Marketing Classic

On New Year's Eve in Las Vegas, some motorcycle jumping guy shot his machine nearly ten stories into the night sky and landed atop the Arc de Triomphe at the Paris Hotel. He drove the bike around the top of the Arc a few times and then drove it off the edge, hit the ramp properly and stuck a successful and safe landing. The good citizens of Paris, France, were unavailable for comment, but they may want to look into this new and novel use for local landmarks Chicago, not to be outdone, saved its spectacle for New Year's Day.

The newly revived Chicago Blackhawks Hockey Club, Inc., played the perennial powerhouse Detroit Red Wings yesterday at the world's largest saloon, Wiggley Field. The game was OK, 41,000 people showed up to party, the most successful operation in Detroit prevailed and the marketers accomplished exactly what they had hoped for.

What a dopey event.

I had hoped that this space would be poplulated today by a noted non-fan of hockey, Amy, who was in attendance at yesterday's chilly New Year's party, but apparently all the revelry was too much for her. Through a phone call about an hour before the game, we first learned that Amy had been pressed into service as a Blackhawk Standby when her significant other's pal was taken ill. Whether the illness was revelry-related was not disclosed.

The last two contacts from Amy, text messages, informed us first that she had lost the feeling in her extremities and then that she had fled the outdoor saloon and found comfort at an indoor watering hole. Papa didn't raise no fool.

Unable to overcome my curiousity, I watched parts of the Winter Classic from the comfort of the recliner while also watching yet another of my bowl wagers go up in smoke in a substantially warmer setting, warmer for me and at the bowl game, too. Back in Chicago, the hockey game was the most aggressive advertising campaign that I can remember ever seeing, simply amazing.

The bankrupt Tribune company, which spent $1.5 million last spring to have the notoriously horrendous Wiggley playing surface rebuilt (by Roger Bossard of the White Sox), had no qualms about renting out their playpen for a hockey game. I cannot be convinced that this will not have a negative impact on the ground the Wiggleys hold sacred.

Next, the pricey tickets for contest did not assure that you could actually see what was occurring on the ice. By my guesstimate, the seats nearest to the rink were close to a hundred feet away. Those seats were also obstructed view, as the side boards of a hockey rink are about three and a half feet high, so most of the lower deck seats were unlikely to see much of the actual ice surface. Another round here, beertender.

Some of the hockey heroes of my youth were dragged out to create a more festive mood for the show. Bobby Hull, once the most venerated athlete in town, looked right at home at the world's largest saloon. He joined good old #21, Stan Mikita and Wiggley favorite Ryne Sandberg in a bizarre rendition of Take Me Out to the Hockey Game. They all appeared to enjoy singing away as the home team was getting pounded. Upon reflection, that was consistent with a hundred years of summer behavior at Wiggley.

The money shot for this game didn't land in the net. It's the shot that appears above, the throwback jerseys with the decrepit Wiggley scoreboard in the background. The uniforms are for sale right now on NHL.com, and the photos, framed and with commemorative plaque affixed, should be available shortly for your purchasing and reminiscing pleasure.

What the hell...it's better than a picture of the motorcycle guy in Vegas.