In a political saga that could have been scripted by Hollywood, Missouri’s latest redistricting battle has turned the state’s constitution—and a 1990s Disney movie—into unlikely co-stars. The drama, which unfolded throughout 2025, saw Missouri Republicans push through a mid-decade redrawing of congressional district lines, openly aiming to oust Democratic Congressman Emanuel Cleaver of Kansas City and shore up Republican control of the U.S. House in 2026. The move, which broke a slew of legislative norms and precedents, has sparked lawsuits, a possible statewide referendum, and a surprising amount of chatter about the 1997 film Air Bud.
According to St. Louis Public Radio, the redistricting effort was driven by a sense of urgency among Missouri Republicans, who saw an opportunity to strengthen their party’s hold on Congress. Missouri became only the second GOP-led state, after Texas, to embark on such a mid-decade shakeup—at the behest of former President Trump, no less. The new map was quickly hustled to Governor Mike Kehoe’s desk, even as critics warned that the process could backfire spectacularly.
The backlash was swift. Opponents filed a series of lawsuits challenging the legality of redrawing district lines in the middle of the decade, arguing that the Missouri Constitution only allows for congressional redistricting after a census. The Missouri Supreme Court is expected to weigh in on the matter sometime in 2026, setting the stage for a high-stakes legal showdown.
But if there’s one thing that’s made this redistricting fight stand out, it’s the so-called “Air Bud Rule.” Drawing inspiration from the beloved Disney movie—where a dog is allowed to play basketball because the rulebook doesn’t explicitly forbid it—Missouri Republicans have argued that since the state’s constitution doesn’t specifically ban mid-decade redistricting, it must be allowed. As Republican Secretary of State Denny Hoskins put it, “Other states have different processes as far as when they can redistrict for congressional seats. But in Missouri, there’s nothing, in my opinion, that says that we cannot do this.” He even joked that, if the courts uphold the new map, it should be dubbed the “Air Bud Clause.”
This analogy quickly gained traction—and not just among Republicans. Democratic State Representative Mark Boyko mocked the defense on the House floor, likening it to a child arguing for ice cream simply because a parent didn’t explicitly say no. “It’s like if my children ask me: ‘Can we have ice cream tonight?’ And I say, we’re going for ice cream tomorrow,” Boyko said. “And they say: ‘Well, you haven’t said we’re not having ice cream tonight, so we’re having ice cream tonight, too.’ No.”
Even Missouri Attorney General Catherine Hanaway, who admitted she’d never seen Air Bud, acknowledged the analogy was fitting. “The Constitution says that redistricting shall happen after the decennial census. It doesn’t say that it shall happen immediately after; that it should happen only once per decade; that it can’t be revisited,” Hanaway explained. “I don’t know what happened to Bud. I’m guessing he probably didn’t get to play basketball since you’re using that analogy. But I think our chances of prevailing are pretty good.” When told that Buddy not only played basketball but also starred as a football player in Air Bud: Golden Receiver, Hanaway quipped, “Man, I have missed a whole genre. I really got to catch up on that.”
Yet, for all the legal wrangling and pop culture references, the biggest threat to the new map may not be the courts at all. Thanks to a quirk in Missouri’s laws, a statewide referendum could potentially nullify the redistricting before it’s ever implemented. If opponents gather enough signatures by December 11, 2025, the map would be put to a public vote—effectively blocking its use in the 2026 election cycle. This possibility caught many lawmakers off guard. As State Representative Bryant Wolfin admitted, “I guarantee the majority of the caucus did not [know this] as well.”
Opponents of the map wasted no time, fanning out across Missouri to collect the necessary signatures. The effort injected fresh energy into state Democrats, who had suffered yet another bruising election cycle in 2024. For some residents, the fight was about more than partisan politics. “I don’t even like politics, OK? I just know we need transparency,” Jefferson City resident Frida Tucker told St. Louis Public Radio. “We need to stop the power grab. We don’t need to do it every three years, OK? Like, something’s not right here.”
Whether former President Trump and his advisers realized the new map could be subject to a referendum remains unclear; officials declined to comment when asked. But the prospect of a public vote has turned what was supposed to be a behind-the-scenes legislative maneuver into a statewide debate about democracy, transparency, and the limits of political power.
As the dust settles, both sides are gearing up for what could be a defining moment in Missouri’s political history. The lawsuits will wind their way through the courts, and the possibility of a referendum looms large. In the meantime, the Air Bud analogy continues to echo through the halls of the state capitol—a reminder that, sometimes, the most memorable arguments come from the unlikeliest of places.
For Missouri, the lesson is clear: never underestimate the power of a throwaway movie scene, or the importance of the fine print in legislative battles. As the state awaits the Supreme Court’s decision and watches the signature-gathering efforts unfold, the outcome remains uncertain—but the debate has already left its mark on Missouri’s political landscape.