Author: opinionstogo

Coming to a downtown near you: the 2004 Republican National Convention. Featuring the Bush Brothers, the mother of all security scenarios, anarchist demonstrators, world class traffic jams, media critical of Tampa for not being New York and a government bill for some $12 million.

Not coming to a downtown near you: the Bush Brothers, lots of people in silly hats hanging out of trolleys, red, white and blue bunting forever, direct exposure to international media, de facto status as a global player and $200 million to $300 million in economic impact.

However you label it — “Son of Olympic Pretension” or “Gulf War Super Bowl: A Super Sequel” — this much should be acknowledged. Ambitious, second-tier cities such as Tampa don’t often have such opportunities. When they come along, they shouldn’t be dismissed like so many turn signal-challenged Canadians poking along in the passing lanes.

America’s quadrennial political orgy is worth pursuing. Just not at any price.

To quote Salesman-in-Chief Dick Greco: “Look, we can put this thing on; we have the facilities. But what I’m not familiar with is the types of dollars it takes. You hear all kinds of numbers, none of which are small. We need to assess what the cost is to the county and city. If the answer is ‘too much,’ I have no problem saying, ‘We looked at it, and it won’t work.'”

The numbers — including that $12 million from local governments — range from $40 million to $65 million.

“I’ll be out of here in 10 months,” noted Greco. “I wouldn’t want to saddle somebody with something that can’t work.”

The city — working toward a June 17 deadline for formal bids — is currently debriefing Philadelphia and San Diego, the two most recent GOP Convention hosts, to get a better handle on costs and how the money was raised. Where it’s raised is no secret: corporate coffers and party fat cats. The former is the biggest challenge; this area is hardly a hotbed of headquarters for corporate America.

“That’s the key issue,” acknowledged long-time commercial developer Dick Beard, in reference to the depth and heft of corporate support in the Tampa Bay market. “In order for a corporation to participate, they’d have to have a relationship. I don’t think we have all the answers yet. Would Bank of America, for example, be a player? It’s not yet clear if the business community is 100 percent behind this.

“But I can tell you this,” added Beard, chairman, R.A. Beard & Co., “this is purely a business decision on the part of the city.”

Beard is among the insiders on the bid. He, along with Mayor Greco, Tampa Bay Convention and Visitors Bureau President and CEO Paul Catoe, and 18 others recently met with the GOP National Committee in Washington. They came away impressed that the committee seemed impressed with their Powerpoint presentation of the area’s assets, including the Ice Palace, 20,000 hotel rooms, Ybor City and creative use of cruise liners.

“I think we turned their heads,” assessed Catoe. “In fact, the deputy chair (Jack Oliver) went out of his way to sincerely and personally commend us. Very strong accolades for Mayor Greco and Dick Beard. They understand that we have everything logistically that it takes to put this on. Our experience with three past Super Bowls and a Final Four impressed them. And we have the strong support of St. Petersburg. Things like mass transit are non issues; were it otherwise, we wouldn’t be doing what we’re doing. They use charter buses.”

Also part of the contingent that traveled to Washington was Margie Kincaid, Hillsborough County chairman, Republican Party of Florida. The veteran Republican official may be second only to Greco in sheer effusiveness about Tampa. But she puts away the chamber of commerce pom-poms when it comes to hardball politics.

It’s a given that the political parties don’t just look at hotels, restaurants, attractions and modes of transportation when choosing a national convention site. A political quid pro quo is always factored in. Whereas a Republican convention in Los Angeles or New York City won’t likely change where their state’s electoral votes go, the same can’t be said of a Florida venue. Chadfest 2000 is still seared into the body politic. It’s no secret the president must carry Florida to be re-elected.

“This will be the battleground for the president’s re-election,” said Kincaid. “The Democrats will throw everything at this state. In fact, it’s why I think the Democrats will pick Miami. It’s also why the Republicans will pick Tampa. Hillsborough is a bellweather county. So goes Hillsborough, so goes the state. And nation, if you recall.

“By the way, Paul Catoe is my hero. I’ve never seen such a beautiful presentation. And Greco was really good. And that was the place to be really good.”

And Greco, she hastened to remind, is a Democrat who supported George W. Bush for president.

Let’s hear it for Sgt. Mike Klingebiel, the University of South Florida’s police spokesman. Somebody finally stepped up and intentionally tried to be absurd — and maybe put things in perspective on the USF campus.

Sgt. Klingebiel did, of course, unhinge some of the perpetually uptight element with a satiric e-mail, but a lot of folks did get a laugh — even President Judy Genshaft, according to her spokesman.

After legitimately thanking USF personnel who gave to a benefit auction, Sgt. Klingebiel morphed into parody saying that unfortunately some stuff was sold by mistake. To wit: USF’s administration building and its contents, as well as the Legislature, the latter, in effect, poking fun at a farce. His e-mail also noted that once again no one wanted to buy the sterile Lifsey House, the official presidential residence that is less homey than the on-campus blood bank.

Actually, USF got off easy. Selling off a branch campus or buying out Seth Greenberg’s contract would have been fair game.

One can only speculate on the reaction, from the president on down, had the e-mail parody referenced the best material. Namely, the theater of the absurd that is the Sami Al-Arian travesty or the plaintiff dragnet that became the racial discrimination suit against the women’s basketball program.

Both incidents were sources of national notoriety, and key reasons why USF is wrapping up such a stressful year — and in need of self-lampooning levity in the first place.

I don’t mean to trivialize the horrific scandals overwhelming and undermining the Catholic Church, but here’s a suggestion. And it has nothing to do with the really heavy issues: criminalization, celibacy, pedophilia, homosexuality and female priests. Another pope, less frail and less conservative, in another time might eventually and meaningfully address some or all of those. Maybe.

But for starters, why don’t we begin moving away from all of this “Father Bill” and “Father Kevin” and “Father Steve” stuff. Such Father-first-name familiarity is arguably symptomatic and symbolic of a priesthood too enamored of being liked — and parishioners liking the more informal comfort zone.

It’s really a double-edged cross.

The “Father Phil” syndrome has helped demystify the priesthood to the laity and tempered the formality between priest and parishioner. But in the good name of humanizing and personalizing God’s own emissaries, has this practice helped make priests too, well, approachable? And approaching? Perhaps arm’s length is an ideally respectable and respectful distance.

Recall that Father Flannagan did a pretty good job with Boys’ Town without being “Father Eddie” to thousands of orphans.

Perhaps the Catholic Diocese of St. Petersburg, which might like to be seen as proactive on something, would want to consider taking this small, symbolic step. Then, again, Bishop Bob (Lynch) is pretty busy.

Like a lot of Hyde Park residents, I dutifully filled out my “Design Guideline Revisions” comment sheet. I like where I live and care about its context. It’s not Cheval by the Bay.

I checked Option 1, which unabashedly mentions the word “historic.” It notes that “new construction would reflect traditional styles currently found in the district.”

That’s a sentence Bill Clinton could parse to death, but it’s serviceable and sensible.

Option 2 says “guidelines that allow for influences from the mid-20th century and early 21st century would permit contemporary structures to be built.”

Sounds like a loophole the size of a McMansion, which is where we came in, isn’t it?

U.S. Congressman Adam Putnam is, at 27, the youngest member of Congress. Were he an intern or a page, the Bartow redhead might still get some doubletakes. He’s that boyish looking.

His early Washington experience includes being ID-carded by political-reception bartenders as well as Capitol security. He’s heard all the age jokes — and retells his share. He’s obviously savvy enough to know that self-deprecating humor usually plays well. Why not use it and defuse it?

He cites, for example, the increasing number of politicians who have had to rationalize, if not lamely explain, embarrassing incidents of their past as “youthful indiscretions.” We the empathetic public tend to cut them some slack because we’ve all been that age and, well, done that.

“You can imagine what that does for a guy like me,” deadpans Putnam.

But the rookie Republican rep knows that the age card is a double-edged one. You can, of course, look too young for a big job, or you can appear surprisingly mature beyond your years — and appearance. It’s a variation on the expectations theme — a scenario that has benefited, among others, President George W. Bush, who also played, lest we forget, the “youthful indiscretion” card.

Putnam, whose 12th district will include a redistricted sliver of Temple Terrace, acquitted himself well in a recent talk to the Tiger Bay Club of Tampa. The fifth generation Floridian may look like Opie, but he communicates more like Ron Howard.

Cut clean and conservative, he’s more Up With People than MTV. He’s hardly a poster pol for the greens.

He doesn’t cringe, for example, at the prospect of drilling in 2,000 acres of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, nor does he think campaign finance reform is such an urgent issue.

To wit:

*”Florida is the only Gulf state that objects to drilling