The Big Sell

It's two days before the start of the NFL's regular season, and Chiefs fans have gathered to help kick it off.

The 12th Annual Red Friday Football Luncheon takes place inside the Pavilion, a domed banquet hall next to Arrowhead Stadium. After filling their plates from the buffet line, more than 400 red-wearing attendees take their seats. At one table, a guy wearing a Joe Montana jersey looks up from his chicken and asks his fellow diners about the difference between this luncheon, which cost $40 a plate for the general public, and the Annual Chiefs Kickoff Luncheon a few days earlier at the Hyatt Regency.

"The Kickoff Luncheon, the players come," answers a woman in her forties, her eyes widening as if she has caught sight of studly tight end Tony Gonzalez approaching her with a smile.

The woman's shirt identifies her as a member of the Red Coaters, an organization of Chiefs lovers who have formally pledged to show their enthusiasm for the team.

Another woman at the table is scanning the room for team dignitaries. She spots President and General Manager Carl Peterson standing in the back of the room.

"He's got a dago face," she says, nudging the woman seated next to her. "Tell me that's not a dago face."

As meals are consumed and ethnicities debated impolitely, Peterson finds his way to the stage for a panel discussion, the luncheon's main event. Appearing with him are former players Len Dawson and Curtis McClintock, and Clark Hunt, the son of team founder Lamar Hunt.

The younger Hunt uses the luncheon to promote an idea that fans and nonfans alike are going to hear about often in the next six months: the need for extensive renovations at Arrowhead.

For much of its history, the NFL has operated as a textbook model of socialism, with team owners more or less sharing the league's vast wealth. But, Hunt tells these fans, new stadiums in Washington, D.C., Philadelphia and New England "have really allowed those teams to jump ahead."

The Chiefs want the same spiffy suites and endless concession stands enjoyed by their rivals who play in modern stadiums. The Royals also want improvements to their home across the parking lot. And the teams want the public to pay for most of the work.

Among Chiefs lovers, worry is beginning to set in. A fan rises to ask Hunt a question: "Are the Chiefs going to stay in Kansas City?"

That's a half-billion-dollar question.

The lunchers at the Arrowhead Pavilion will do anything to keep their team in town.

But the task of convincing their more skeptical Jackson County neighbors has been taken up by Mike Smith, an insurance agent who is the chairman of the Jackson County Sports Authority. The Sports Authority manages Arrowhead and Kauffman stadiums; though Jackson County actually owns the stadiums, the Sports Authority exists as a means to operate the facilities free of politics (in theory, anyway).

So Mike Smith is technically the teams' landlord. Fortunately for his tenants, he's also a great salesman.

Public officials have already started trying to rally the public's support for stadium renovations. The plan is to hold an April election asking Jackson County voters to increase their sales tax to pay for improvements. Although no one has decided on the exact numbers, a likely scenario involves the public contributing $450 million.

Without a new revenue source, the Sports Authority, which receives funding from the county, the city of Kansas City, and the state of Missouri, will be unable to pay for scheduled improvements, causing it to default on the teams' leases. The clubs would be free to leave Kansas City after their 2007 seasons.

Negotiations between the clubs and representatives of the county and the Sports Authority are scheduled to begin to later this month, and signs point to a deal that meets most, if not all, of the teams' demands.

"If you look around the United States, when sports teams are talking to the government, it's not negotiations — it's dictation," says Jackson County Legislator Fred Arbanas, who was a Chiefs tight end in the 1960s. "They tell you what they want, and you better come across with it, as far as I'm concerned."

On September 6, Smith has to work a crowd significantly tougher than the Red Coaters.

He's the speaker at a meeting of the Pachyderm Club, two dozen or so Republicans who meet every Tuesday in a side room at Fiorella's Jack Stack Barbecue in the Freight House. A typical event consists of a buffet lunch and a guest speaker, usually a public official who shares their appreciation for the red-state life.

Smith is wearing a white dress shirt and tan slacks. He's a commanding presence at 6 feet 2 inches tall; five-day-a-week gym workouts have allowed him to drop 40 pounds in the past six months.

The Sports Authority is at its most critical point since the stadiums were built, he says.

"We are on the verge of losing two teams," he says.

Smith says he doesn't like the idea of hitting up taxpayers for money — "around $400 million," he says — but there's little choice when other cities may be willing to build new stadiums to lure the teams. "We have to play based on those rules."