In our everyday conversations, much of the language we encounter is recycled, what you might call “copy and paste.” This may sound like a lack of creativity, but economy of effort matters more in communication. We often rely on familiar phrases like collocations such as “blatantly obvious,” or clichés like “Rome wasn’t built in a day.” Perhaps we trot out idiomatic expressions like “it’s not rocket science” or “a blessing in disguise.” These shortcuts allow us to quickly express thoughts without much mental effort. They’re convenient and instantly understandable, making communication smoother and more efficient.
Not all copy and paste is lazy. Sometimes, creativity kicks in during the careful selection of the right words for the moment. Sounds simple, but when emotions run high, the choosing becomes far more complex. The city of Buffalo, New York could have used a a carefully curated copy and paste for such a moment.
The Pegula Example
Take a step back to 2021, when Terry and Kim Pegula, the owners of the NFL’s Buffalo Bills, made a bold move. The Pegulas, worth nearly $7 billion, wanted a new stadium to replace the outdated Highmark Stadium. But despite their vast wealth, they didn’t think it was their responsibility to fund the $1.5 billion stadium themselves. Instead, they wanted the taxpayers of New York State to finance their business interest. If those taxpaxers didn’t agree to pay, the Pegulas threatened to move the team to Austin, Texas.
Terry Pegula’s statement in 2021 was simple:
Right now, the city of Buffalo and the state are going to have to decide if they want a team.
For the Bills fan base, known as Bills Mafia, this must have been agonizing. But it didn’t have to be that way because the language here is revealing. The sentence is long and complex, creating a barrier to the core message: the threat of relocation. Why use all those extra words?
Notice how Pegula buried the main point, “if they want a team,” at the end of the sentence. The climax of the sentence should hit at the beginning, like the key item in a store window. Instead, Pegula’s implied threat is softened, tucked away in a subordinate clause. In grammar, subordinate clauses can’t stand on their own; they rely on the main clause to give them meaning. By placing the ultimatum at the end, Pegula minimizes its importance.
What would the statement look like if he (and his wife) were really serious about moving the team?
If they want a team, the city of Buffalo and the state will have to pay for a new stadium.
Here, the threat is clear. But that’s not how it was framed. The use of “if” and the placement of the threat at the end makes it sound like an afterthought.
The Language of Leverage
Imagine a friend named Celeste who asks for $1,000. If you don’t give it to her, she tells you that you’re no longer a true friend and you’ll never see her again. What do you say? Instead of being overwhelmed by the emotional weight of her words, you simply respond with:
I’ll miss you.
In Pegula’s case, the language functions as a form of public pressure. The long, drawn-out sentence, along with the subordinate clause at the end, deflects attention from what’s really at stake. If we dissect the words, we see that the issue isn’t just about building a stadium; it’s also about how language can shape public perception around the proposal..
Why might some people view this as unfair? The unfairness lies in the emotional pressure and power imbalance at play. Pegula, a billionaire, is asking the public to foot the bill for a new stadium, a luxury that directly benefits him and his franchise, not the New York State taxpayers. Some of those taxpayers don’t even watch football, and others are fans of rival teams like the New York Jets. This creates an unequal negotiation where the public is put in a position of emotional duress: they love their team and don’t want to see it leave, but they are being asked to pay for a new stadium that only benefits the owner. It’s not a fair transaction between equal parties; it’s a situation where emotional attachment is used as leverage.
Imagine being in the public’s shoes. They’re facing an emotional vs. financial tradeoff: forced to choose between supporting their beloved football team or losing it. If they keep the team, they lose their hard-earned money. If they keep their money, they lose their team. Yet, the team owner, worth billions, can’t pay for a billion-dollar stadium?