Ray Wooldridge is being called a lot of things by a lot of angry people these days, and a lot of the stuff can't be printed in a family newspaper.

But perhaps it's time to add another name to the list: Houdini.

It wasn't long ago that Wooldridge found himself on the spot in the Charlotte Hornets' efforts to secure a new arena, with his future as a co-owner of the team literally hanging in the balance.

He had concluded that there was no way of landing a suitable arena deal and/or making the franchise profitable again in Charlotte as long as he and George Shinn owned the team.

Yet his mission was not just to come up with a deal elsewhere - it was to land a deal so lucrative that Shinn would want to stay aboard and the NBA would approve the move.

Anything less than a blockbuster deal would have tempted Shinn to sell his 65 percent to Charlotte businessmen looking to keep the Hornets here. That would have left Wooldridge holding the bag with his 35 percent, because he would be outvoted on any major decision and frozen out socially by people who have made it abundantly clear they have no respect for him.

In other words, it was time to produce or else get squeezed out one way or another.

And he produced.

Say what you will about the long-term viability of New Orleans as an NBA city, but this deal saves Wooldridge no matter how things play out from here.

The lease he worked out with Louisiana politicians ensures that the franchise will be profitable for as long as they keep mixing hurricanes on Bourbon Street. There are guarantees on concessions. There are guarantees on parking. There are guarantees if luxury boxes go unsold, and guarantees if the stands are half-empty.

It's so enticing, in fact, that Shinn is not just ready to move, he's itching to get a fresh start in the business.

And even if Shinn suddenly does an about-face and gets the urge to sell now, or even if the NBA steps in and tries to force a sale, the fact that Wooldridge has a lucrative deal in New Orleans will drive the selling price through the roof. Forbes recently listed the value's worth at $139 million, but it's clear now that any bidding would have to start at at least $250 million.

But Wooldridge has paid a hefty price to save his skin.

He sold his soul along the way, and he has no integrity left. That became clear during a press conference in New Orleans recently when he acknowledged he had been dealing with New Orleans officials for the past two years.

It was Wooldridge who had steadfastly maintained throughout negotiations with Charlotte city council that he had no intention of moving the team and he had not negotiated in any way, shape or form with any other cities - when in fact he was negotiating with several cities.

Those who wondered at the time if Wooldridge was purposely sabotaging talks with Charlotte politicians so that he could justify moving the team were apparently onto something all along.

That will haunt Wooldridge the rest of his life. He hasn't just burned bridges in Charlotte, he has thrown nuclear waste on them. Even if he's the toast of the town in New Orleans, the people there will always know in the back of their minds that he wouldn't hesitate to lie to them or sell them out, too. And even if NBA owners approve the move, they'll know never to turn their backs on him.

Beyond that, he'll be the one with the blood of the Hornets' loyal front-office staff on his hands. Indications are that at least half of the advertising, community relations, publicity, ticket staffs and the like will be out of jobs, and it will all be because their boss never bargained in good faith from the start.

The interesting part is, Wooldridge came to Charlotte with the opportunity to be a hero. Hornets fans were begging for someone to ride in on a white horse and give them a reason to get excited about the Hornets again when Wooldridge arrived on the scene. He could have played the good-cop, bad-cop thing with Shinn to the hilt.

Instead, he quickly came off as a used-car salesman who couldn't be trusted. He looked sleazy, and he acted sleazy. That's what voters were thinking when they soundly defeated the arena referendum last summer.

The bizarre thing is that Wooldridge never really wanted any of this. He was a middle-aged, divorced millionaire who wanted to sit at midcourt in the Staples Center and tell his date that he owned the team the Lakers were playing. That's all he wanted. But he was thrust into the role of front man on the arena issue because Shinn was so despised - and two years later, he might be more despised than Shinn.

So he is Houdini today.

But at the same time, he has tied himself up in chains that he'll never be able to break loose from again.