"And whereas the prospect of losing basketball or hockey has spurred local politicians to a burst of fiscal cleverness hitherto unknown in more mundane crises, such as juvenile crime or classroom overcrowding;

"And whereas the Broward County Commission has expressed verbally and in writing an almost pathological eagerness to construct a new sports arena for us, at considerable expense and public risk;

"And whereas said Broward Commission (hereinafter referred to as 'The Big Suckers') have acquiesced on numerous key points concerning the division of future arena revenues, including ticket sales, luxury box leases, food and souvenir concessions;

"And whereas, in the face of such blind generosity, we'd have to be out of our cotton-pickin' minds to fork out a nickel from our own pockets;

"We therefore declare our intention to move the Miami Heat and Florida Panthers to Broward County, providing all parties agree that:

" (a) This Letter of Intent shall be entirely non-binding (hereinafter referred to as 'worthless' or 'not worth the paper it's printed on').

" (b) This Letter of Intent shall not deprive us of our right to jerk Broward County around while we wait for other offers.

"Such jerking around (hereinafter referred to as 'thoughtful reconsideration') shall include but not be limited to postponing or ignoring agreed-upon deadlines, making coy and ambivalent public statements about where the teams wish to play, and generally stalling whenever it suits our purpose;

"And whereas, to our vast amusement, civic leaders and elected officials in Dade County have recently expressed an almost desperate desire to keep the Heat and/or the Panthers;

"And whereas we'd be foolish not to sit back and watch Dade and Broward compete like little children for the privilege of building us a brand-new $200 million arena;

"And whereas we don't particularly care where the money comes from, as long as it's not ours;

"And whereas Dade authorities appear every bit as gullible and easy to intimidate as those in Broward;

"And whereas while we find it hard to believe that local politicians are goofy enough to build two new arenas, we cannot rule out the intriguing possibility;

"Therefore each of us individually retains the right to pretend this Letter of Intent to Broward commissioners is a gag, and to continue negotiating for an extravagant new arena with Dade officials (hereinafter referred to as 'Even Bigger Suckers');

"Such negotiations with Dade may continue until the very day that construction on the Broward arena is completed. At that time one or both of us will sign an Amended Letter of Intent, allowing the Heat and/or Panthers to play in Broward County until something a little better comes along.

"Your pals, Wayne and Micky."

Team rebates send tax money down the drain

March 16, 1997

Wayne Huizenga is about to pick our pockets for another $60 million.

But don't fret, it's all for a good cause: spiffy new toilets at the former Joe Robbie Stadium!

Huizenga believes that all Florida taxpayers—most of whom have never brought their bladder to a football game—should subsidize renovations such as upgraded concession stands, concourses and restrooms.

This, after they've already bankrolled the conversion of JRS into a baseball park. Huizenga glommed the first $60 million on behalf of the Florida Marlins. Now he wants an identical handout for the Dolphins. Is the Legislature slutty enough to roll over twice for the same smooth-talking billionaire? Not only is it possible, it's virtually a sure bet. (He's getting another 60 mil for the Panthers' new arena.)

The money is a massive rebate of sales tax revenues—spread over 30 years—which would otherwise be frittered away on extravagances such as elementary schools. And, after all, what's more important to Florida's future—new textbooks for kids, or new chili-dog stands for Wayne? See, up in the Capitol, them boys loves their sports. In 1988, they approved a tax kickback to lure big-league franchises from other states. Since then, the loophole has been enlarged to funnel millions to pro teams that are already here, but have threatened to defect. Huizenga isn't the only tycoon to cash in. Owners of the Tampa Bay Bucs and the Orlando Magic have also taken advantage of the exemption. And Micky Arison is using his $60 million rebate to help finance the new arena for the Miami Heat.

But only Wily Wayne has tried to double-dip from the same jackpot. He figures he deserves a capital improvement subsidy for every sports team he owns, even if two of them happen to play in the same ballpark. But just to show what a big heart he's got, Huizenga promises not to use any tax money to doll up the exclusive private suites and corporate skyboxes.

According to Wayne's lobbyist Ron Book (and we know he would never lie), the rebate will be spent "only in the areas that are accessible to the general public."

That means you'll be able to admire firsthand the gleaming new porcelain in your favorite fixture—for which you'll be paying, along with your game ticket, parking fees, programs, cheese nachos and the beer you're now getting rid of.

It's a swell deal for Huizenga. But as long as elected lawmakers do what billionaires tell them, billionaires will continue to ask for outrageous favors.

Ordinary folks needn't bother. Nobody who runs a mom-and-pop diner could con the state into buying them a new Mr. Coffee, much less a wall-to-wall renovation. Nor would they dream of trying.

Then again, ordinary folks can't afford to shower politicians with the hefty campaign donations that Huizenga spreads around. That's how votes are bought, and that's how these boondoggles are orchestrated.

If Stadium Giveaway II sails through the Legislature as expected, as much as $120 million in public funds will have been earmarked for improvements to JRS. That particular crater in the state's tax booty will be filled with other money—yours, mine, the folks with the diner.

To help groveling lawmakers defend their obeisance, Huizenga's forces have provided a sheath of hilariously inflated statistics about how much the Dolphins' eight regular-season home games contribute to South Florida's economy.

Think about that when you visit one of Wayne's new toilets.

You could flush yourself silly, but you'll never catch up to them boys in the Capitol.

Speedway lessees race to the bank

April 13, 1997

When Ralph Sanchez and Wayne Huizenga joined forces at the Homestead motor speedway, you knew good things would happen.

To Ralph and Wayne, of course. Not necessarily to Homestead.

Sure enough, Sanchez and Huizenga are about to roar away from the troubled racetrack with at least $10 million each, while the flat-broke city limply waves a checkered flag.

Sanchez claims the place can't make it without hosting the popular Winston Cup stock car races—something that won't occur unless he and Huizenga sell out to NASCAR impresario Bill France.

France didn't want the track unless the lease was watered down. Last week the city obliged.

"I walked out of the council chambers sick to my stomach. They gave away the farm," says Steve Losner, a lawyer whose family has been in Homestead for 70 years.

It was as predictable as it is pathetic. The 65,000-seat motorsports complex was built with public funds, including $31 million from county tourist taxes and bond sales. How much will Dade get from the Sanchez sellout? Zippo.

Homestead itself has spent $8 million on the track, and is in debt for another $25 million. Its take from the new deal: nada. Amazing, considering that the city is deeply in the red, and that workers are being laid off.

Meanwhile, Wayne and Ralph can peel rubber on their way to the bank. It was a match made in heaven, two masters of finagling public funds for private projects.