of their session on Friday. This means that the public referendum that voting already started for is now called off, as is (for the moment, anyway) hopes by Orlando City Soccer Club and other Florida sports teams for a chunk of the state stadium boodle,
There's lots of fingerpointing going on now, as you'd expect — Dolphins owner Stephen Ross accused House Speaker Will Weatherford, who failed to bring the bill to a vote, of "put[ting] politics before the people and the 4,000 jobs this project would have created for Miami-Dade and that is just wrong," while Weatherford replied that "you're talking about hundreds of millions of dollars and I think the House just never got comfortable there when the session ended" — but the real question is what exactly happens now. Does Ross go ahead with the renovations, or a smaller set of renovations, with his own money?
The Miami Dolphins do not intend to pay for any upgrades to Sun Life Stadium now that the team's push for a subsidized renovation to the 1987 facility has failed, CEO Mike Dee said Sunday.
"We cannot do this without a private-public partnership," Dee told Miami Herald news partner WFOR-CBS 4. "At this time we have no intention of investing more."
That'd be a no, then. So what are the Dolphins going to do, other than shaking their fists angrily at Weatherford? (Dee called his vote an "abuse of power" and repeatedly called him "a guy from Pasco County," and somebody planted a story in Mike Florio's NBC Sports column saying that "a source" says that "those supporting the proposed upgrades to Sun Life Stadium" believe that Weatherford killed the bill because he was promised monetary support in the next election. So, yeah, they're pretty mad at Weatherford right now, or at least trying to focus their rage there.) Will the Dolphins, say, threaten to move now?
"The Dolphins are one of the only franchises in the NFL that don't have a long-term lease with their community," Dee said. "At some point somebody's going to buy the franchise from Steve, and clearly the stadium is the first thing they would need to address."
Well, that's not exactly a threat per se—
As for whether Ross might sell the team or try moving it elsewhere, he added: "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
Now that's getting closer to a threat. Or at least the kind of statement that the media can interpret as a threat to move, which is just what Ross and Dee need right now.
Realistically, the team isn't going to move anywhere anytime soon: While the pending announcement of who'll get the next couple of Super Bowls was a nice opportunity to try to press for renovation money, there was enough legislative support for public subsidies that the Dolphins will invariably be back a year from now to press their case again, just like the Marlins did year after year after year. But in the meantime, it's worth their while to get the "Will the Dolphins move to L.A.?" rumors started, in the hopes that maybe that will help turn around some of those awful poll numbers that likely would have defeated the referendum next week anyway.
In fact, Ross might have dodged a bullet here, since this way he gets to blame Weatherford for blocking the stadium bill, instead of having to blame the public for voting it down. I wouldn't go so far as to claim that sources say critics of the deal believe some people imagine that Ross planned it this way all along, but … oh, wait, I just did, didn't I?
How cities haven't actually fallen out of love with funding sports stadiums
Dolphins owner says he'll pay half of stadium reno, calls it biggest commitment in US sports…
Braves stadium mysteries: Who would pay for it, and is the site workable?
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8 comments on "Florida house kills Dolphins subsidy, CEO says "Screw renovations if we have to pay for them""
Kei on May 6, 2013 at 9:34 am said:
Now would be a good time to remind everybody that Stephen Ross's net worth is around $4.4 billion.
QCIC on May 6, 2013 at 10:43 am said:
Hey you don't become a billionaire by spending your own money! You need to get other people to spend their money for your private gain.
IndyRes on May 6, 2013 at 12:02 pm said:
Frankly I'm amazed that any legislator in America turned down a billionaire team owner. Maybe Indiana needs to import some Florida legislators…
Ryan on May 6, 2013 at 3:06 pm said:
Florida's desire to make the public unable to vote has done something good; I think we might be seeing pigs fly soon.
Anyway, the city that looks even stupider right now is Santa Clara, who in a panic to get a Super Bowl, agreed to the horrifying deal mentioned here ( http://www.fieldofschemes.com/2013/03/20/4758/no-tax-please-were-the-super-bowl/ ) due to the fear Miami would get it, which obviously isn't going to happen now. In addition, a city that just got insanely lucky is Houston, because there is no need to agree to a crappy deal because its obvious they have no competition for Super Bowl 51, thanks to Santa Clara taking its crappy deal and Miami saying no.
Piggy Wilf on May 6, 2013 at 3:11 pm said:
"Fear Factor: NFL Edition" coming soon to a Miami banner headline near you. Did I mention Los Angeles? Why we've got 2 or 4 or 7 shovel-ready projects ready to go there, all it takes is one mistake by the taxpayers of Florida. Why there are billions of loose dollars floating all around L.A. just begging us for a team. For 19 years we've bravely held them off to keep you, the peons, errr, fans, knee deep in expensive football games you can barely afford to attend, but we can't hold them back forever, we just can't.
Little people of Dade County, I implore you, give us the stadium cash, the sweet, sweet public stadium cash we NFL billionaires crave, like ticks crave hot blood. Before it's too late!!
Ben Miller on May 6, 2013 at 3:54 pm said:
The Santa Clara deal is going to work out great for the city and it will be pretty funny to see the True Believers still trying to argue that it's bad. Silicon Valley is getting a Super Bowl, probably more than one, possibly a solid bowl game and perhaps other football/soccer/concert events. Maybe someone will finally even renovate TechMart!
The Dolphins deal is funny in a different way. It's a great game of chicken between the NFL and the locals. The NFL knows that their best Super Bowl location is Miami (at least until someone builds a stadium in L.A.) and Miami/Florida knows that the Super Bowl is great for the area. I think the NFL needs Miami a *little* more than Miami needs a Super Bowl, so if Miami/Florida pols stay strong, they should be able to force the Dolphins and the league to pay. The one trump card the Dolphins/NFL have is the college football championship. If college football also deems Joe Robbie insufficient for title games then I'd think that the local pols would have to cave.
ChefJoe on May 6, 2013 at 4:04 pm said:
Florida is putting themselves at the end of the line. Who wants to go to Florida in late Jan/ early February to play that last football game of the season anyways? This will help the new Vikings stadium's bid for the superbowl, because February in Minneapolis is sure to be a spectacle to behold.
Those generous vikings, they're even allowing the public a chance to will-call 1 of 200 tickets to see them unveil the stadium model on the 13th. Minds will be blown, and torrents of epulltab revenues will appear. Followed by superbowl attendees… just hope they have a big enough coat-check room to accomodate.
Roger C. on May 6, 2013 at 6:15 pm said:
This guy is a terrible writer.


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Doctor Unqualified to Testify Against Nurse in Medical Malpractice Case
A recent Illinois appellate court case discusses the expert witness requirements in medical malpractice actions. The holding comes as no surprise to experienced Chicago medical malpractice lawyers: a doctor is not considered qualified to testify concerning the "standard of care" of a nurse in a medical negligence action.
In the case, Smith v. Pavlovich, M.D., et al., No. 5-08-0256 (Ill. App. Ct. 5th Dist., Sep. 10, 2009), a three-year-old girl died at the age of 3 from what was diagnosed as meningitis. Her mother filed a medical malpractice lawsuit against two doctors and a registered nurse, alleging that the defendants negligently failed to recommend and administer Prevnar, a vaccine which may have prevented the bacterial meningitis from causing her daughter's death.
Prior to the girl's death, she was a patient at the Carbondale Clinic on six separate occasions and on each occasion, she was only seen by the defendant nurse. She never saw either of the defendant doctors. At trial, the court rejected the attempt of the plaintiff's medical malpractice attorney to have its expert witness, a doctor, testify as to the standard of care applicable to registered nurses. The appellate court affirmed.
The court noted the well-established rule that to testify as an expert on the standard of care for a given school of medicine, the expert "must be licensed therein." In other words, a practitioner of one school of medicine (i.e. a doctor) is not qualified to testify as an expert in a medical malpractice action against a practitioner of another school of medicine (i.e. a nurse). Citing Sullivan v. Edward Hospital, 209 Ill. 2d 100 (Ill. 2004).
The court rejected the plaintiff's argument that the nurse was acting as a pediatrician with respect to the decadent and that therefore a physician specializing in pediatrics was qualified to testify about the standard of care applicable to the nurse. Furthermore, the appellate court affirmed the dismissals of the defendant doctors because neither doctor ever examined, treated or even saw the decedent as a patient.
This case stresses the importance of choosing experts wisely in medical malpractice actions, and making sure you have an expert qualified to testify concerning the standard of care applicable to each defendant. Had the plaintiff's medical malpractice lawyer retained a registered nurse to testify as an expert witness concerning the defendant nurse's deviation from the standard of care, a jury would have been able to decide whether the nurse's malpractice caused the plaintiff's daughter's death.
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Rami Malek, Lucy Boynton, Ben Hardy, Gwilym Lee, Joseph Mazzello, Mike Myers, Tom Hollander, Aaron McCusker
Justin Haythe
"Bohemian Rhapsody" Never Quite Transcends Glossy Impersonation
The problem with portraying a larger than life figure is, of course, that one's portrayal must also be larger than life. Rami Malek is good as Queen frontman Freddie Mercury in the biopic Bohemian Rhapsody, in fact it can be said he is easily the best thing about the otherwise paint-by-numbers, strangely formulaic motion picture about a band that self-professed "We don't follow formulas."
While there's an argument that such a statement is true, it's definitely not true of director Bryan Singer's 134-minute slicker than snot yet soulless film that likely hits enough right notes to please the masses but is destined to disappoint a good majority of cineastes and true Queen and Freddie Mercury devotees.
If I were to describe Bohemian Rhapsody in an easy, accessible phrase it would be "cover band." The film never really strikes an original note, choosing instead to tap into all the biopic high notes including bookend scenes that do, indeed, pretty magnificently bring to life Queen's remarkable Live Aid performance.
It's just a pity that virtually no other aspect of the film ever becomes that remarkable.
By now, it's fairly well known that Rami Malek jumped into the film after Sacha Baron Cohen's departure, while Singer's departure shortly before filming finished led to Dexter Fletcher being brought in to wrap things up. While Fletcher may have left a note or two on the big screen, rest assured that Bohemian Rhapsody is a Bryan Singer film.
The initial presentation of Malek's Mercury is a jarring one, his protruding overbite far more dominant than it ever seemed with Mercury and his accent, indicate of Mercury's Zanzibari roots, stretches and twists its way like a mouthwash overdose. While this sounds like a dreadful insult, it's not and one becomes accustomed to the interpretation that mellows throughout the course of the film and right into Malek truly hitting his stride as Mercury arrives in the 70's and the image that most of us have of Mercury is brought to the forefront.
While Malek's performance never quite feels authentic, it's a remarkable impersonation and, quite impressively, never crosses the line into the caricature it could have easily been.
Bohemian Rhapsody is at its most satisfying in its performance sequences, sequences that are fortunately frequently present throughout the film's too long yet not long enough running time. The film is less satisfying when exploring, or mostly sugarcoating, Mercury and the band's more human elements. Mercury's complex relationship with Mary Austin (Lucy Boynton) is the closest the film gets to genuine humanity, their slow dance toward an inevitably failed intimacy played out with an honesty a good portion of the rest of the film lacks. While the rest of Mercury's bandmates do eventually become fully formed characters, Bohemian Rhapsody wraps itself around Mercury and never really lets go. Brian May and Roger Taylor co-produced the film, perhaps explaining why the film never quite delves more deeply than the long celebrated public images.
Bohemian Rhapsody didn't, of course, have any actual "need" to be a more complex, emotionally driven film. Singer was under no obligation to delve deeper or to more fully explore Mercury's hedonistic ways, mostly closeted sexuality, or the vast chasm that could be his on and off-stage personas. The biggest problem, however, with Bohemian Rhapsody is that it constantly feels like it is going to do these things only to pull back and play it safe time and again.
Bohemian Rhapsody isn't a bad film. It's entertaining, especially during its musical sequences and its absolutely dynamite Live Aid recreation, but it's a film that manages to feel incomplete even at over two hours in length. It's a strangely bland, formulaic motion picture for one of contemporary music's most dynamic and compelling lead singers.
Instead of, say, "Another One Bites the Dust," Bohemian Rhapsody is more like "Another One Rides the Bus."


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Stone Goodman
In Italy, the Sun and the Moon
Italy, the Sun and the Moon
On the first drive into Umbria, the sun was setting. We saw fields of sunflowers, large squares of bright yellow from a distance, sunflowers turning their heads towards the sun.
From the window of the place where we stayed, we overlooked a valley and the sunflowers down below were often a subject of conversation.
The artist next door explained to us that the sunflowers were a replacement crop, planted where once there were tobacco fields. There were not nearly as many tobacco fields as there once had been in this area; as in the United States, there was some government subsidy to the tobacco field farmer, support for a crop that is not as profitable as it once had been.
The artist explained to us, "the sunflower now is proud and tall, but you will see, before you leave, their heads begin to droop. They look so sad before they are harvested."
The name for sunflower in Italian is girasole, which is not sunflower, as in English, but the flower that spins with the sun. The sunflower spins for the sun, acres of them. It seeks the sun, spins around to face it, proud and defiant in the early cycle of its growth, but we saw it, not long before we left, the sunflowers dropping over with the weight of their own fullness, fields of them uniform in their sadness. Like the face that appears in a cloud or in the swirl of oil in water, like a chair seen from a distance on the lawn of a house in the moonlight, it was unavoidable interpreting the sunflowers.
There was surely something sad in the flowers drooping in the yellows, facing east in their unmoving expectation of renewal. But by the time we left, the sunflowers had humbled themselves into a new posture, the anthropomorphic sadness was unavoidable, but they could have been read as patient, prayerful even. They were about to be harvested. For all their growing throughout the long days of the summer, this their goal: to give up their seeds, arc towards the ground as the summer days shortened and loaded them up with seeds. They drooped with the weight of their crop, their purpose to produce seeds, the heft of the seeds drawing them down towards the ground. To be bowed with their own fecundity — how is that sad? Still it looked sad, maybe this the harder idea: not sad looks sad, to be stuck with appearances this way playing the heart when the head knows better.
One night we watched the sun set from the balcony of the artist, where he often sat at the end of day, with friends and supper. After the sunset, he jumped up and led us to a small park on the upper reaches of the town to watch the moon rise.
"Oh wait," he said, after he had locked his door," he rushed back inside and brought out a large pair of binoculars that he strung around his neck. "My parents asked me what I would like as a gift, so I dragged them to Perugia and found the biggest pair of binoculars I could find," he said chuckling.
We looked at the moon from the edge of the little park, then we walked down into the piazza for a late cappuccino, glass of wine, gelato for the kids.
To everyone he greeted, I heard the artist chattering in Italian about "la luna" and motioning to his binoculars. It was an event that night, la luna, we went to watch it the next night but it was cloudy, or we missed it, or we went to the wrong place.
The next night was the full moon, and I snuck up to the park at the top of the village for a late night sighting. Someone was there before me, standing next to the stone ledge that runs around the park on the top of the walled town, eleventh century, the best spot in town for moon viewing. I watched from behind, the person at the edge silhouetted against the moon, so large and full and present, myself in the shadows at the other end of the park, we both silently watching, perfectly still, then the person standing at the edge reached out, grabbed the moon, and rolled it across the universe.
On a Mountain
We settled for three weeks on the top of a mountain in Umbria, in a city built in the eleventh century surrounded by a wall. There was stone and brick walkways that all led down to the piazza in the center, where there were several bars and chairs and tables to sit in the evening.
There was a film festival when we first arrived. The directors of the films were often invited and occasionally they showed up. They were given keys to the city, they ate in the nice restaurant with the Sardinian chef, they took their picture there and left it with their autograph at the desk.
Last year, someone received the key to the city and cried. His picture was also displayed at the Sardinian restaurant.
When we arrived, the film festival was in full swing. The films were shown on a giant white screen that had been set up in the piazza. I watched a beautiful Italian film one night. I figured that I would understand the action of the film. The director was there and his style was tight shots of beautiful faces. I watched the entire film and realized that all I understood was that it was about two brothers. That's all I knew. Maybe it was about two brothers, I wasn't sure.
Another night, they showed the film East is East which appeared in my home town not long before we arrived in Umbria. It was also a wonderful film, and the director appeared. He received the key to the city. The film was dubbed in Italian, but they also showed two of his shorter films, which showed a great sense of humor and a tender sympathy for the point of view of children.
My friend who travels often to Italy sent me a small Italian cellular phone. I sent the phone number to Ellis, another pal from home. I rarely speak to Ellis when I am home, but when I travel, he calls me almost everyday.
Ellis called and I popped my head out the window of the mountain fortress where we were staying, I looked up at the moon and sent a clear message to the satellite overhead. The sound of our voices shot to the stars above, and surely someone on the other side of the valley was watching me, hung out the window, dangling in the moonlight out the wall of this protected town under the canopy of stars, one of which is the satellite that bounced my voice off its metal and sent it back to Ellis, half way around the world, in an instant.
My wife encouraged me to have a reading of the story, part of which is this story minus the epilogue. I wasn't ready but I read the story anyway, to my wife, my daughters, and the artist who lived next door and had come to visit.
In the reading, I realized that the story had ended too soon.
I didn't know you wrote stories, the artist said. I didn't realize you were so observant.
I was embarrassed, so much of the story was about him, but I realized in the reading that it was about art, I suppose, the making of it, thinking it, performing it, living it. There was more of that in Italy than where I come from.
One day we sat looking at the mountains where walked the saints and mystics of Assisi, San Francesco and his comrades. We sat with new friends in a grove of olive trees from which fine olive oil is made. The mistress of the olive grove pointed up toward the ridge of the mountains, where Francesco walked, and said, "sometimes I sit here and I imagine I see him up there. Is that crazy?"
No, I said, and I told her the story of the Sabbath Queen and how we welcome her every Friday night. "We all stand and turn to the door and bow in the last verse. It's a love song that sings her to her lover. Do we imagine her? Yes, that is always the point."
"What is it about San Francesco. . ." she asked.
"Nothing. What San Francesco had was nothing and it's the very thing everybody wants. His power was the power of nothing."
We had lunch and discussed literature and art. There was an architect, a singer, a painter, all of them knew a great deal about American writers in addition to their own artists.
My wife mentioned that I write. "Oh yes?" They all said. "What do you write?"
"Stories," I said.
"How wonderful, what kind of stories?"
They wanted me to read one of my stories and I realized that I spend a month, sometimes a year where I come from, and no one asks, not once, for one of my stories. At home I am often shy about bringing up a passage from a story that I have written, though I think of them often.
Still, I missed my home, and I felt a little like an expatriot story writer in Italy, and though I didn't miss the secrecy of writing stories at home, I missed the collusion with the few people I know with whom I talk nothing but stories.
To one of those people, I sent a note care of the cafe where we frequent in my home town. In the note I described a coffee house I visited in Rome, where Keats, Lizst, Shelley, Byron sat and drank coffee, not far from their famous house, a pink house, near the Spanish steps. Now the coffee house is mostly a tourist place, but I could still feel the presence there of something beautiful, and exciting, and risky.
When I visited the famous coffee house in Rome there was a man sitting by the door, with a pink tie and a pink kerchief in his pocket that was much too large for his cream jacket, posing next to another gentleman who sat at a table and painted. It may have been all that is left of the former glory of this wondrous place, but I enjoyed it anyway. I loved it. I wrote about it.
james stone goodman
umbria, italy
luglio, 20__
Author JSGadminPosted on August 26, 2007 Categories Alma Vida y Corazon: Stories of Ascent, Uncategorized
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