If the Royals believe in their downtown stadium, why not provide full details about it?

The Royals’ top brass gathered in the Kauffman Stadium Hall of Fame building last August, flanked in a room by renderings of two contrasting stadium projects — two finalists, they said, that would be narrowed to one in a month.

It was half a year later before they publicized their decision — a different site altogether, the proverbial Door No. 3 revealing the East Crossroads.

Six more weeks later, on Wednesday, the Royals announced that East Crossroads location will include a modification significant enough that it prompts at least a few more questions about a process in need of at least a few more answers.

Their proposed stadium, they said six days shy of an election, would now sit inside Oak Street on the east, rather than cover the street.

When will we receive an updated look at how the stadium will squeeze between Oak and Grand? Don’t know. How might this affect the proposed ballpark district along the stadium’s perimeter? Will those businesses across Oak Street now be saved from demolition? To be determined.

That’s to be determined after Jackson County citizens head to the polls Tuesday to cast their vote on a 3/8th-cent sales tax reserved for the Chiefs’ and Royals’ stadium proposals.

Seriously.

Look, I don’t want to focus strictly on one street, or only on three renderings, while they still owe us a fourth, because this stadium proposal impacts a heck of a lot more (and lacks the information on a heck of a lot more) than one road running north and south through downtown Kansas City. It’s really not even the most pressing question we still have.

But it’s just perfectly symbolic, an eleventh-hour reminder of the initial 10 hours of this Royals project:

A moving target.

Literally, once more.

The Royals’ and Chiefs’ campaigns for the 40-year sales tax have embraced a fear-inducing, take-it-or-leave-it — actually, a take-it-or-we-will-leave — message.

Which begs a simple question: Take what exactly?

The Chiefs have stayed consistent with their plans to renovate Arrowhead Stadium — we’ve long known that much — but the Royals’ pursuit of a radical change in venue has been, well, radically changing.

Plans can undergo alterations. I understand that. Each alteration to the Royals’ project, though, is followed not by long-awaited specifics, but instead by ambiguity.

And there was already plenty of that.

The implied threat of leaving the county that has taken over this conversation— which, to be clear, I’m not dismissing as unrealistic; I think at least one team could follow through on it — is built on a false presumption that they have played their hand so perfectly that voters cannot refuse it.

To be clear: We’re still waiting to see the Royals’ full hand.

The downtown baseball park proposal lacks the fine print of several items — requiring that voters trust they will be content with what they only later learn. It is absent a clear financial picture or the full impact the Crossroads location will have on the businesses already occupying that district, among other items.

Our wait to learn the exact city and state contributions toward the stadiums will extend past voting day, and the Royals project in particular will require some help downtown, you’d certainly think. What kind of help? How much? From whom? A public shoulder shrug.

At the Truman Sports Complex, the Chiefs have said the Hunt family will contribute $300 million toward an $800 million price tag for Arrowhead’s renovations. The state and city will handle the majority of the remainder, with the state contribution exceeding that of the city’s.

The Royals have said they will put in at least $1 billion to the ancillary entertainment district themselves— we don’t entirely know what that district will include, by the way — and $300 million of their own cash toward their new stadium. That’s not a small amount. They have evaded my questions on the city and state contributions.

The ambition in the Royals’ project, and its required re-location, has placed them in a brighter spotlight. That was the point of the location, right? It’s certainly part of the lure. There’s a coolness factor to it.

But we ought to be diving much deeper than that in the final hours, and, instead, much of what is left unsaid falls at their feet.

As one example, time and time again they have refused to reply with straightforward answers to my questions about whether they would invoke eminent domain of Crossroads businesses, saying they plan to reach agreements with all involved. But if they don’t? They won’t answer that. Why not? We can only assume it’s an answer some don’t want to hear.

They have said those businesses will be made whole, that they will be good neighbors, but, again, without measurable and enforceable details as to how.

It feels like a rush to the finish line.

Nine months ago, when The Star reported on the behind-the-scenes frustration of those sitting in the meetings with the Royals, those involved complained about the team’s lack of preparedness and lack of details.

One likened it to fighting with Jell-O.

Days out from an all-important vote, here it is, still wobbling.

This can’t all be excused as a case of the Royals altering plans to meet changing times and community requests, even if they say that’s the root of their decision to keep Oak Street untouched. It’s notable that Kansas City Mayor Quinton Lucas made that very request of the Royals weeks ago, before they even released renderings to the public.

Shouldn’t it also be notable that Lucas, quite comfortable in the public eye, has not actively campaigned for this project, with only a few days remaining until the vote?

Royals owner John Sherman said Wednesday the latest change — the Oak Street modification — will not affect the stadium’s capacity. His president of business operations, Brooks Sherman, of no relation to John, assured us that the good news is Populous, the designers of the ballpark and its surrounding development, is a local company, so this will get done right.

That’s comforting.

But how about some specifics as to what that means?

If this were a Zillow ad, the house would be listed without a price, address or the number of bedrooms inside.

If the Royals truly believe they are giving Jackson County voters an offer they can’t refuse, an offer so good that they will look elsewhere if it’s rejected at the ballot box, they ought to supply the full nature of that offer.

Or, you know, keep its foundation consistent.

The Royals have failed to remain steady in articulating even the bottom-line reason for their move. If I were to ask 10 people, even 10 people plugged into this issue, why the Royals are attempting to re-locate to the Crossroads, how many different answers would I get? Three? Five? More?

It’s almost hard to remember that this proposal was originally billed as a vision for transforming the downtown landscape — a vision of hope, you might say — because it has since been overwhelmed by a campaign with the what-if vision of their departure. A vision of fear, you might say. That last part encompasses the Chiefs, too. The former, the message of hope, certainly seemed more befitting on this city, and it wouldn’t have left the same sting.

More than a year ago, the Royals concluded the first leg of their listening tour with a question for John Sherman, asking if he could make a “solemn promise that the Royals will remain in Kansas City, Missouri.”

“We can do that,” Sherman replied to applause, half a year before the Royals would publicly flirt with the prospect of moving to North Kansas City and Clay County, trying with all their might to convince us North KC was “viable,” only to return to the Jackson County ballot.

Hey, take us back. We didn’t mean it.

The literal moving target.

The figurative one? The onset of this process also began with the Royals explaining that Kauffman Stadium would cost more to renovate than replace — the infamous “cancer of the concrete” pitch, which remained in their announcement of the final site selection as recently as last month.

Their self-described transparent process refused to provide the report that reached that conclusion. During a debate at the Plaza branch of the Kansas City Library, they referenced a 2007 report. The Royals say a more recent one was completed in May 2022.

They have attempted to distance themselves from the concrete pitch in the campaign’s final days.

They have also touted a community benefits agreement (CBA) as historic, even though it actually packs little punch on the items in the ancillary development that members of the community coalitions sought. The jobs and housing coalitions left the CBA table in frustration, yet as recently as Monday, Sarah Tourville, a vice president with the Royals, said during an appearance at a restaurant in Independence, “All of the things that were actually asked of us by those parties have been fulfilled.”

Those parties adamantly disagree with that.

Package all of that together, and what’s most apparent is this isn’t simply a classic debate over taxpayer-funded stadiums. That would be a easier sell, even if only relatively speaking. It’s a debate over whether this one has been done right.

The precarious footing of Tuesday’s ballot measure cannot be attributed solely to a rebuke of giving billionaires tax dollars.

It’s everything else, too. Or a lack of the everything else.