A Brief History of Stadium Naming Rights

Getty Images
Getty Images

Purist fans decry corporate stadium naming-rights deals as another step in the crass commercialization of sports. Owners see the deals in a different light; a well-negotiated package can bring in hundreds of millions of dollars in revenue for a team. Sixty years ago, no one would have seen this debate coming. At the time, stadiums and arenas were mostly named after people or their geographic location, and now it's a bit unusual to see a stadium going by such a nondescript moniker. (Just look at the case last week when McAfee Coliseum in Oakland reverted back to its old name of Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum; officials quickly advertised that the stadium's name was back up for corporate bids.)

So how did our stadiums become billboards capable of seating thousands of people? Here's a bit of history and a few choice anecdotes on the expensive, gaffe-filled world of stadium naming deals.

This Bud's To Blame

If you thought Anheuser-Busch's only advertising breakthroughs were Clydesdales and talking frogs, think again. In 1953, the brewery wanted to buy the naming rights for Sportsman's Park, the home of the St. Louis Cardinals, and rename the park "Budweiser Stadium." National League President Ford C. Frick wasn't so hot on naming a stadium after booze, but he allowed Augustus Busch to stick his family's surname on the park. The Cardinals opened the 1954 season in Busch Stadium. Anheuser-Busch quickly rolled out "Busch Bavarian Beer" to take advantage of this advertising. This Busch Stadium closed in 1966, but the Cardinals' two subsequent homes have kept the name. Busch Bavarian Beer morphed into what's now Busch and Busch Light, so thank Ford C. Frick and Stan Musial the next time you play beer pong with those suds.

The Astros Learned a Valuable Lesson

When a team sells its naming rights to a corporation, even the mascots are crossing their fingers that nothing goes terribly and embarrassingly wrong during the life of the deal. Just ask the Houston Astros. The team thought it had pretty much taken care of naming its beautiful new stadium when it signed a 30-year, $100 million deal with a local energy company in 1999. The same company's CEO and chairman threw out the ballpark's first-ever ceremonial first pitch when the stadium opened in April 2000. As you may remember, Enron was the sponsor, and its disgraced leader Ken Lay tossed out that pitch. The Astros actually bought the naming rights back from Enron for $2.1 million after the energy giant's scandal and fall, and quickly sold them to Minute Maid for a rumored $100 million-plus over 28 years.

But they weren't alone. The Astros weren't the only team to suffer such a debacle. The Tennessee Titans couldn't have liked playing in Adelphia Coliseum after the cable company went bankrupt due to massive internal corruption. The Miami Dolphins and Florida Marlins thought they were getting a great deal when they sold the naming rights to Joe Robbie Stadium to Pro Player, a company you might remember for making sports-themed outerwear in the mid-90's that was very similar to Starter's but nowhere near as cool (at least not at my middle school). Pro Player was part of Fruit of the Loom, which liquidated the division as part of a 1999 bankruptcy episode. Unfortunately for Miami's teams, the stadium-naming deal was for a full decade, and the name Pro Player Stadium stuck until 2005.

It's Not Just Corporate Names That Can Embarrass You

The University of Missouri learned this one the hard way. When Mizzou opened its new basketball arena in 2004, it bore the name "Paige Sports Arena." The titular Paige was Elizabeth Paige Laurie, the daughter of Wal-Mart heiress Nancy Laurie and her husband Bill. The couple had donated $25 million to help build the arena. This name seemed like an odd but endearing gesture from ultra-rich parents, but it was a bit puzzling, particularly since Paige went to college at USC, not Missouri.

It turned out, however, that this wasn't the first time one of the Lauries had opened their wallet in a major way on a college campus. Later that year Paige's freshman-year roommate at USC revealed that Paige had paid her $20,000 to write Paige's papers and do other coursework at USC. The Laurie parents promptly returned the arena's naming rights to the university following this scandal.

Mizzou wasn't alone in this sort of embarrassment, though. Villanova's basketball arena, the Pavilion, was originally du Pont Pavilion in honor of John Eleuthere du Pont, a du Pont heir and philanthropist. This name sounded great when the arena opened in 1986, particularly since du Pont had helped fund the construction. It took a decidedly sinister turn in 1996, when du Pont, a paranoid schizophrenic, murdered Olympic wrestling gold medalist David Schultz. Following his conviction, the venue's name changed to just "the Pavilion."

Not All Companies Want Naming Rights

When the St. Louis Rams moved to town in 1995, they played the first half of their home slate in Busch Stadium while waiting for their new dome to open. The team then moved into the Trans World Dome, named after Trans World Airlines. Unfortunately TWA could lose money as quickly as the "Greatest Show on Turf" Rams offense could score touchdowns, and in 2001 American Airlines bought TWA, which was bankrupt. American Airlines didn't want the naming rights to the stadium, though, so the dome picked up the generic name "Dome at America's Center" for a season before brokerage Edward Jones bought the rights in early 2002. Apparently American Airlines wasn't opposed to all naming-rights deals though; it now has its name emblazoned on two different NBA arenas, the homes of the Dallas Mavericks and Miami Heat.

It Can Be a Huge Windfall

When the Dallas Cowboys' new stadium opens next season, it will probably be one of the biggest sports stories of the year. The $1.3 billion venue will feature 80,000 fans, the world's largest high-definition television display, and Tony Romo's infectious charms. What it doesn't yet have, though, is a name. Someone will eventually shell out for the naming rights, though, and they won't come cheap. It's rumored that Cowboys owner Jerry Jones wants upwards of $1 billion for a 30-year naming-rights package. While Jones may not pull that sort of coin for his football cathedral, he's not going to take pocket change for it, either; even more conservative analysts estimate the stadium's name could fetch a 30-year deal for between $10-18 million a year.

If the Cowboys' new digs get a deal at the upper end of that range, the contract shatter the current record for stadium naming. Citigroup is forking over $400 million over 20 years to sponsor the Mets' new home after Shea Stadium closes this season (Citi Field). Jay-Z and his Nets will enjoy an equivalent deal when they move into their new home in Brooklyn, the Barclays Center.

Ethan Trex co-writes Straight Cash, Homey, the Internet's undisputed top source for pictures of people in Ryan Leaf jerseys.

See also...

5 College Bowls With Peculiar Corporate Sponsors
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How Sports Owners Made Their Money
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An Unofficial Guide to Life as a Ref
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All-Star Voter Fraud
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Quiz: Mr. Burns' Softball All-Stars
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Quiz: Where Are They Now? College Superstars
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The Bud Bowl: A Definitive History

Turn Your LEGO Bricks Into a Drone With the Flybrix Drone Kit

Flyxbrix/FatBrain
Flyxbrix/FatBrain

Now more than ever, it’s important to have a good hobby. Of course, a lot of people—maybe even you—have been obsessed with learning TikTok dances and baking sourdough bread for the last few months, but those hobbies can wear out their welcome pretty fast. So if you or someone you love is looking for something that’s a little more intellectually stimulating, you need to check out the Flybrix LEGO drone kit from Fat Brain Toys.

What is a Flybrix LEGO Drone Kit?

The Flybrix drone kit lets you build your own drones out of LEGO bricks and fly them around your house using your smartphone as a remote control (via Bluetooth). The kit itself comes with absolutely everything you need to start flying almost immediately, including a bag of 56-plus LEGO bricks, a LEGO figure pilot, eight quick-connect motors, eight propellers, a propeller wrench, a pre-programmed Flybrix flight board PCB, a USB data cord, a LiPo battery, and a USB LiPo battery charger. All you’ll have to do is download the Flybrix Configuration Software, the Bluetooth Flight Control App, and access online instructions and tutorials.

Experiment with your own designs.

The Flybrix LEGO drone kit is specifically designed to promote exploration and experimentation. All the components are tough and can totally withstand a few crash landings, so you can build and rebuild your own drones until you come up with the perfect design. Then you can do it all again. Try different motor arrangements, add your own LEGO bricks, experiment with different shapes—this kit is a wannabe engineer’s dream.

For the more advanced STEM learners out there, Flybrix lets you experiment with coding and block-based coding. It uses an arduino-based hackable circuit board, and the Flybrix app has advanced features that let you try your hand at software design.

Who is the Flybrix LEGO Drone Kit for?

Flybrix is a really fun way to introduce a number of core STEM concepts, which makes it ideal for kids—and technically, that’s who it was designed for. But because engineering and coding can get a little complicated, the recommended age for independent experimentation is 13 and up. However, kids younger than 13 can certainly work on Flybrix drones with the help of their parents. In fact, it actually makes a fantastic family hobby.

Ready to start building your own LEGO drones? Click here to order your Flybrix kit today for $198.

At Mental Floss, we only write about the products we love and want to share with our readers, so all products are chosen independently by our editors. Mental Floss has affiliate relationships with certain retailers and may receive a percentage of any sale made from the links on this page. Prices and availability are accurate as of the time of publication.

Double Play: The Curious Life and Career of Ozzie Canseco

Otto Gruele, Allsport/Getty Images
Otto Gruele, Allsport/Getty Images

“Jose, we love you! Jose, you suck!” It’s 1992 in Louisville, Kentucky, and a man who bears a striking resemblance to major league home run king Jose Canseco is smashing baseballs out of Triple-A ballparks for the Louisville Redbirds, the minor league sibling of the St. Louis Cardinals.

A screen erected specifically for home runs at Pilot Field in Buffalo, New York, fails to contain one 550-foot drive. The ball goes over the screen and past the highway.

“Good job, Jose!”

Before and after games, the six-foot-two, 220-pound slugger will be asked about dating Madonna (he didn’t), antagonized into fights (he avoids them, mostly), and begged for autographs. When he signs his name, fans appear confused. They tell him to stop joking around. Doesn’t he know he’s Jose Canseco, perpetual All-Star and prolific masher of baseballs? Who ever heard of Ozzie Canseco, Jose’s identical twin, born two minutes earlier to Jose Canseco Sr. and his wife, Barbara? And if they are identical, why is it that Jose was earning millions as a member of the Oakland Athletics while Ozzie only made sporadic appearances in the majors?

Ozzie tried to explain all of these things over and over again. Every time he thought people got the message, he would head back out into the world, hearing his brother’s name. Once, a car veered and tried to run him off the road. When Ozzie hit the shoulder, the other driver laughed, as if it were a joke, and then referred to him as Jose.

 

There are relatively few examples of twins who excelled equally in sports. Ronde and Tiki Barber were both selected in the 1997 NFL Draft and had successful careers; Karyne and Sarah Steben, both accomplished gymnasts, toured with Cirque du Soleil and credited their psychological connection with helping them perform difficult aerial feats.

More often, siblings of star athletes idle in the shadows cast by their high-achieving counterparts.

Hank Aaron’s brother Tommie joined him in professional baseball. Hank hit 755 home runs during his career; Tommie connected with 13. There were three DiMaggio brothers, though it was Joe—the onetime husband of Marilyn Monroe—who stood out both on and off the field. Had any of these men looked identical to their famous brother, it would have compounded the comparisons. It’s unlikely anyone ever tried to run Tommie Aaron off the road.

Ozzie Canseco plays for the Oakland Athletics in a Major League Baseball game
Otto Gruele Jr, Getty Images

Born on July 2, 1964, Osvaldo “Ozzie” Capas Canseco and Jose Canseco would soon be another sports sibling story.

The two were barely a year old when their parents immigrated to the United States from Cuba. Both grew up learning to play "the great American pastime." Jose, an outfielder who could wallop a ball out of sight, was drafted by the Oakland Athletics in 1982 straight out of high school. After polishing his skills in the minor leagues for three years, he briefly debuted as a late-season call-up for the Athletics in 1985. His official rookie season came in 1986, when he went on to hit 33 home runs and knock in 117 RBIs, resulting in Rookie of the Year honors.

Ozzie, who had played as much baseball as his brother, decided to take a year for college. Instead of being a power hitter, Ozzie had gravitated toward pitching. The New York Yankees drafted him in 1983. After four largely unimpressive years on the mound in the minor leagues, he was released by the Yankees and picked up by the Oakland Athletics organization in 1986 to further develop his skills.

It amounted to a genetic experiment in sports: Two men, nearly identical in build—Jose was an inch taller and perhaps 10 pounds heavier—who played the same game for the same amount of time. In 1989, the two even suffered the exact same injury to the hamate bone in the hand. Yet it was Jose who became a sensation, earning exponentially increasing millions and stats for the Athletics and the Texas Rangers, while Ozzie struggled to get called up.

The problem, according to Ozzie, was that he had pitched for too long, refining a skill that wouldn’t pay the same dividends as an outfielder and star hitter. All those years pitching put him behind Jose and behind the game. When he was finally called up to the Athletics as an outfielder in 1990, the difference in ability when compared to Jose was obvious. After 20 homers and 67 RBIs with the Huntsville Stars farm team, he managed only a .105 batting average in nine MLB games during his first season, striking out in 10 of his 19 at-bats. Meanwhile, in 1988, Jose became the first MLB player in history to hit 40 home runs and steal 40 bases in a single season—a feat only three players have replicated since. When Ozzie struck out in his first Athletics game, Jose hit two home runs.

 

Pundits tried to break down Ozzie’s deficiencies. Superficially, he had everything Jose had, including a powerful build that was likely bolstered by steroids. (Jose admitted to using performance-enhancing substances in his 2005 tell-all book, Juiced; Ozzie was arrested for driving in a car that contained vials of steroids during a traffic stop in 2003. Jose later told VICE that Ozzie "used the same type of steroids I used and in equal amounts.") But experts pointed out that Jose was more flexible, with a better range of motion in his swing and a faster sprint. He seemed to be more aggressive during play, too. These were subtle differences, but enough for Jose to make three World Series appearances while Ozzie toiled in the minors.

Ozzie Canseco bats for the Oakland Athletics during a Major League Baseball game
Otto Gruele Jr, Getty Images

Dejected, Ozzie headed for Japan to play for the Osaka Kintetsu Buffaloes to sharpen his game against different kinds of pitches. Playing for the Japanese equivalent of a farm team in Osaka, he quit midway through the season to return to the U.S. minors, joining the Louisville Redbirds, the Cardinals Triple-A team. In 1993, he got a chance to jump on the Cardinals for six uneventful games. When Bernard Gilkey came off the disabled list, Ozzie was bumped back down. In frustration, he briefly quit baseball before signing a contract with the Triple-A arm of the Milwaukee Brewers and, later, the Florida Marlins.

After being released by the Marlins in 1996, he remarked it was the first summer he had not played baseball since he was a kid. While other people may have confused him for Jose, baseball’s management did not.

 

If Ozzie was never quite his brother’s equal on the field, he found parity in other ways. For years, rumors circulated that Ozzie would show up in place of Jose for autograph signings. The two also got in nearly equivalent legal trouble for a 2001 nightclub brawl in Miami Beach that ended in probation and a civil lawsuit against both.

In what was probably their most audacious attempt to fool people, Ozzie reportedly showed up for a 2011 celebrity boxing match claiming he was Jose, who had performed in prizefights against the likes of Danny Bonaduce. Promoter Damon Feldman claimed he had paid Jose $5000 and that he was confused when Ozzie finally removed his shirt. (He lacks the bicep tattoo sported by his brother). Feldman had him escorted out and filed a complaint for breach of contract, winning a default judgment against Jose for the $5000 advance and travel expenses. Feldman later expressed doubt he had ever actually met Jose. (On Twitter, Jose Canseco denied Feldman’s claim that he had sent Ozzie in his place.)

In 2015, Ozzie was named the hitting coach for the Sioux Falls Canaries, a Double-A team in South Dakota. Not long after, he and his brother once again confused onlookers when Ozzie fooled his on-air correspondents into thinking “Jose” had arrived to film a segment for his role as an analyst for an NBC broadcast. It was a bit of levity that may have indicated that the years removed from the field had allowed Ozzie to feel more comfortable—both in his own skin and his brother’s.

It was a long time coming. Speaking to Sports Illustrated in 1994, Ozzie lamented the peculiar reality of resembling his brother in every aspect but the one that mattered to him most. “It’s difficult to explain my existence as Ozzie Canseco on a daily basis,” he said.