Anyone on a date Thursday evening could have done a lot worse than Largo Bar and Grill at Bayside.
Couples canoodled by candlelight as soft music set the mood. A light breeze off Biscayne Bay slowly rocked yachts docked nearby. Crowds weren’t a problem — most the tables were empty and there were plenty of waterfront tables to be had.
In all, it was an idyllic evening — for everyone except for Steven McEachin. He’s Largo’s general manager, and on this night, he was halfway to miserable.
Thursday was supposed to be the Heat’s home opener, played at the AmericanAirlines Arena just steps away. This was to be a night not for ambience, but for lines of hungry and thirsty game-goers stretching out the door.
“It’s been horrible,”
McEachin said. “We should be pumping out hundreds of dishes tonight. We should have 12 to 15 servers. Tonight, we’ve got four. And that’s probably one too many.”
Largo, and eateries like it at Bayside, are the collateral damage in the NBA’s labor war. Every home Heat game that is canceled costs Largo $15,000 in business, McEachin says. In addition to Thursday’s opener against the Orlando Magic, the next eight home games have already been scrapped, and more cancellations are likely if the players and owners don’t come to terms soon.
That’s enough for Brianne Noon, a 22-year-old server at Largo, to look for another job. Back in the late spring, when Heat games were the most coveted ticket in town, Noon would clear $700 a week. Now, it’s about half that. She has still been able to make the rent on the South Beach apartment she shares with her boyfriend, but Noon’s cell phone bill’s due, and she’s broke.
“Guess he’ll be paying for that,”
she said. “It’s been a little bit of a struggle. I don’t go out as much anymore, be careful what I buy.”
Making ends meet probably isn’t a problem for NBA players, with the minimum salary last year close to a half-million dollars. Billionaire owners surely aren’t going without a meal. But the dispute has crushed the economic fortunes of restaurants, parking lot owners and others who need a full arena to put money in their pockets.
Thursday’s darkened arena meant no Heat dancers shaking it during time-outs. Scores of vendors who hawk everything from cotton candy to jerseys to bobbleheads at Heat games had an unwanted night off. DJ Irie, who spins records and pumps up the crowd, did neither.
Banana Man, a sunglass-wearing superfan who jumps to the music in his foam costume, had no reason to cheer. Announcer Michael Baiamonte, known for his signature dos minutos call at the end of every quarter, was silent. Sideline reporter Jason Jackson had no sideline to roam.
While a diversion for the fans, these are real jobs for real people. No games means no Heat-related revenues — a troublesome development in even the best economic times.
The pain has been spread around. Heat staffers were forced to take a pay cut until the lockout ends. And, of course, the players are getting nothing.
Baiamonte, the self-anointed “Voice of Miami,” grabbed some extra work by announcing home FIU football games, but that season’s winding down and as of Thursday he had no additional events listed on his website.
Banana Man joined Heat coach Erik Spoelstra, Heat dancers and retired stars Alonzo Mourning and Tim Hardaway at W.R. Thomas Middle School Thursday — one of his few recent appearances, his Twitter feed indicated.
