Gov. Kathy Hochul stepped to the podium at the ribbon-cutting for the Buffalo Bills' new Highmark Stadium this week, decked out in a Bills hat and a blue-and-white blazer, and tried to get the crowd going. It did not work.
"Alright let's get this party started, let's go!" the governor called out, launching into a chant of "Buffalo, let's go!" She pointed to one side of the crowd, then the other, cueing them to join. The response, as the New York Post reported, was near silence.
What followed was the kind of moment that no amount of staffing can fix. Hochul, a self-described Buffalo native, scolded the audience for their flat reaction, then tried the chant again. The crowd gave her nothing back, twice.
The setting should have been a layup. Highmark Stadium, the Bills' gleaming new home, broke ground in June 2023 and seats 60,000. The franchise will play there for the next 30 years. A ribbon-cutting for a project of that scale, in front of a crowd that included what Hochul herself called "men and women of labor," ought to be friendly territory for any New York governor, especially one who grew up in the area.
Instead, Hochul found herself pleading with the audience. After the first failed chant, she tried shaming them into enthusiasm.
"Alright, seriously? You want to win a championship season with that kind of enthusiasm? Men and women of labor you know what I'm talking about."
The second attempt fared no better. Hochul pivoted to a softer close: "We gotta give this place some good karma, right?"
Karma, apparently, was not on offer.
This is not the first time Hochul has misjudged a crowd. Last October, she appeared at a rally for New York City mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani and was drowned out by chants of "tax the rich." When a reporter pressed her on the hostile reception, Hochul offered a response that strained belief: "I thought they were saying Let's go Bills," she said.
At that same rally, Hochul acknowledged the gap between her politics and Mamdani's progressive base. "As much as it's fun to embrace this, I have to be the reality check to know what we can manage," she said. She had resisted endorsing Mamdani for months over his tax-the-rich platform, only relenting in September, and then signaled she would block tax-hike legislation in Albany anyway.
The pattern is consistent. Hochul shows up, reads the room wrong, and then either deflects or pretends nothing happened. Whether the crowd is chanting against her policies or simply refusing to chant with her, the result is the same: a governor who cannot connect with the people standing right in front of her.
The stadium chant is a small moment, but it fits inside a larger picture. Hochul has faced sustained criticism from across the political spectrum over her handling of New York's most pressing issues.
Her immigration moves have drawn sharp rebukes from federal officials. Tom Homan warned that New York City would face the largest ICE deployment ever after Hochul signed a sanctuary package into law, a direct consequence of policies that prioritize political signaling over public safety.
Meanwhile, New York sheriffs have prepared for a legal fight over Hochul's move to ban 287(g) immigration partnerships, which allow local law enforcement to cooperate with federal immigration authorities. Elected sheriffs across the state saw the ban as an ideological overreach that undermines their ability to keep communities safe.
The governor's management of basic governance hasn't inspired much confidence either. Earlier this year, Hochul publicly claimed she had secured a New York budget deal, only to have a top Democrat say no deal existed. That kind of disconnect between announcement and reality does not build trust with voters or legislators.
And when a Long Island Rail Road strike disrupted commuters, the Nassau County executive didn't hold back, calling the situation a failure of leadership squarely attributable to the governor's office.
What made Tuesday's moment at Highmark Stadium land so hard was the contrast. A $2.1 billion stadium. A 30-year commitment from an NFL franchise. A crowd of working people who helped build the thing. All the ingredients for a feel-good moment were in place, except the governor's ability to deliver one.
Hochul tried to borrow the energy of Bills fandom, a passionate and loyal base that fills stadiums in January snowstorms. But fandom cannot be requisitioned. And enthusiasm cannot be commanded from a podium by someone who has spent her tenure alienating the very constituencies she claims to champion.
The crowd at Highmark Stadium didn't boo. They didn't protest. They just stood there. Sometimes silence says more than any chant could.
When the people who built your stadium won't even humor you with a three-word cheer, the problem isn't the crowd's enthusiasm. It's yours.
