ANALYSIS : NFL and Hubbard: an Odds-On Entry

Let’s put this into words that can be understood on the backstretch--or is that end zone?--of Hollywood Park.

The new stadium deal is a mortal lock.

Real grass. Seats so close to the field you can hear the players bleed.

Safe parking. Easy access. Family outings. Four-hour tailgates.

And football. A lineman’s facemask full of football.

Possibly UCLA on Saturday. Certainly the Raiders on Sunday. A second professional team the next Sunday. Then the Raiders again.

Same place. Same times. The nation’s most popular and entertaining sport has finally found a home in its entertainment capital.

“I guess you can say the Raiders have become the Los Angeles Raiders,” said Dan Rooney, owner of the Pittsburgh Steelers.

It’s not a done deal. But it is.

Don’t be confused by Al Davis’ riddles. Don’t read too much into the thin comments of R.D. Hubbard, chief executive officer of Hollywood Park.

Even if you have not understood one word of the convoluted proceedings from the last three days of the owners’ meetings--and you are not alone--understand this:

The nation’s most powerful sports league desperately wants the stadium built.

One of the richest sportsmen in Southern California desperately wants the stadium built.

These two forces--the NFL and Hubbard--will be brought together during the next few weeks by the league’s brightest executive.

His name is Carmen Policy. He is president of the San Francisco 49ers.

Last season, he managed a confused team to football glory. This summer, he will do the same for a city.

Policy will lead a team of three owners into Hubbard’s office, and, together, they will emerge with the blueprints for the Southland’s new sports era.

That is the league’s plan. And Hubbard’s plan. And Policy’s plan.

These are men who get what they want.

The deadline is July 1. They could have it done a week from Thursday.

“We got it done,” Dallas Cowboy owner Jerry Jones said after Thursday’s vote. “And now we’re going to get it done.”

This thing is finally bigger than even Davis, who couldn’t understand why reporters followed him as he shuffled across the hotel lobby.

“Why are you guys bugging me?” he asked.

“We’re trying to get a read on the situation,” he was told.

“It’s not a question of what you read, but how you deal with life,” he said.

What?

When Davis returns to earth, he could still screw this thing up.

But even he would not dare.

During the next two years, there are a dozen cities where he might make more money than Los Angeles. But beginning in 1997, there could be no better place in the world.

If he leaves town now, he walks away from a chance to be not only a hero, but a very rich hero.

“I tell you one thing,” said Rooney, who is keeping his team in Pittsburgh for the rest of his life. “Al Davis has a better deal than I have.”

The stadium will offer football’s first tickets to include incentive bonuses.

Season seats will cost five figures, but many will contain the option to buy tickets to two Super Bowls that will take place in the next 10 years.

No other stadium in the country can offer such a bargain.

“This deal is very good for Los Angeles, and should show how much we want to be there,” said Robert Tisch, an owner of the New York Giants.

Here’s what happens now:

The three-man committee meets with Hubbard and Davis and asks, “Two Super Bowls or one?”

Hubbard and Davis answer, “Two.”

The committee says, “Fine, that means we must have the option to bring in another team in 1998 to satisfy the TV networks.”

Hubbard, whose operation will get rich quick from a second team, says, “Sure.”

Davis grumbles and says, “Whatever.”

The committee says, “Now, about that $20 million that you guys want . . . We’ve looked at your records, and we don’t think you need it.”

“We do too,” Hubbard and Davis will say.

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

In a deal this large, according to people with wallets much larger than we have, $20 million is nothing.

Together they will find the money. Heck, maybe there’s that much hidden in Davis’ hair.

Then shovels will fly.

For the next two years, Davis will play at the Coliseum while the league scours the country for candidates to join him in the new place. If none can be moved fast enough--the Rams taught us that it is no easy process--there are provisions for instant expansion. Anything to feed that billion-dollar baby known as television.

The only thing left, really, is to name the joint. For $10 million, that name could probably be yours.

Unocal Stadium. Wells Fargo Field. The Warner Bros. Bowl.

Who cares? A dream by any other name. . . .