Tom Kacich: The White Sox chairman's plan to bail out ... himself

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This is going to be ... rich.

Over perhaps the next three months — or maybe not that long if someone is able to knock some sense into his head — the billionaire chairman of the Chicago White Sox baseball club will try to convince the state Legislature to have the public pay for a big chunk of the new stadium he wants on Chicago's South Side.

That would be a second stadium that Jerry Reinsdorf will have asked taxpayers to build him. In 1988, he and then-Gov. Jim Thompson and then-Illinois House Speaker Michael Madigan persuaded the Legislature to build a $167 million, taxpayer-subsidized stadium, also on the South Side. The idea was that if the Sox didn't get a new, modern home, they would move to Florida.

The threat worked. The White Sox stayed in Chicago, Reinsdorf got his new stadium, and almost immediately, it became a punchline. The top rows of the upper deck were so steep and worrisome to fans that 10 years after it opened, a major remodeling was undertaken that shaved them off, reducing its capacity by 6,000 seats.

Taxpayers, mostly through a hotel tax in Chicago, financed both construction of the stadium and the renovation. The subsidy continues, 33 years after it opened. And Reinsdorf continues to enjoy a generous deal. According to the Illinois Sports Finance Authority's most recent annual report, the state and city each paid $5 million to the finance agency, and hotel tax revenue amounted to more than $58 million. The White Sox — Reinsdorf and a cadre of other rich guys — paid just over $2 million to the agency.

Reinsdorf is worth an estimated $2.4 billion, according to Forbes. That's only a teeny bit less than the former president now hawking $399 gold sneakers. What is it with billionaires and their sense of nonsense?

Reinsdorf, who may not even be the principal owner of the White Sox, now says the palace the taxpayers built for his team 33 years ago is insufficient. He said upon his death, the "big money" behind the White Sox — the out-of-town owners — would want the maximum return for their investment, and that would mean a move to another city.

"When I'm gone, (his son, Michael) will have an obligation to do what's best (for the other investors)," the 87-year-old told Crain's Chicago Business. "That likely means putting the team up for sale. ... The team will be worth more out of town."

Well, maybe. Last year, Forbes estimated the value of major league teams. The White Sox, playing in a relatively new, publicly supported stadium in the third-largest market in the country, came in 15th place, well behind the Chicago Cubs (fourth) and St. Louis Cardinals (10th). More likely, the White Sox would be worth more if they stayed in Chicago and Reinsdorf was no longer the face of the franchise.

But that's not the issue. Reinsdorf was in Springfield last week seeing another handout — reportedly as much as $2 billion — to undo the handout he got in 1988, with no provision for what would happen to his first blunder.

"The economics of baseball have completely changed," Reinsdorf told Crain's. "At the location we're at now, we cannot generate the revenue needed to pay those salaries."

Remember that Reinsdorf chose the location of the stadium built in 1991. Reinsdorf approved its clunky design, with the main sight line facing a public housing project rather than the downtown skyline. Reinsdorf opted to put parking lots around it rather than a lively neighborhood of retail and housing, as at Wrigley Field and Busch Stadium. If mistakes were made, they were his.

And now Thompson, who left office in 1991 and died in 2020, and Madigan, who left the House in February 2021 while mired in scandal, aren't around anymore to work their magic with the Legislature that would have to approve any new handout. Records show Reinsdorf has given out $278,350 in campaign contributions over the last 29 years, the biggest chunks going to long-gone former Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel ($77,500) and ex-Gov. Bruce Rauner ($58,000). One is in Japan, the other in Florida, and they can't help him.

Pulling this scheme off would be even more monumental than the 1988 drama, when Madigan literally stopped the clock in the House and Thompson twisted arms and cut deals in real time. All those characters, save Reinsdorf, are gone. This plan should be, too.

As the old proverb goes, fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.