In the religion of big-time sports, television — not a city — is the altar

The Sonics and Storm basketball teams may leave Seattle, whether we like it or not. It is the sports-entertainment complex that makes that decision these days, not us.

It's quaint to think we have a right to these teams, or that they belong to this community. Sports teams ceased being part of their hometowns when they joined the big-money league of television broadcasting in the 1960s.

In a world of revolving-door ownership, fans should rid themselves of the homespun idea that sports teams are "community property," despite the city being part of the team's name.

In another era, Howard Schultz, previous owner of the Sonics and Storm, might have been forced to negotiate with the city of Seattle to play in KeyArena. In our new reality, location is irrelevant, so long as there is money to be made.

And today, both the revenue and the televised fan base for big-time sports are in the 10-figure range: Major League Baseball recently signed a $3 billion deal with Fox and TBS for broadcasting first-round playoff games over the next seven years; and more than 1 billion people saw the World Cup soccer match between Italy and France, with the head-butt seen 'round the world.

So, Schultz sold out, simply following the dictates of the sports-entertainment complex.

The height of the basket is 10 feet from the hardwood, to borrow a scene from that great movie "Hoosiers," whether in Oklahoma City, Seattle or Timbuktu.

People watch the sport on TV — increasingly from overseas — and it doesn't matter from which city it originates. Sport is sport anywhere you go.

Sports owners know that, and their desire for fancy new arenas is only to provide a suitable background for their expensive teams. People who watch the sport mainly see the inside of the arena, not what surrounds it outside.

For business folks, owning a sports team has great advantages. It is one of the few industries not regulated by government, and sports teams enjoy tax advantages and community visibility available to few other businesses.

And because sports is a growth industry — we've made college sports into a national phenomenon, and we're about to do the same with high-school athletics! — sports teams are a great investment. Schultz and his ownership group bought the Sonics and Storm for $200 million in 2001 and just sold them for $350 million.

But it is not just money that makes the sports-entertainment complex so powerful in society. It is also the ceaseless attention we give to sports stars that turns athletics into a quasi-religion.

I still recall the first time I coached a girls' soccer team and being told by a parent that the secret to soccer is knowing that it's a religion, and as a coach I was a priest. "Who goes to church anymore?" I was told. "Girls play soccer!"

You can see by the buildings we erect what we deem important in society.

It once was cathedrals, now it's sports stadiums. The cathedral's stained-glass windows are now replaced by the huge banners of our sports heroes. For children, especially, sports figures walk on water.

This mentality is further fueled by the advertising and apparel industries that rely on sports for vast fortunes. In 1982, the World Cup got $19 million from its top-tier sponsors. At the 2006 tournament, that figure rose to more than $500 million. Considering that soccer-shoe giant Adidas, which helped sponsor the World Cup, will see $1.2 billion in merchandising sales this year only shows how much money is involved.

Few of us care to know that sports-apparel companies may be exploiting low-skilled labor in underdeveloped countries. That image doesn't fit our notion of the religion of sports.

The sports-entertainment complex marches on. We'd feel the loss of the Sonics and Storm because, like any civic monument, they're a connection to our community.

But tomorrow, if the Portland Trail Blazers were to move in, or not, we wouldn't miss a beat. Easy go, easy come, easy go.

If we don't like this new reality, we can always take up reading.

Taso G. Lagos, who received his Ph.D. in political communication from the University of Washington, is a lecturer in the Department of Communication and the Honors Program at UW.