"They don't sell tickets to the public," my friend affirmed.
Because he's a sportswriter, he's in. Because I'm not, I'm not.
What a bummer. This is the first time All-Star Weekend is being held in a city without an NBA team, and I can't attend. You can't, either. Gail Hunter, the NBA's vice president of events and attractions, confirms it: "The game isn't open to the public."
At the risk of alienating NBA officials, basketball fans and everyone playing a role in and excited about All-Star weekend, I'm demanding a boycott. I'm calling in Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, Gloria Allred and the ACLU, and we're going to march on the Thomas & Mack Center, demanding that NBA commissioner David Stern "let our tickets go!"
Just kidding, folks. I'll probably be tailgating in the parking lot with the rest of the dissed-fan nation.
If this sounds like carping, well, it is. The All-Star Game is a midseason People's Choice Awards for pro hoops, showcasing the NBA's most popular players, as selected by you—the fan. So shouldn't you, the fan, have the chance to see your favorite players?
Yes.
To be fair, the NBA has always been unabashed about who attends the game—and it ain't the fans. At least not fans of the workaday Joe Schmoe variety, who pay an average of $46 per NBA game. Seats are reserved for staff from the NBA's 30 teams, corporate sponsors, players' families, celebrities, entrepreneurs, politicians, other VIPs and nearly 1,500 media personnel—people who, by my estimate, have the financial wherewithal or connections to easily get tickets.
But what about the fans? Chicago-based Team Marketing Report releases an annual Fan Cost Index tracking the cost of attendance for a family of four to attend NFL, NBA, NHL and MLB games. The FCI calculates the price of two adult tickets, two child tickets, four small soft drinks, two small beers, four hot dogs, two programs, parking and two adult-size hats. This year's FCI, its 14th survey, notes that a family of four will pay an average $267.37 per NBA game, up 2.5 percent from 2005. Tops is the NFL, with a 2005 per-game ticket price $329.82, up 5.6 percent from 2004. (For Major League Baseball, it's $171.19 per, a 4.1 percent increase over last year. Only the NHL experienced a ticket-price decline year-over-year—to $247.32, down 3.8 percent.)
If I were, say, a Lakers fan (I'd rather die first—go Bulls!), I'd be upset by the All-Star Game snub. I'm already paying the highest per-game ticket prices in the league, at $79.21. Even if the ticket prices rivaled those boxing megafights—$1,000 for nosebleeds—it'd be cheaper than paying for 41 Laker home games ($3,247.61).
Could be that I don't understand the back-scratching economics of the All-Star Game. Could be that I'm ignorant of the pay-to-play role of corporate sponsorships. But couldn't the NBA change the rules just this once? We bent. Nevada sports books gave up betting and the Thomas & Mack Center's 30 suite holders gave up their luxury suites for the weekend to get the game. And it's only a guess on my part, but it seems like a significant portion of the NBA's financial infrastructure is propped up by fans—who buy tickets, food, drinks and paraphernalia and order basketball packages on satellite television and who, when team owners come begging for subsidies to build new stadiums worth hundreds of millions of dollars, end up footing those subsidies.
It seems like the fair thing to do would be to open the ticket sales up on a first-come, first-serve basis. If Joe Schmoe can rustle up enough cash to score a front-row seat next to Jack Nicholson, all the better. Money's money. Mine spends as well as Will Smith's, right?
The current setup isn't Hunter's fault. Nor is it her job to explain the NBA's rules. A kind lady with glasses, a warm smile and a calming charm, Hunter's task is inculcating the NBA into the life of the chosen All-Star community—game excluded. Every All-Star weekend includes extensive community outreach, she says: players visiting hospitals, schools and community centers. A few basketball courts will be refurbished and Habitat for Humanity homes built, among other things. The nongame highlight is Jam Session at the Mandalay Bay Events Center, described as the "world's largest interactive basketball theme park."
On paper, it sounds cool: autographs from NBA and WNBA stars and retired legends; the chance to buy NBA gear you can't find locally, watch the All-Stars practice in a built-from-scratch 2,500-seat area, attend the All-Star Celebrity game, shoot hoops (more than 10 courts). Kids can shoot three-pointers and dunk in the Kids Zone and compete against their parents in various skill games. Hunter expects upwards of 100,000 people to attend Jam Session—140,000 visited last year's Jam Session in Houston. As a bonus, she says, the NBA is seeking 1,500 volunteers to be the "face of Las Vegas" during Jam Session. Since Vegas landed All-Star, Hunter has visited 10 times in preparation.
"The most difficult aspect is that there's no built-in fan base here," Hunter says. "But the fans will be surprised at the access they will have to the players and the NBA experience."
I'll take her word for it. Hunter declined to say whether this is a litmus test for Vegas and pro sports. So I'll answer for her: Nope.
Giving fans a democratic chance to buy tickets would've offered a more real-world gauge of our readiness. Can we line up seven-figure sponsors? Is there support for public subsidies to build a stadium? Can we fill an arena for 41 games a year?
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, has proven its NBA readiness, hosting the New Orleans Hornets after Hurricane Katrina rendered the team homeless; 19,599-seat Ford Center was sold out 18 times last year. Now OKC, not Vegas, has positioned itself for the first new franchise should the NBA expand—possibly the new home of the Seattle Supersonics if a new stadium isn't built. Voters recently rejected funding Key Arena's replacement.
Model sports organization that it is—and as successful as the Vegas All-Star Weekend might be—the NBA might've bricked on a good chance to build a solid fan base here.