Error, Padres

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Mission-style columns. Stucco walls. Floral accouterments. When the 2004 season opens, the Padres will play baseball in the most beautifully designed ballpark in the world. Bar none.

That’s not to say, however, that when Tony Gwynn throws out the ceremonial first pitch and—please, Lord—a viable squad of Pads takes the field, the San Diego Ballpark District in downtown’s East Village will be a completed work of art. Ballpark construction is slightly ahead of schedule. Timetables for two other aspects of the project are not. The grassy Park at the Park element—to be situated beyond the center field fence—won’t be done. Neither will an abutting retail/residential component, called East Village Square.

Therein lies a rub. Padres officials say new market conditions call for three East Village Square condominium and office/retail buildings to be much taller than initially expected. And that the Park at the Park design will have to be changed —notably, flattened, thus taking away the ability to sit and see the action on Petco Field.

A vocal public is crying foul.

When the citizenry was being asked to vote for the project, drawings and models showed a gently inclined Park at the Park. We were told $5—a pittance in modern-era sports ticketing—would get us a patch of grass on which to spread out a picnic blanket and watch Ryan Klesko dig in at home plate.

If we bought tickets inside the ballpark, we were told, we’d look out past center field, past the 2,000-4,000 picnickers in the sloped Park at the Park, and see cityscapes. Some old, some new—but fashioned in the spirit of the neighborhood.

No one said the Park at the Park might be flat with no views. Nobody thought buildings within throwing distance of the playing field might be more than 200 feet tall.

Breaking form, the Padres allowed these significant design changes to take the public by surprise.

Ask anybody how much he or she likes unpleasant surprises.

The resultant negative publicity represents a new low mark for the post–Tom Werner-owned/fire-sold Padres.

When John Moores and Larry Lucchino bought the team before the 1995 season, Moores forged an immensely likable persona. His ownership was seen as salvation. His forthrightness and accessibility were a breath of fresh air. But every silver lining has a cloud. When his name later became associated with a gift-giving scandal that led to the ouster of a San Diego city councilmember, Moores retreated from the public eye. And seemingly from common sense.

An ensuing personality clash, according to sources, led to Lucchino’s departure. Hailed as brilliant and charismatic, it was Lucchino and his vision that led San Diego to the precipice of ballpark greatness. Before—even after—a push to get the votes needed for public funding of the Ballpark District, Lucchino masterfully engaged the public. At every step, he invited Joe and Jane Lunchbox to focus groups. He successfully integrated fan suggestions into design realities.

Lucchino’s talent has been redirected; he’s now president and CEO of the Boston Red Sox. Venerable Fenway Park—due to be refurbished or replaced—would appear to be in good hands.

But in his wake here, the Padres’ plan has suffered a broadside—and some believe it was a self-inflicted wound. “The Padres created a public relations problem for themselves,” says East Village Association president Leslie Wade. “This could have easily been avoided.”

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