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Whatever cachet the Nintendo-led owners had gained by being local was lost in the intense feelings of betrayal among Seattleites when they saw their local saviors behaving exactly as their out-of-town predecessors had. But then in July 1994, tiles from the interior of the Kingdome roof fell onto some seats before the start of a Mariners game, with the result that the rest of the season had to be played on the road. Roof repairs originally estimated at $4 million ended up costing $50 million, and the Mariners had a powerful argument for replacing the Kingdome: Not only are its revenue streams inadequate for us , the team argued, but they can’t even cover the repair and maintenance costs of the building.

There still remained the argument over who would pay for the new stadium. Mariner owners insisted both that it be “state of the art”—that is, that it be an outdoor stadium evocative of old-time baseball but packed with modern amenities, particularly luxury suites, high-priced box seats that would appeal to moneyed fans, and a retractable roof. In today’s entertainment market, the team argued, ballparks had to offer a “fan experience” that amounted to far more than the simple enjoyment of a baseball game. Team executives promised that such a stadium could be built for between $200 million and $250 million, the bulk of which could be raised through a modest tax increase.

Politicians in Washington and its cities and counties had long been loath to raise taxes for anything, however, because doing so was politically suicidal. I spent a lot of time in late 1994 and early 1995 in King County Councilman Ron Sims’s office, listening to him lament the insidious blackmail Seattle businesspeople were visiting on him. A Democrat, Sims knew that supporters of baseball subsidies, being largely conservative, Republican, tax-loathing businesspeople, would be nowhere in sight when he needed support for reelection. And he knew that the same people who were clamoring at his door insisting that he raise taxes to build a baseball stadium would be calling for his head in the next election because he had raised their taxes. He’d been through that drill before, when he ran for a United States Senate seat against Slade Gorton, an indefatigable supporter of baseball and a rabid anti-tax campaigner. The Gorton ad that had done Sims in had the tagline, “Ron Sims voted to raise your taxes 19 times.” Left unsaid was that 17 of those votes had been for tax packages already approved by voters.

There followed a quasi-comedic round of buckpassing as state and local politicians looked for ways to “save” Seattle baseball without having to take on the tax-hike taint. In its 1995 session, the state legislature declined the opportunity to pass a stadium-construction funding package, but bravely voted to authorize the King County Council to raise the county sales tax for that purpose. The county council, crying foul, decided instead to put the issue directly to the voters, asking them to vote in September 1995 on a one-tenth of one cent increase in the county sales tax to fund debt service on new stadium construction. In May 1995, the Mariners unveiled plans for the stadium they would build if given the money. Now pegged at $278 million, the ballpark was to combine nostalgia with cutting-edge technology, including a retractable roof that would bring open-air baseball to Seattle while ensuring that no Mariners game would ever be rained out.