In 1995, Art Modell announced he was relocating his NFL team from Cleveland, where it was founded 41 years earlier, to Baltimore.

As owner, Modell insisted: his team, his right.

The city of Cleveland and the team’s season-ticket holders argued otherwise: our tax breaks and consumer dollars; our team.

It was the same Spike Lee-themed debate: Whose restaurant is it — the owner’s or the customers’?

The negotiated resolution was Modell’s team became the Baltimore Ravens while Cleveland kept the history and intellectual rights to what would be re-established as the Cleveland Browns.

“The Move,” as the Cleveland/Modell controversy has been widely referenced, appears to be the root of the recent problems involving the University of Hawaii’s football program.

When state Senate members called for an informational hearing on publicized complaints about the football team, the premise was to check the mental welfare of the student-athletes under an old-school coach’s demanding — and allegedly crass and demoralizing — leadership. But as the session progressed, it became apparent the aggrieved players’ complaints were used as part of lawmakers’ years-old query: Why are things out of control in Manoa? And: Why do we need to keep giving you money?

It was an unstated power play in which lawmakers, while issuing veiled threats of termination, tried to establish that they had ultimate control over the university.

Which raises the point: Whose team is it?

Does it belong to the players, who actually play the game and proudly speak of the name on the back of their jerseys and the photos of inspirational figures in their lockers? Without the performers, there is no show. And now players, who used to scrimp by on scholarship checks and Costco memberships, are empowered to earn money for their name, image and likeness, as well as transfer without penalty.

Does it belong to the coaches, who recruit, set lineups, plan strategies and oversee the training, nutrition and studies of their players? As the state’s highest earners, head coaches always had the most juice. It was June Jones, in concert with administrators and marketing strategists, pushing for UH’s re-branding. The team became the “Warriors,” with a uniform-color scheme that mirrored the Oakland Raiders’, and the “H” became a logo that would be part of a lucrative merchandise business.

Does it belong to the administrators, who raise the money, hire — and fire — the coaches, and are responsible for the overall health and education of the student-athletes? Athletic director David Matlin’s fault is an insistence on trying to do right instead of announcing it. When players aired complaints publicly — comments that were circulated nationally — Matlin met with the players in an air-it-out session. He should have announced how the matter would be addressed. But he kept mum, as he did after meeting with players ahead of the Warriors’ withdrawal from the Hawaii Bowl, because of a belief internal matters should be kept internally. Matlin tries to get all sides and does not act unilaterally; he needs to shed the image that he does.

Does it belong to the boosters, who pay the premium fees, compete in the money-raising golf tournaments and banquets, and contribute to the purchase of equipment and helmets? The donors help offset the cost of the training tables. In men’s volleyball, the boosters take turns providing the post-match meals.

Does it belong to lawmakers, who hold the strings to a lightening purse? The state provides about 50% of the 10 campus’ $1 billion budget. UH earns the rest through tuition, grants, donations, federal money for Title III and Title IV, among several sources. The original intent of the state’s contribution was to offset the cost of attending Hawaii’s only public higher-education system. At the peak, the state’s contribution was between 80% and 90%. But in the last session, because of the pandemic and the hope federal funds would cover, lawmakers cut $47.9 million from its contribution, including $35.6 million intended for Manoa. Moreover, in fiscal years 2019 and 2020, UH athletics received $2.7 million annually from the Legislature. That contribution was up to $3.6 million for fiscal year 2021. But that appropriation was deleted in committee cuts. UH is asking for restoration. In the chain of command, the Legislature approves the governor’s recommendation to appoint the Regents, who hire the school president, who hires the athletic director, who hires the football coach.

Or does it belong to the vocal fans? There are fans who do not attend games nor subscribe to pay-per-view. But, as part of the public, they help shape public opinion, through social-media posts. No money does not necessarily mean no influence.

In an ideal situation, UH football would be a joint partnership. Recent circumstances prove that it is not.