Author: Patrick Donnelly

Minnesotans have every reason to be proud of the numerous smoking bans on the way for bars and restaurants in municipalities throughout the state. After all, the clean-air initiatives associate us with such enlightened populations as the city of New York, the state of California, and even the entire country of Ireland, where the average pub once trapped air as thick as a good stout. The ashtray may go the way of the spittoon.

Or maybe not. Once the peculiar vice of baseball players, ranchers, and unruly teenage boys, chewing tobacco is now being positioned as the cigarette substitute of choice for urban hipsters. (Yes, for women, too.)

One highly sissified, minty-flavored “smokeless tobacco” has been advertising energetically in alternative weekly newspapers here and elsewhere. These ads have typically been two-page campaigns where a dilemma is identified on the first page. For example, Metrosexual Joe watches the Big Game at the local sports bar with his buddies. He is galled because he must either skip his nicotine fix or miss the action as he and his cigarettes decamp to the parking lot. But turn the page and—voila—a fat dip of Skoal is the answer to his prayers. Now he doesn’t have to miss a single play or dose. It’s like TiVo for your bloodstream.

Of course, Skoal also gives metrosexuals increased exposure to oral cancer and cardiovascular disease, along with decreased exposure to members of the opposite sex, who will surely look askance at that black wad in a petitioner’s teeth as he tries to score a phone number. It is no improvement in the breath category, either.

Joni Jensen, a project manager at the University of Minnesota’s Transdisciplinary Tobacco Use Research Center, said chew is a trend we should hope to avoid. “Smokeless tobacco in and of itself is less harmful than cigarettes, but it’s still not risk-free,” she said. “If it’s being advertised to be used not as a substitute to cigarettes but in addition to cigarettes, you’re actually increasing your risk. If people who might have quit because of the smoking bans are instead marketed into using a smokeless tobacco product, it’s going to have a negative public health effect.”

Jensen noted that smokeless tobacco is actually more addictive, because it gives the brain a steady buzz of nicotine rather than the quick spike and slow letdown provided by a cigarette, and the new “starter flavors” (apple, berry, vanilla) clearly indicate a product trying to appeal to a new market segment.

Then there’s the problem of secondhand saliva. Chewing tobacco waned in popularity in the early 1900s when it was banned in public due to fear of exacerbating a tuberculosis outbreak. And besides, it’s just gross. “Anybody who’s ever picked up a Coke can that somebody’s been spitting into and thought it was theirs would complain about the exposure to secondhand saliva,” Jensen said.

But Jon Schwartz, an enthusiastic spokesman for U.S. Smokeless Tobacco Company, said the days of spit-filled bottles at bars will soon be a thing of the past, thanks to something called Revel. It is a new smokeless tobacco product that’s being test-marketed in Charlotte, North Carolina, and Dallas, Texas.

“Revel is a blend of premium, one hundred percent American tobacco that comes in mint and wintergreen,” said Schwartz, apparently reading directly from the company’s website. “It’s a small, discreet white packet, smaller than a piece of gum, and adult consumers can place it anywhere in their mouth where it’s comfortable and quickly enjoy tobacco satisfaction.” (Yes, he really talks like this.) “And many adult consumers who use it don’t feel the need to expectorate—or spit. That makes it a little more attractive to use.”

But is it any safer to use than Skoal? Or cigarettes? “Oh, we don’t make health claims,” Schwartz nervously pointed out. “That’s not something that we do as a company. Our objective as a company is to expand our category. There are millions of adult smokers in the U.S., and that universe of adult tobacco users is an opportunity to reach a new audience.” As anyone knows, it will not be identified as a serious new trend until Ikea starts stocking polyethylene spittoons.

—Patrick Donnelly

To all those people whose mothers told them, “You’ll never amount to anything sitting on your ass all day playing those damn video games!”—this one’s for you.

The “Robolounge” is in a dank corner of the Xcel Energy Center. Its denizens, Michael “Buddha” Novak and Tim Dufour, run the robotic cameras used to dramatic effect in telecasts of Wild hockey games on FOX Sports Net. These are cameras that go where no human camera operator could realistically go. Novak and Dufour are a pair of thirtysomething photojournalists who get paid to fiddle with their joysticks for three hours a night, certainly the dream of any PlayStation-addled adolescent who enjoys a dose of hockey to break up the monotony of a Grand Theft Auto marathon.

The robotic cameras—or robocams, as the knowledgeable call them—have been used in one form or another for a decade, bringing fans so close to the action that they’re ducking every Marian Gaborik slapshot or Matt Johnson haymaker in their rec room. Novak operates the camera stationed behind the net in the west end of the arena, while Dufour’s robocam is mounted above the glass at center ice between the penalty boxes.

From those vantage points, the two cameras, each with a lens about the size of a puck, capture the speed and fury of Wild games from an angle impossible to replicate with any of the other seven cameras throughout the building.

“The secret is to try to make it look like it’s not on a motor, that it’s smooth and steady,” Dufour said. He and Novak are both trained on stationary and handheld cameras, and they operate the more standard equipment for KMSP-TV (Channel 9) telecasts. But when the game’s on FSN, you’ll find the two in the Robolounge—actually, just a couple of tables tucked under the seats, hidden behind a maze of room dividers that provides a buffer from fans stumbling to a nearby restroom.

The cameras are controlled by a three-piece console that features a zoom wheel, a focus mechanism, and a joystick that dictates its 360-degree movements, not unlike your standard video game setup. In fact, Novak insists his experience as a gamer is crucial to his ability to master the robocam.

“It sounds weird, but I think I shoot better if I play PlayStation,” he said. “When I play video games, I’m just grooving on hand-eye coordination, because these are really subtle movements. Gaming is great practice. I wish I could write that off—I haven’t found a way to do it yet.”

Since the images captured by the robocams are most often used in replays, the guys must have a steady hand. (They’ll cut to the goal cam for live shots only during power plays.) “If we’re jerky at all, when they slow it down in a replay, it amplifies anything we don’t like about a shot,” Novak said. Both men frequently mentioned the importance of being “in the flow” of the game in order to perform at peak levels. And peak performance is a must with hockey. “In basketball, if you miss a basket you’re going to get plenty of others,” Novak said. “Sure, if you miss a big slam-dunk, that’s unfortunate. But in hockey, if you miss a goal, you’re screwed. You’re hosed. You’re the goat. So, it’s a challenge because of the speed.”

But the speed of the game is what makes the robocams such a valuable tool to FSN director Dave Dittman. “It’s one thing to sit on a wide shot and show all the ice. But we try to get down close and show the speed, the action of the game, the hard hitting, and that’s what having the robos right on top of the glass has done,” Dittman said.

Robocams are used in other sports, including baseball and basketball. In drag racing, they literally save lives. Running a track-level stationary camera in that sport puts the camera operator in great peril. “I only ran it once, and it’s the scariest camera in all of sports,” Novak said. “It’s right on the wall two hundred feet down from the starting line, and the cars are going three hundred miles an hour past you. If there’s a problem…we call it the suicide cam, because you have less than a second to react or it can take you out. Two cameramen got killed using that camera when it was farther down the track.”

When ESPN took over the drag-racing package, they replaced the track-level stationary camera with a robocam, where technology not only protects the operator but helps fans track the dragsters better, because with a flick of the wrist, the robocam can pan 180 degrees in less than a second.

As the pregame skate continued, and the sound system fittingly cranked out U2’s “Even Better Than the Real Thing,” Mike Miller, who runs the robocam for the Gopher hockey telecasts at Mariucci Arena, strolled into the Robolounge. Miller said operating the robocam is fun, though it can lead to the ultimate game over. “It’s like a video game,” Miller said. “Except if you lose, you’re fired.”—Patrick Donnelly

Bobbleheads have recently become all the rage among collectors of sports souvenirs. Those oversized craniums, wobbling on springs as if Parkinson’s disease were desirable in a doll, are a pleasant diversion when perched on your mantel or flanking your computer monitor.

They’re funny not just because of their striking ugliness, but because they point beyond themselves to some disturbing home truths—at least the football bobbleheads do. In real life, the craniums of 300-pound linemen are incredibly vulnerable, despite appearances. Blows to the head, no matter how thick the skull or its natural padding, can lead to serious brain injuries, most commonly concussions. They are the type of injuries that can cut short careers. Thus the most recent attempts to improve the safety of football players have focused on helmet technology—specifically, efforts to make the headgear lighter, stronger, and cooler.

“It’s a question of simple physics,” said Vikings tight end Hunter Goodwin. “A lot of concussions are caused by a whipping effect of the head and neck, and with less weight to propel, there’s less whipping.”

Goodwin is one of a handful of Vikings wearing the most modern version of protective lids. After a four-year study of both head-on and lateral collisions, Riddell Sports introduced the Revolution.

The most noticeable difference is its size—if you thought Jim Kleinsasser, Bryant McKinnie, or Chris Claiborne appeared a bit bubbleheaded this year, you’re right. The Revolution’s shell is bigger than standard models, to accommodate extra padding. It’s also got six oval-shaped holes across the crown to provide better ventilation, and it wraps around the mandible to protect the jaw.

Goodwin said that after years of little change in helmet technology, Bike—a competitor of Riddell—came out with a space-age prototype that he tested in 2000, when he played with the Miami Dolphins. “I was the players’ association rep in Miami, and in a players’ union meeting the safety issues were discussed,” he said. “We saw the results of the tests between the Bike and the old Riddell helmet, and that made it a conscious decision for me.”

Riddell introduced the Revolution at Super Bowl XXXVI, where Rams fullback James Hodgins was the first player to wear it in a game. Riddell made the Revolution available to the rest of the NFL in time for the 2002 season. Other companies are working on similar models. Schutt Sports unveiled a new brain-bucket at the Army-Navy football game a couple weeks ago. Schutt claims its helmets borrow from technology used in the Army, meaning we’ve come full circle since John T. Riddell allowed the U.S. government to borrow his patented suspension helmet design in 1939 to protect Allied troops in combat.

The suspension model—an unpadded plastic shell literally suspended above the player’s head by crisscrossing straps—was still the helmet of choice in 1975, when equipment manager Dennis Ryan joined the Vikings staff. In fact, Hall of Fame quarterback Fran Tarkenton was one of the last to change to a padded helmet, and Minnesota Supreme Court Justice Alan Page never did make the switch.

“When Page went to Chicago, I think we had to send his helmet there, which they painted blue,” Ryan said. “He also wore an aluminum face mask. They bent a lot, and what was scary is, they would collapse. There were a couple of times where you wondered if you were going to get the helmet off the player’s head, they would be smashed in so far.”

So even though the old helmets were good enough to protect the bean of a future supreme court justice, one would have to be pretty thick to deny that today’s models are a decisive upgrade. But it’s still too early to tell if the Revolution has helped reduce concussions league-wide. “It’s tough to say one helmet is better than another,” Ryan said.

Of course, the lack of data—scientific or anecdotal—is both a blessing and a curse. How can you tell which blows should have caused a concussion, but didn’t, thanks to the new helmet? “I haven’t noticed anything, but I guess that’s a good thing,” said Revolution-wearing Vikings tackle Mike Rosenthal. “It must be working.”—Patrick Donnelly

All those late nights in April and May spent watching the Minnesota Wild’s astonishing West Coast playoff run left many bleary-eyed observers across North America rubbing their eyes and wondering the same thing: What the hell is it? On fleet forward Marian Gaborik, it looks like a cheetah. On plodding veteran Andrew Brunette, maybe more like a three-toed sloth. Of course, it could be a meerkat, a chinchilla, or a bloodthirsty panda.

We’re talking, of course, about the Wild logo, that mammalian Rorschach test that adorns the jerseys of the State of Hockey’s favorite underdogs. Its actual identity is… well, let’s hear it from Matt Majka: “We’ve never said what it is,” explained the team’s vice president of marketing. “It’s a Wild.” Well, of course it is. How could we have doubted it?

“The question we get most is, ‘What is it? Is it a cat? A bear? A wolf?’” Majka said. “It’s a Wild, and it’s whatever you see in there. It was purposely designed to be interpretive.” A female hockey fan with whom I am closely acquainted said, “It’s got to be some kind of a cat. It’s not a wolf or a dog—wrong ears, wrong head shape.” And I thought, Ears? Man, I thought those were the eyes…

“We get the ‘a-ha’ factor a lot,” Majka said. “People step back and see things they hadn’t seen before. Some don’t even see the animal head at first.” True, there’s plenty to see in the pictogram: pine trees, the northern lights, a full moon, all icons of the Minnesota wilderness. And the team surely gilded the lily with the official, regionally inspired name of each color, too: “Forest Green,” “Minnesota Wheat,” “Harvest Gold,” and “Iron Range Red.”

After Minnesota was awarded an expansion franchise in 1997, one of the first steps was to settle on a nickname. At the time, “Wild” drew some criticism, but now it feels like a comfy old sweatshirt, especially compared to the other clunkers that comprised the final five: Blue Ox, Freeze, Northern Lights, Voyageurs, and White Bears.

Majka said the fans were instrumental in the next step, too: developing the team’s brand—the logo and colors. With the help of the marketing agency Hall Batko and creative firm SME Design, the team conducted some 300 fan interviews, and the top choice quickly became obvious. “It was a landslide,” Majka said. “The fans led us right there.”

It was the beginning of a torrid affair; the fans love what they see. The Wild’s jersey was the top-selling NHL sweater in the country for the team’s first two years in the league. The numbers aren’t all in yet, but this year it’s bound to make another strong showing. “NHL jerseys are generally popular locally and regionally,” said Majka. “It’s unusual to attract national attention. But we’ve got a unique logo and it’s really been a mysterious attraction.”

Now the only mystery is the design of the team’s third jersey, which will be unveiled this fall and worn in select home games. Majka, who is, after all, a marketing professional, wouldn’t give many advance hints. “We’re going to keep it simple. It will honor the heritage and tradition of hockey in Minnesota,” he said cryptically.

Due to a change in NHL rules, road teams will wear their white jerseys next year, so the Wild will don their fetching green sweaters at home when they’re not wearing the new alternate jersey. The league stipulates that teams with third jerseys shall wear them 15 to 18 times per year, but given the superstitious nature of hockey guys, head coach Jacques Lemaire (who went sockless for much of the playoffs) likely will make the final call. “If Jacques wants to wear the third jersey every night, I’m sure we’ll wear the third jersey every night,” Majka said with a laugh.—Patrick Donnelly

The other night, two-dozen hockey fans milled around the Iron Range Grill. They were biding their time. Across the corridor, in a half hour, the puck would drop on the big sheet of ice at the Xcel Energy Center. The Wild, enjoying a hot streak early in the season, would be facing the Vancouver Canucks, a flourishing new rivalry.

The wait staff in the Grill was decked out in T-shirts featuring the names of Iron Range cities. AITKIN brought an acrid tray of buffalo wings and a schooner of macrobrew to a table situated under a photo-mural of World War II-era hockey teams from the Range. EMBARRASS poured a stiff rum and Coke for a man in an NHL “Original 6” hat. COLERAINE cleared a table whose party gathered around a display case featuring a vintage Chicago Black Hawks jersey—worn when the Hawks held training camp in Hibbing in 1935. The cash register rang again and again.

A cynic might arch an eyebrow at the thought of a third-year franchise peddling history as a commodity like so many giant foam fingers. But that cynic has not met Roger Godin. Godin is the Wild’s official team curator, and as far as anybody can tell, the only curator employed by a professional sports organization in North America. The team’s desire to reconnect with Minnesota’s rich hockey tradition is palpable when you walk into “the X.” And they’ve got the perfect man for the job in Godin, a spry 60-something with twinkling eyes, a keen attention to detail, and a droll smile that suggests he knows something you don’t.

“He just has this remarkably perfect background,” said Matt Majka, the team’s vice president of marketing. “When we were talking about filling this position, we found out that the former director of the Hall of Fame was living two blocks away and was interested in the position.” Indeed, Godin was the first director of the U.S. Hockey Hall of Fame in Eveleth, serving in that capacity from 1971 to 1987. A self-proclaimed “museum guy,” the New York native eventually moved back to his roots on the East Coast, but his road wound back to Minnesota and he became one of the first hires of the fledgling hockey franchise.

Touring the concourses at the X, Godin is in his element. His handiwork is the spearhead of the team’s various initiatives intended to reclaim Minnesota’s status as “The State of Hockey.” From the high school hockey jerseys ringing the arena to the artifacts in the Iron Range Grill, Godin is responsible for curating and maintaining these exhibits.

There are vitrines protecting rare Golden Gopher and U.S.A. Olympic jerseys. There’s an informative exhibit on the Hobey Baker and Patty Kazmaier awards, given annually to the nation’s top male and female players. There’s even an homage to the dear, departed Minnesota North Stars. Near the entrance to Section 109 sits Zamboni No. 37 — yes, the 37th such machine ever built by Frank J. Zamboni & Co. This unit was first used at the old St. Paul Auditorium in 1956. Most of the memorabilia at the X is on loan from the U.S. Hockey Hall of Fame and the collections of hockey buffs who want to share their love of the game and its history.

The lasting impression created by a tour of the X is that Wild folks relish Minnesota’s rich hockey heritage and traditions. Godin’s work might be dismissed as window-dressing in other buildings, but to the Wild, these artifacts are as crucial as the ice itself.—Patrick Donnelly