A hush falls over the crowd at Michigan Stadium. The quarterback
looks at the
clock: only ten seconds remain in the game, and his
Wolverines trail by four points. This play is the last chance for
victory
over Ohio State. The quarterback takes a deep breath and takes
the snap from the center. As he backs into the pocket, a
blitzing
defender nearly takes him down. He swiftly dodges and locates an open
receiver in the end zone. He brings his
arm forward to throw, and as
he lets go, he is brought to the ground by a defender. Still pinned on
the ground, he hears
absolutely nothing until the collective roar of
over 100,000 screaming fans finally brings him to his feet. The clock
has
run out, and the scoreboard shows Michigan leading by two points!
The band starts blaring "The Victors," the students storm
the field,
and the most exciting, electrifying environment in America at that
very moment is in Ann Arbor, Michigan.
Meanwhile, some eighty-five
feet above the field, a powerful business executive stirs in his sleep
on his leather couch
and mulls over his decision to pay over $60,000
for a luxury box at Michigan Stadium while a few clients sip wine
coolers,
quietly discussing mutual funds and the weather in Bora-Bora.
For over a century, college football has prided itself on
being a
sport built on teamwork, camaraderie, and pride in one's own school.
More and more over the last two decades,
however, college football has
built itself up on the shaky pillars of multi-million dollar
television deals and corporate
sponsorship. Once seen as atrocities,
things such as private luxury boxes, banner advertisements and
stadiums named
after corporations are now so common that nobody gives
so much as an eye roll anymore. The epidemic has diseased nearly
every
NCAA Division I-A institution, and now, one of the only remaining
giants to stand tall in the face of such change
is losing its balance,
ready to topple at any moment.
That giant is the University of Michigan, and after enjoying over
eighty years of pure college football of Michigan Stadium
free of any
and all corporate ties, its fans are now faced with the imminent
construction of luxury boxes around the
top of their stadium.
High-ranking officials at the University of Michigan claim that luxury
boxes--or, "enclosed seating,"
in their lexicon--argue that the money
raised from the luxury boxes will be used to bring in more cash flow
for the
University and the athletic department. This argument appears
to have great merit on the surface: after all, what university
couldn't
use a few extra dollars to spend? The question is, however,
whatever happened to "The Michigan Difference?" The University
claims
that it has one of the largest financial endowments in America.
According to preliminary estimates, the proposed
luxury boxes will
only bring in about $3 million per year, barely even enough money to
cover the debt payments on the
construction cost. Three million
dollars per year is practically nothing compared to the extremely vast
resources the
University already has and continues to bring in.
One official claimed that during a recent trip to The Ohio State
University,
he saw their new luxury boxes and was "embarrassed" at how
far behind Michigan's facilities looked by comparison. Although
the
University of Michigan is not looking to enter into an arms race with
other schools, the pressure does exist to
"keep up with the Joneses,"
because schools with sub-par facilities have trouble landing talented
recruits, and talented
recruits make for better teams which bring
in--what else--more money. But the reality of the situation is that
with
or without luxury boxes, Michigan's facility, the Big House, is
one of the most well-known arenas in sports, mostly because
it is the
largest football arena in America. Michigan football has won eleven
national titles and is the winningest
program in the history of
college football. The program enjoys great success year after year,
and academically, the
University is one of the top institutions in
America. The Michigan Athletic Department should not need to try to
keep
up with the Joneses; the rest of college football should be
trying to catch up with them.
Besides, if the Michigan bigwigs backing the luxury box plan could
see how football at corporate-backed stadiums differs
from their own
brand, they would probably not support the project with such zest.
During Syracuse University football
games at the Carrier Dome (named
for the Carrier air conditioning company), the scoreboard is not
bordered with the
school's national championship years or a cheerfully
encouraging "Go Orange!" The scoreboard is instead telling fans to
buy
Pepsi products and shop at Ace, the Helpful Place. Over the public
address system, in between plays, the announcer
does not offer updates
to timeless traffic safety reminders or narrate great moments in
Syracuse history, but instead
reminds the sparse crowd that the
Carrier Dome's energy is provided by Niagara Mohawk, a National Grid
company. The
game seems to be more of an afterthought to the constant
deluge of advertisements bombarding the game's patrons--whose
numbers,
by the way, decline each year. The situation at Syracuse is dire, but
Michigan could avoid a such a depressing
fate by maintaining their
strong tradition of supporting "pure" college football, or that left
untouched by the hands
of corporate sponsorship.
If the luxury boxes are completed, there will only be one pure
college football stadium left
in America. As it stands right now,
there are only two, and they are Michigan Stadium and Notre Dame
Stadium. These
schools are the quintessence of college football
success. Notre Dame, like Michigan, has a strong tradition of winning,
and
perennially fields a competitive team. Everything else in western
culture has taken a turn toward becoming more corporate,
but why
should the most storied programs in college football follow suit?
Clearly these teams do not need the added
revenue of luxury boxes and
corporate sponsorship to field a winning team--as Notre Dame has
vetoed luxury box construction
as recently as two years ago--so why
succumb to the "peer pressure" supplied by other colleges and
universities when
the need is not there?
The Board of Regents and supportive
fans argue for the luxury boxes
because included in the construction plans is a renovation of the
stadium, which will
provide a much-needed facelift for the outside of
Michigan Stadium and widen seats to provide more comfort to fans.
Additionally,
the luxury boxes, their flat faces extending some eighty
feet into the air, may make for a louder stadium, as sound will
echo
off of the walls and onto the field. While these most certainly are
viable arguments, the fact remains that Michigan
Stadium is the
largest college football venue in the country, and has been for many
years. Michigan fans are proud of
this fact: a great cheer erupts when
the attendance is announced at each and every home game. The Big
House, however,
holds only some 500 more people than Penn State's
Beaver Stadium, and even though the administration promises that the
arena's
capacity will remain "at or near" 107,501 people after
construction, there is a very real possibility that Michigan will
lose
its distinction as the "largest crowd watching a football game in
America" (Carty).
Michigan also boasts a waiting list for season tickets some 16,000
names long. Removing seats from the stadium is not the
best way to
diminish that list. Fans who have been on the waiting list for years
may become irritated and lose interest
in the team if the University
makes no effort to deliver on its long-standing promise of season
tickets. Since the luxury
boxes prevent further expansion of the
stadium's general seating along the edge of the bowl as has occurred
in the past,
those on the season ticket waiting list will have to wait
many long years for their tickets, whereas maintaining the stadium's
current
capacity or even expanding its general seating area would
accomplish Michigan Stadium's original goal: get as many people
watching
a football game together at one time as possible.
And while it may seem that contacting the dead would have no place in
the
luxury box debate, the issue has, on a certain level, arisen.
Perhaps the most intriguing point made by proponents of Michigan's
luxury
boxes is the claim that the stadium's original visionary,
former Michigan head football coach and athletic director Fielding
H.
Yost, would have wanted to see luxury boxes built onto the stadium.
While Yost was, as author John Bacon states,
"a dyed-in-the-wool
capitalist," it is absurd to assume that Fielding Yost would have been
in favor of adding luxury
boxes, if for no other reason besides the
fact that luxury boxes did not even exist in football stadiums during
his
lifetime (Lapointe). The closest experience to actually speaking
to Yost that the Regents could possibly have today would
be to speak
to his grandson, Fielding H. Yost III. As an outspoken opponent of the
boxes, however, Yost was shut out
of board meetings and presentations
regarding the stadium's expansion. So short of contacting Fielding H
.Yost, the
first, through some sort of medium, it is very unlikely
that anybody in favor of the project can actually cite his feelings
regarding
the project with any sort of accuracy.
Despite the overwhelming
lack of support for the project displayed by
Michigan students, as displayed by the online petition at
http://www.savethebighouse.com/ and numerous articles in "The Michigan
Daily," the plans for luxury box construction appear to be on
schedule. This
is surprising, as the students and season ticket
holders speaking out against the plan pay the Board of Regents'
salary.
Luxury boxes have become a major issue in the upcoming
election for the candidates running for a place on the Board. The
democratic
process is at work before the University's very eyes: if
taxpayers only vote for those candidates who oppose the plans
to build
luxury boxes, the plan will be less likely to pass. Additionally,
opponents of the plan can write letters to
President Mary Sue Coleman,
the Board of Regents, and volunteer with savethebighouse.com--or at
least sign the petition.
Not since Fielding Yost oversaw the
construction of Michigan Stadium in the 1920s has there been a greater
crossroads
in the history of Michigan football. Today's fans have the
potential to shape its face for decades to come, and one only
hopes
that that face is not scarred with blemishes left by unsightly and
unnecessary luxury boxes.
