The ghost of Art Modell still haunts the shores of Lake Erie. It lingers in the frosty breath of Dawg Pound diehards, whispers through the narrow concourses of Huntington Bank Field, and echoes in the political chambers of Columbus. It’s the specter of betrayal, the original sin of Cleveland sports – the 1995 move that ripped the Browns away to Baltimore. A ghost Ohio lawmakers just recklessly decided to dance with.

The Modell Law, officially Ohio Revised Code § 9.67, wasn’t just legalese. Enacted in 1996, it demanded teams playing in taxpayer-supported digs give cities six months’ notice and a chance for locals to buy the team before skipping town. Its teeth were tested in 2018, keeping the Columbus Crew rooted.

Significantly, Cleveland Mayor Justin Bibb invoked it like a shield last December, arguing the Browns hadn’t met its terms for their planned Brook Park leap – a mere 12 miles west, but a cultural chasm for many.

Browns management countered like a well-schemed end-around: ‘The General Assembly’s amendment of the Modell Law confirms that the law is intended only to prevent teams from breaking a lease or leaving the state. The Browns are doing neither of those things. The team is staying right here in Cuyahoga County, less than a mile from the city line, and HSG will honor every commitment of the Browns’ current lease.” They sued in federal court, questioning its constitutionality. But Ohio’s GOP-controlled legislature pulled the ultimate audible.

Fast-forward to June 25, 2025. Browns beat reporter Daryl Ruiter dropped the bombshell tweet: “The Modell Law has been adjusted. The #Browns are receiving the requested $600 million from the state to build a new stadium across from the airport in Brook Park. They will play 4 more seasons by the lake. Story as soon as the final state budget officially clears the house and senate today.”

Just like that, a law born from Cleveland’s deepest sporting wound was gutted with the cold efficiency of a Myles Garrett strip-sack.

So, what’s the $600 M actually buying? Think less ‘Field of Dreams,’ more ‘SimCity’ metropolis project. It’s the state’s chunk (via bonds) of a colossal $2.4 B plan for a domed spaceship on 176 acres of old Ford plant land in Brook Park. Haslam Sports Group pitches a year-round Vegas-lite: Super Bowls! Final Fours! Concerts!

Plus shops, hotels, offices – a self-contained revenue engine. They promise $1.2 B in annual economic output and 5,400 jobs. Critics, including Cleveland’s own analysts and state legislators, see phantom numbers, predicting a mere trickle of non-NFL events and a $30 M annual hit to downtown Cleveland’s economy. But put up a $100 million guarantee and it’s all good. It’s the classic stadium subsidy debate, playing out with Ohio’s unique, painful history as the backdrop.

One can almost picture the latest move as a political ‘Hail Mary.’  Forget due process; they amended the Modell Law itself, sneaking a provision into the massive state budget declaring it only applies if a team bolts the state. Moving within Ohio? Green light. Brook Park? Full steam ahead. The city’s legal challenge? Effectively kneecapped before the snap.

Browns fans who have just been given a ‘move on, guy’ and handed the bill? They are not happy.

Fans erupt as Lawmakers bulldoze Browns’ Stadium Legacy

Cleveland fans, already weathered by decades of 3-14 seasons and the NFL’s longest playoff-win drought until 2020, exploded faster than a tailgate grill flare-up. The reaction wasn’t just disappointment; it was raw, visceral fury directed squarely at the statehouse and Browns owner Jimmy Haslam:

“This move by the Senate GOP is criminal and shits on the taxpayers of Ohio and specifically the city of Cleveland.” The sentiment echoed across social media – a belief Columbus prioritized billionaire welfare over everyday Buckeyes.

“On the backs of stolen money from Ohioians🙄” captured the feeling of a financial fumble, taxpayer dollars diverted for a stadium while schools and infrastructure groan under the weight.

“This sucks. Jimmy Haslem doesn’t understand Cleveland. Ohio would be much better off if he packed his bags back to Knoxville.” Haslam’s Tennessee roots became a focal point for resentment, a perceived outsider making decisions that cut the heart out of the city’s identity.

“This sucks. AFC North football is meant to be played outside in the elements. Definitely a bummer.” For purists, the allure of Brook Park’s planned dome felt like sacrilege. Snow games, lake-effect winds, the Dawg Pound braving the chill – these weren’t inconveniences, they were frozen liturgy. Losing that for climate control stung.

“Underfunded schools all over the state but let’s give a chronically underachieving private business 600 million. Brilliant.” “This f—— sucks. Brook Park is not a suitable place for this team…more likely Hell.” A couple of opinions cut to the core of the economic debate, framing the $600M as a grotesque misallocation.

For Clevelanders, the sting isn’t just the potential misuse of tax dollars or even the move itself. It’s how it happened. Bypassing the Modell Law – a law forged in their fiery loss – via a budget amendment feels like the ultimate political stiff-arm. It’s Columbus telling Cleveland, ‘Your history, your pain, your safeguards? We’ll legislate around them.’ As one weary fan might mutter while adjusting their dog mask, channeling The West Wing’s Jed Bartlet, ‘What’s next?’

The Browns get their shiny new dome by 2029, funded significantly by Ohioans. Cleveland gets four more winters by the lake, a looming demolition of its current stadium, and the hollow echo of a promise broken by the very system designed to protect it. The ghost of Modell? It just got a $600 million monument. Game on.