Oregon’s recent decision to bankroll a potential Major League Baseball team through an $800 million bond raises profound questions about priorities and practicality. Governor Tina Kotek’s endorsement of Senate Bill 110, which imposes new taxes on athletes and team employees, is heralded by supporters as a bold investment in Portland’s future. Yet, beneath the excitement lies a precarious speculative bet: using taxpayers’ money to finance a $1.8 billion stadium at Zidell Yards with no guaranteed MLB team in sight. This is not just a case of building a stadium—it is a massive public subsidy based on hope rather than certainty, reminiscent of countless other cities’ failed stadium dreams.
The Fragility of Expansion Promises
The crux of the legislation hinges on MLB’s potential expansion from 30 to 32 teams by 2029, a goal MLB Commissioner Rob Manfred has expressed but not definitively committed to. The league’s reticence stems from ongoing financial and market uncertainties, and the fact that no expansion has occurred in over two decades reflects how conservative and cautious MLB remains. Portland’s bid faces competition from Salt Lake City, Charlotte, and Nashville—cities with arguably stronger markets or fewer logistical challenges. Betting heavily on MLB choosing Portland is a gamble at best, and the public should be wary of inflating expectations based on vague hints rather than firm promises.
Questionable Use of Athlete Taxation
The method of financing—a tax drawn directly from athletes’ incomes—raises uncomfortable questions about fairness and economic impact. While taxing player salaries to service the bonds may appear logical, it ultimately serves as a thinly veiled shift of fiscal responsibility onto professional athletes rather than the broader public. This mechanism could backfire by making Portland a less attractive destination for athletes, undermining the very goal of securing a team. Moreover, shifting focus onto athletes’ incomes lets other stakeholders, potentially including franchise owners and corporate partners, off the hook for their financial contribution.
Revenue Sharing: A Band-Aid on a Larger Problem
The bill’s revenue-sharing clause, which demands the franchise contribute 1% of gross baseball-related income back to the state, sounds sensible on paper. In reality, this small fraction is unlikely to offset the massive public debt the project incurs, especially if the team struggles financially or relocates prematurely. Despite the bill’s attempt to lock in obligations through audits and binding agreements, professional sports franchises have proven adept at navigating—or circumventing—public revenue schemes when it suits their interests. Portland’s taxpayers may ultimately be left footing the bill for years, with minimal direct returns.
What This Means for Portland’s Fiscal Future
From a center-right perspective grounded in fiscal prudence and limited government intervention, this stadium proposal epitomizes misplaced public spending and corporate welfare. The lavish stadium funded by bonds doubles down on the myth that professional sports teams are engines of economic revitalization. History and economic studies show that sports stadiums rarely generate the broad economic uplift claimed by proponents; instead, they shift existing consumer spending without creating substantial new wealth. Oregon is risking hundreds of millions on a speculative sports venture while challenges like education funding, infrastructure, and housing affordability beg for attention and resources.
While the dream of bringing MLB to Portland is undeniably tantalizing for fans and civic boosters alike, the deeper financial and policy ramifications warrant a far more cautious and critical approach. Without clear assurances from MLB, meaningful private investment, and a rigorous assessment of community priorities, Portland risks becoming another cautionary tale of public funds squandered on glittering but ultimately empty stadium promises.