No escape
The National Football League (NFL) operates within a uniquely paradoxical economic system. On the surface, it exemplifies American capitalism: teams owned by billionaires, players earning multi-million-dollar contracts, lucrative television deals, and a fanbase that generates billions in revenue. However, beneath this capitalist exterior lies a socialist framework that insulates and enriches team owners, shielding them from the financial risks that businesses in other industries routinely face.
One of the clearest examples of this socialist structure is the NFL's revenue-sharing model. Regardless of market size or on-field performance, all 32 teams share equally in the league's collective earnings. Revenues from television deals, merchandise sales, and national sponsorships are distributed equally across the league, ensuring that even consistently underperforming franchises, such as the Cleveland Browns, receive substantial financial payouts. This system guarantees that all team owners, even those whose teams struggle year after year, still benefit from the overall success of the league.
In a purely capitalist system, teams that continually fail to perform would experience declining revenues, potentially leading to financial struggles or even collapse. However, the NFL’s revenue-sharing model protects team owners from such consequences, allowing them to continue profiting despite poor management or lackluster performance on the field. As a result, even a team like the Cleveland Browns, notorious for their long history of underachievement, remains a highly profitable venture for owner Jimmy Haslam. This socialized system ensures that billionaire owners are shielded from financial risk, allowing them to enjoy the league's collective success, regardless of their individual team’s outcomes.
Another striking example of the NFL's quasi-socialist structure is its draft system, which runs counter to the principles of pure capitalism. In a free-market model, wealthier or more successful teams would be able to outspend their competition to secure the best players, allowing market forces to dictate talent distribution. However, the NFL draft is explicitly designed to redistribute talent in a way that maintains competitive balance across the league—resembling a form of wealth redistribution in a socialist system.
In the NFL Draft, the teams with the worst records from the previous season are granted the first picks of the top incoming college players. This mechanism prevents the league's most successful teams from hoarding elite talent and ensures that struggling franchises, like the Cleveland Browns, have a chance to acquire the best prospects. By prioritizing the weakest teams, the NFL aims to prevent a permanent competitive imbalance, regardless of past mismanagement or poor performance.
For the Browns, however, this opportunity has repeatedly been squandered. Over the last 25 years, the franchise has become infamous for its poor draft decisions, particularly when selecting quarterbacks. Since 1999, Cleveland has drafted 10 quarterbacks in the first round, with nearly all of them failing to deliver. Tim Couch, the first overall pick in 1999, struggled with injuries and never developed into the star the team needed. First-round picks like Brady Quinn, Brandon Weeden, and Johnny Manziel all similarly faltered, whether due to poor performance, off-field distractions, or the Browns' chaotic organizational culture that failed to develop young talent. This mismanagement has resulted in Cleveland fielding more than 30 different starting quarterbacks since 1999—an unprecedented level of turnover in professional sports.
The Browns' missteps in the draft extend beyond quarterbacks. High draft picks like Courtney Brown, Trent Richardson, and Barkevious Mingo all failed to meet expectations. Richardson, the third overall pick in 2012, was traded after just one full season following a steep decline in production. First-round selections like Justin Gilbert and Corey Coleman also flamed out quickly, contributing to the Browns’ consistent failure to build a solid foundation through the draft.
As a result of these repeated miscalculations, the Browns have rarely been competitive, becoming a league-wide punchline. Nearly half of their first-round picks in recent decades failed to remain on the roster beyond three seasons. These constant misfires have left Cleveland stuck in a cycle of rebuilding, with little success to show for it, further frustrating their long-suffering fanbase.
Despite these shortcomings, the NFL’s draft system continues to offer teams like the Browns a fresh chance to rebuild. In a purely capitalist system, Cleveland’s chronic underperformance would likely drive away fans and reduce revenue, making it even more difficult to attract top talent. However, the NFL draft, much like the league's revenue-sharing model, acts as a safety net for struggling teams, providing access to the same pool of talent that more successful franchises enjoy.
The draft system embodies socialist ideals by protecting weaker teams from the full consequences of their failures and ensuring that all franchises have access to resources that could help them improve. It prevents wealthier or better-managed teams from monopolizing talent, redistributes player resources across the league, and keeps the competition relatively even. Just as the revenue-sharing model allows every team to benefit from the NFL's financial success, the draft system ensures that even the most underperforming teams can remain competitive, at least in theory.
The NFL’s salary cap system is another clear example of its quasi-socialist framework. Designed to limit how much each team can spend on player salaries, the salary cap is meant to create parity across the league. This system ensures that teams in smaller, less profitable markets, like Cleveland, can compete with wealthier franchises in larger markets. In theory, the salary cap prevents richer teams from monopolizing top talent by simply outspending their competitors, fostering a more balanced league where every team has a chance at success.
In practice, however, the salary cap serves as yet another mechanism within the NFL’s socialist structure that protects owners from financial mismanagement. It eliminates the need for owners to overspend on talent to remain competitive, thus safeguarding their profits even when their teams underperform. While the players—the league's labor force—are restricted in how much they can earn, team owners see the value of their franchises continue to rise, often by billions of dollars, thanks to the league’s collective financial model. The salary cap, alongside revenue sharing, essentially redistributes wealth within the NFL to ensure that no team, and by extension no owner, faces financial ruin due to poor decisions.
Perhaps the most glaring example of how the NFL’s structure benefits owners at the expense of the public is in the realm of stadium funding. Billionaire team owners, such as Jimmy Haslam of the Cleveland Browns, frequently lobby for public subsidies to finance the construction and renovation of stadiums, often making inflated promises of economic benefits like job creation and tourism growth that rarely materialize. These stadiums, although primarily funded by taxpayers, are privately controlled by the owners, who pocket the profits from ticket sales, concessions, sponsorships, and other revenue streams.
The proposed $2.4 billion stadium for the Browns in Brook Park, Ohio, exemplifies this dynamic. Despite Haslam's immense wealth, he is asking taxpayers to cover half of the stadium’s cost—roughly $1.2 billion. This is socialism in its most cynical form: public money is used to fund private infrastructure that ultimately enriches a billionaire, while the public reaps little benefit. Economic revitalization, jobs, and tourism are often exaggerated promises, with economists generally agreeing that publicly funded stadiums yield minimal financial return. The burden of these projects frequently falls disproportionately on low- and middle-income taxpayers in cities that could otherwise use those funds for critical services like education, healthcare, and infrastructure.
In a genuinely socialist system that prioritizes the collective good, the profits from publicly funded stadiums would be shared with the taxpayers who financed them. At the very least, locals would enjoy benefits such as free or discounted tickets, while teams could charge out-of-town visitors for access to games and events. Instead, under the NFL's current structure, billionaire owners like Haslam control and retain the profits from stadium-related ventures, while the communities that funded these venues see little direct return on their investment.
What’s more, the community that funds the stadium is expected to do more than just finance its construction. Once built, local residents are asked to spend even more money on game days, purchasing tickets, parking, food, and drinks—expenditures that directly contribute to the stadium’s profitability. This means that the very taxpayers who financed the stadium are also the ones propping up its continued operation, essentially double-paying to sustain a privately controlled enterprise.
The surrounding businesses—restaurants, bars, and shops that thrive on game-day traffic—depend on the community’s continued patronage. However, the profits from the stadium itself flow directly to the billionaire owner, not the taxpayers who made it possible. In essence, the community is trapped in a cycle of economic support for a private venture without ever sharing in its financial gains. Game-day revenue—whether from ticket sales, concessions, or merchandise—benefits the team’s owner, while the community shoulders the financial burden of keeping the operation afloat.
In a truly equitable system, the public, having already funded the stadium’s construction, would not be expected to continuously subsidize its profitability. But under the current model, the public investment generates rewards only for the billionaire owner, while the community remains stuck in a loop of economic dependency, perpetuating the wealth of a few at the expense of the many.
The NFL’s economic model is a textbook case of privatizing profits while socializing costs. Owners, particularly those like Haslam, benefit from the league’s socialist policies, which protect them from financial risks while the public foots the bill for stadium construction, tax incentives, and subsidies. When a new stadium is built, as with the Browns’ proposed facility, the public is assured that the investment will lead to economic growth and job creation. In reality, these benefits are often overstated, with the majority of financial gains flowing overwhelmingly to the team’s billionaire owners—often while the team underperforms.
Meanwhile, the communities that fund these stadiums face significant opportunity costs. The billions of dollars allocated to stadiums could instead be directed towards public schools, healthcare, housing, and infrastructure—services desperately needed in many cities where these stadiums are built. Instead, cities like Cleveland, which already struggle with poverty and underinvestment, find themselves subsidizing the luxury of an underperforming football team, while owners like Haslam and the NFL continue to reap substantial rewards.
The Cleveland Browns have earned a reputation as one of the worst professional sports teams in America, a legacy that spans decades. While the franchise experienced periods of success in the mid-20th century, the last few decades have been defined by consistent failure, making the Browns a frequent target of mockery. Over the past 20 years, they hold the unenviable distinction of having the worst record in the NFL, with a dismal 112-210-1 record and a .348 win percentage.
What sets the Browns' struggles apart is the considerable gap between them and the league’s second-worst team, the Detroit Lions. The Lions, with a record of 148-243-2 and a win percentage of .379, are undeniably a struggling franchise, but the gap between their win percentage and that of the Browns (.031) is larger than the difference between the Lions and the fifth-worst team, the Washington Commanders, who have a .406 win percentage—a gap of just .027. This stark difference underscores how exceptionally difficult the Browns' last two decades have been, even in comparison to other struggling franchises.
Despite their persistent lack of success, the Browns have one of the most loyal fanbases in the NFL, a testament to the unwavering support of Cleveland’s sports community. This loyalty has also been reflected in the ongoing public investment in the team’s facilities. FirstEnergy Stadium, built in 1999 at a cost of over $280 million—mostly funded by taxpayers—stands as a symbol of this support. Now, the team is proposing an even more ambitious project: a $2.4 billion domed stadium in Brook Park, OH, which would be financed through a mix of private and public funds. Despite the team’s performance on the field, the Browns continue to command financial backing from both their fans and the public sector.
In a landscape where the city is facing severe financial strain, the decision to continue subsidizing a historically underperforming team raises serious questions. The rationale behind these investments typically centers on promises of economic development, job creation, and increased tourism—claims often used to justify public subsidies for professional sports teams. However, studies on the economic impact of such investments show that these benefits are often exaggerated. In Cleveland’s case, the Browns’ poor performance has likely dampened any potential economic boost the team could offer. Moreover, the stadium’s economic impact has been minimal, with local businesses only seeing short-term benefits on game days, leaving long-term development unaddressed.
The Browns’ lack of success, combined with the continued financial support they receive, makes their case particularly problematic. In a region like Northeast Ohio, where poverty rates are high, schools are underfunded, and social services struggle to meet demand, using public funds to subsidize a professional sports team with such a consistently poor track record is not only fiscally irresponsible but also a reflection of deeply misplaced priorities.
According to a survey conducted by FiveThirtyEight, NFL fans overall are more likely to vote Republican, favoring candidates who campaign on reducing government spending, lowering taxes, and minimizing public funding for social programs. This ideological alignment should, in theory, make NFL fans wary of using public funds for non-essential expenditures such as sports stadiums. Yet, when it comes to teams like the Cleveland Browns, this principle seems to take a backseat to regional pride and a sense of nostalgia for the team’s long-past glory days.
One of the most glaring inconsistencies in this dynamic is that the same voters who resist tax increases to fund infrastructure, education, or healthcare, have not mounted significant opposition to the continued use of taxpayer dollars for a private sports franchise. Instead, voters and politicians alike seem willing to overlook fiscal conservatism in favor of bolstering the Browns’ brand, despite the fact that these funds could be redirected to far more pressing needs, particularly in a region with such high levels of poverty.
Northeast Ohio is home to some of the most economically distressed communities in the state. Cleveland, in particular, has one of the highest poverty rates among large cities in the United States. As of 2024, nearly 30% of Cleveland residents live below the poverty line, and this number is even higher in certain neighborhoods. Akron, another city in the region, faces similar challenges with unemployment, declining industries, and a shrinking tax base. Given these economic realities, the decision to prioritize funding for a football stadium over investments in public schools, affordable housing, or social services is a stark reminder of how misaligned regional priorities can be. While schools in Cleveland suffer from budget cuts, and public transportation remains underfunded, taxpayers continue to subsidize a stadium for a team that has done little to inspire confidence in return on investment.
Proponents of using taxpayer dollars for stadiums argue that such investments will spur economic growth through increased tourism, job creation, and revitalization of surrounding areas. However, the reality of such promises is far more complicated. Numerous studies have shown that the economic impact of stadiums is often overstated. Jobs created are typically low-wage and temporary, and the supposed influx of tourists rarely materializes at levels significant enough to justify the costs, especially when a team reaches the playoffs once in a 20-year span. In the case of the Cleveland Browns, the economic benefits of a new stadium have been minimal at best. While local businesses may see a short-term uptick in revenue on game days, this is hardly the economic renaissance that stadium proponents promised. In fact, economists generally agree that public funding for stadiums is a poor investment, particularly in cities where social programs and infrastructure are sorely underfunded.
One of the most concerning aspects of Northeast Ohio's stadium funding is the lack of accountability in how taxpayer dollars are allocated. While voters are quick to demand fiscal responsibility when it comes to public services like education, healthcare, or welfare programs, they seem less concerned with the accountability of funds used for sports franchises. This selective outrage reveals a deeper cultural and political disconnect between what voters claim to prioritize—fiscal responsibility—and what they are willing to overlook when it comes to matters of local pride.
Meanwhile, sports franchises in the U.S. are increasingly viewed as highly profitable business ventures rather than mere community assets. Despite Northeast Ohio’s economic shortcomings, the owner of the Browns has an estimated net worth of $8.7 billion. Haslam, who benefit enormously from the prestige, influence, and profits generated by owning a professional sports team, should bear the financial responsibility for such projects. A stadium is an essential business asset for a team, and it seems unethical for owners to demand public subsidies when they stand to gain the most from the team's performance and brand value.
While public funding for stadiums has been common in the past, recent trends show a shift toward private funding, as cities and regions grow wary of footing the bill for wealthy owners. Teams like the Los Angeles Rams and the San Francisco 49ers have built their new stadiums primarily with private funding, setting a precedent that Haslam can follow. The Rams’ owner, Stan Kroenke, funded the majority of the $5 billion SoFi Stadium in Inglewood, California, understanding that the long-term benefits of ownership far outweigh the initial costs.
Haslam should look to these examples and recognize that private funding is not only possible but also increasingly expected. A privately funded stadium would allow the Browns to build state-of-the-art facilities without burdening the public, while Haslam would maintain full control over the asset, reaping the financial rewards for years to come.
Many residents of Northeast Ohio, particularly those who face economic hardship, are understandably frustrated by the prospect of public funds being used to build a stadium for a team that has consistently underperformed. They argue that the Browns, having one of the worst records in NFL history, have not delivered results that would justify a massive public investment. If Haslam were to fully fund the stadium with private investments, it would send a strong message to the community that he values the well-being of Browns fans over his own financial gain. It would also help to rebuild trust between the franchise and the people of Northeast Ohio, demonstrating that the Browns are committed to being a true community asset, not just a business venture dependent on public dollars.
Finally, Haslam stands to benefit financially in the long term by funding the stadium privately. A new, privately funded stadium would increase the value of the franchise, enhance the Browns' brand, and open up new revenue streams from events, concerts, and other non-football activities. Given the Browns' loyal fanbase and the economic potential of a new stadium, Haslam would recoup his investment over time. Private funding allows him to maintain control over the stadium, maximizing profits while keeping the public's money where it belongs—supporting essential community services.
It’s fair to hold individuals like Haslam accountable for the system that allows billionaires to benefit from public subsidies while the community sees little in return. When taxpayer money is used to build privately controlled stadiums, the resulting profits shouldn’t simply enrich team owners. Instead, those profits should be reinvested in the community, benefiting the very people who made the stadium possible. It’s time to advocate for a model where wealth generated from publicly funded projects is distributed more equitably, ensuring that the community, not just the elite, shares in the rewards.
This is not a pipedream. The San Francisco 49ers, through their 49ers Foundation, have made significant investments in the Bay Area, particularly in youth education and athletics. In 2020, they announced they had invested more than $49 million back into their community through these programs. While this is a philanthropic gesture and not a direct return of profits, it shows how some teams use their financial success to benefit the surrounding community.
If teams like the 49ers can demonstrate this level of community investment, there's no reason to believe that other owners, like Haslam, couldn’t adopt a similar approach. By reinvesting a portion of their earnings into the community, they would not only ensure that the taxpayer-funded support they receive leads to tangible benefits for local residents, but also foster goodwill and economic sustainability for the region. This could set a precedent for sports franchises to go beyond charity and begin returning real value to the cities that support them, creating a more equitable and just economic model in professional sports.
What both NFL fans and Americans at large need to recognize is the way capitalism often co-opts the benefits of socialism for the elite. At its core, socialism is intended to distribute wealth more equitably, ensuring that everyone in society has access to essential resources and opportunities. Deep down, both Democrats and Republicans understand that many of America’s most pressing issues—such as economic inequality, healthcare access, and education—could be effectively addressed through socialist policies. However, it is this very potential for change that generates strong opposition, particularly among Republicans, who fear the transformative impact such policies could have on the current economic power structure.
The real danger lies in the wealthy class manipulating socialist policies to serve their own interests, all while presenting these actions as efforts to benefit the working class. Public subsidies for private stadiums, corporate bailouts, and tax loopholes that disproportionately favor the rich are clear examples of how socialist mechanisms are often hijacked to enrich the elite rather than society as a whole. This manipulation allows the wealthy to shield and expand their fortunes under the guise of "job creation" or "economic growth," all while exacerbating inequality. As they exploit taxpayer dollars for their own gain, they simultaneously convince voters that public funds shouldn’t be allocated toward essential services like education and healthcare—policies that would genuinely uplift the working class.
If socialist policies are to be adopted, they must be implemented as intended—to benefit the broader society, not just the privileged few. The redistribution of wealth, access to affordable healthcare, housing, and education should prioritize those who need it most, not be used as a tool for the elite to hoard more power and resources. America must guard against these exploitative practices and push for a system that ensures economic policies truly serve the public good, rather than the self-interests of the wealthiest individuals and corporations.
Outside of the NFL, there are numerous examples in recent history of what has been called “socialism for the rich and capitalism for everyone else.”
During the 2008 financial crisis, large banks and corporations received massive government bailouts through the Troubled Asset Relief Program (TARP), which totaled $700 billion in taxpayer money. While the intent was to stabilize the economy and prevent further collapse, the result was that many banks used the funds to shore up their balance sheets, pay executive bonuses, and protect shareholders. Little of this aid trickled down to the everyday workers and homeowners who were most affected by the crisis.
Similar to the banking industry, the U.S. government provided substantial bailouts to General Motors and Chrysler during the 2008 financial crisis. The government provided $80 billion to save the companies from bankruptcy, framing it as a way to preserve jobs and the American auto industry. While the bailouts did save jobs in the short term, they also protected corporate executives and shareholders. Meanwhile, workers faced wage and benefit cuts, and the industry did little to fundamentally reform the practices that led to its financial distress. The primary beneficiaries were the corporations themselves, who were able to stay afloat thanks to public funds.
The airline industry also benefited from large-scale public bailouts during the COVID-19 pandemic. The U.S. government provided $25 billion in direct aid and another $25 billion in loans to prevent mass layoffs and keep the airlines afloat. However, many airlines used these funds to continue paying dividends to shareholders and buy back their own stock to boost share prices, all while laying off workers and reducing services. These bailouts protected the financial interests of airline executives and investors but left employees and consumers with fewer benefits. Once again, the public funds intended to support the general welfare were redirected to preserve private wealth.
The fossil fuel industry is another sector that benefits significantly from government subsidies and tax breaks. Despite being highly profitable, oil and gas companies receive billions of dollars in subsidies every year in the form of tax incentives and low-cost leases on public lands for drilling. These subsidies are intended to promote energy production and job creation, but much of the financial benefit goes to corporate profits and shareholders, while environmental and public health costs are often borne by local communities. The industry is a classic example of wealthy corporations leveraging public resources (like subsidies and land access) to maximize profits, while the broader society faces negative consequences like environmental degradation and climate change.
The U.S. government has long provided subsidies to the agricultural industry, with the intention of supporting farmers and stabilizing food production. However, the majority of these subsidies often go to large agribusinesses and corporate farms, rather than small family farms. For example, in 2019, the top 1% of subsidy recipients received over 20% of the total subsidies. These subsidies skew the market in favor of large-scale industrial farms, enabling them to consolidate power and profit at the expense of small farmers and the environment. This is another instance where public funds intended for the general good disproportionately benefit wealthy corporations.
The next round of bailouts is likely to involve industries where private interests and public welfare intersect most critically. Pharmaceutical companies could be the primary beneficiaries in the event of a push for universal healthcare. While such healthcare reforms would aim to provide affordable access to essential medications and services, big pharma may position itself to capture massive public funds in the form of subsidies or contracts, all while continuing to charge high prices for life-saving drugs. Similarly, big tech companies could be next in line for bailouts if a tech bubble bursts, as seen in previous market crashes. Given their outsized influence on the economy and employment, these companies may argue they are "too big to fail," prompting the government to use public money to shore up their finances. In both cases, the risk is that instead of these bailouts benefiting society at large, they would simply protect the profits and power of a wealthy elite, leaving the systemic issues—such as rising healthcare costs and tech monopolies—unaddressed.
What we see in America is a deeply imbalanced economic system, where wealthy capitalists exploit the hardworking middle and working classes. The system is engineered to favor the elite, with tax breaks, subsidies, and corporate bailouts consistently benefiting the wealthiest individuals and corporations, while everyday workers struggle to get by. As the wealth gap widens, the capitalist class leverages their resources and influence to extract more value from labor, hoarding profits while shifting the burden of public funding onto the middle and working classes.
Stagnant wages, rising living costs, and inadequate public services are just a few of the ways the working class bears the brunt of a system that is designed to concentrate wealth and power in the hands of a few. This imbalance is not the natural outcome of a free market, but the product of deliberate policies and practices that reinforce the dominance of the wealthy at the expense of everyone else. Meanwhile, the very people being exploited are distracted by divisive political debates—arguing over issues like unisex bathrooms—while the true problem of economic inequality goes unchecked, and those responsible remain unchallenged.
Just as the Cleveland Browns proudly embody their gritty, blue-collar Rust Belt identity, the wealthy elite continue to push the narrative of hard work and perseverance—not out of genuine belief in these virtues, but because it serves their interests. The Browns’ connection to Cleveland, a city symbolizing industrial resilience and working-class pride, mirrors the romanticized notion of hard work in American culture. For the elite, this ideology reinforces the myth that success is purely a result of individual effort, allowing them to maintain systems that exploit labor while concentrating wealth at the top.
By promoting the idea that hard work is the sole path to upward mobility, the wealthy perpetuate a system that encourages people to toil harder without questioning the unfairness of the broader economic structure. Much like Browns fans hold onto hope despite decades of underperformance, the working class is urged to “keep grinding,” even as the fruits of their labor remain out of reach. Meanwhile, those at the top continue to benefit from this endless cycle, accumulating power and wealth from the efforts of a workforce that remains unaware of how the system is rigged against them.
The irony lies in how the core values of communities like Cleveland—grit, loyalty, and perseverance—are co-opted and exploited by the very forces responsible for widening the wealth gap. The working class is taught to push forward, believing that hard work will eventually lead to success, while the elite benefit from a system designed to keep them at the top. This cycle of inequality thrives under the illusion of meritocracy, much like Browns fans continue to support their team with the hope of future victories, even though the owners profit regardless of on-field results.
The Cleveland Browns, with their history of hardworking teams that rarely reach the playoffs, serve as a powerful metaphor for the struggles of the working class. Despite relentless effort, success is not guaranteed by hard work alone. Systemic barriers and economic inequality often overshadow individual labor, just as the Browns’ repeated setbacks—whether from a fumble, an interception, or a failed play—show how chance and circumstance can be far more decisive than effort. This parallels the struggles of the working class, who fight to overcome obstacles while those in power thrive in a rigged system.
In the end, what the middle and working classes receive for their hard work is much like the endless support Browns fans give to a team that rarely delivers for them. Despite consistently poor returns, both fans and taxpayers continue to invest millions (or even trillions) into systems that primarily serve to enrich the wealthy, leaving little in return for those who contribute the most. This stark imbalance highlights the absurdity of a system in which public funds are routinely funneled into ventures, like taxpayer-funded stadiums, that provide minimal long-term benefit to the broader community. Meanwhile, the elite amass wealth, while schools crumble, hospitals are underfunded, and community resources are depleted. It’s a system that prioritizes spectacle over substance, enriching a few at the expense of many.
