Downfall
February 25, 2024
It was the spring of 2011. Hockey-mad Winnipeggers, imbued with a sense of entitlement to an NHL franchise, were overjoyed at the news that their government had dug into their pockets to buy the Atlanta Thrashers for Mark Chipman and move them to Winnipeg. That they were the ones funding the purchase was an inconvenient truth many to this day still continue to ignore. All that mattered was that Winnipeg had an NHL team again. A historical wrong had at last been righted.
Those same fans, still stinging from the loss of the Jets 15 years earlier, snapped up every one of the available 13,000 season tickets in minutes. Normally a frugal lot, they thought nothing of the shockingly high price tag nor the required three- or five-year commitments. Sticker shock was on an extended vacation. Thousands more, unable to get to their keyboards fast enough, paid good money for the privilege of being on a waiting list. And still more paid extra for a special TV package so they could watch this team at home and on the road from the comfort of their living rooms.
Jets Fever gripped southern Manitoba. People lined up to buy jerseys. Caps. T-shirts. Anything with the new team’s logo on it. Money was no object. When the new specialty license plates featuring the logo came out, still more rushed to get them. There was such demand that they had to issue a second series.
Chipman was hailed as the savior of the city. Deliriously happy Winnipeggers worshiped the ground he walked on. He could do no wrong. Had he wished, he could have run for mayor and no one would have even opposed him. He was practically royalty. Frequently in the public eye, he was happy to do interviews and basked in the limelight of being the head honcho of what had instantly become the city’s most beloved institution.
Fast forward to present day.
Despite the presence of a competitive team, there are between 2,000 and 4,000 empty seats in the 15,000-seat arena on most nights. There is no more waiting list. Season and single-game tickets are available for the asking, and without any multiyear commitments. In some circles, there are no takers even when tickets are offered for free. Chipman has allegedly taken to calling lapsed season ticket holders personally to ask them to return. And those watching at home no longer need to purchase a special TV package.
For his part, Chipman is not nearly as popular as he once was. Many of the same fans who adored him now vocally criticize him and call for him to recuse himself from the team’s day-to-day operations from which he has been deeply involved on and off the ice. He now hides from public view, leaving his subordinates to answer for his decisions. He no longer readily grants interviews to local media. When he does, his appearances are carefully staged and feature only prearranged softball questions. And he bears the look of a man who has prematurely aged.
Even though the team receives an annual stipend of $15 million from the government, perhaps more, to cover losses and likely the repayment of the loan used to purchase the team, it is now hemorrhaging money. The very real possibility of the team’s imminent sale and relocation to a major U.S. city such as Houston or Salt Lake City is being openly discussed.
How could this happen? How is it even possible?
Of course, there’s the economy. Even in the best of times, the league’s smallest market needs government handouts to keep an NHL franchise afloat. Big-league hockey has never been sustainable in Winnipeg.
But it’s not just the economy.
This kind of reversal of fortune happens when you have an owner who acts as if he is doing his customers a favor by accepting their money.
An owner who treats customers as a burden.
An owner who gouges at the concessions and even charges to watch the occasional open practice.
An owner who no longer accepts cash at the concessions.
An owner who charges his customers several hundred dollars to transfer season tickets.
An owner who hires staff for their loyalty to him instead of their professional competence.
An owner who puts customers through airport-level security before entering the arena.
An owner who shoves political messages down his customers’ throats before every game.
An owner who forces his customers to use a smartphone to access their tickets.
An owner who kicks customers out of the rink for not taking injections of lethal, gene-altering poison.
An owner who, when faced with declining ticket sales after treating his customers badly, responds with thinly veiled threats of relocation, and when confronted, acts as though he is the victim.
An owner like Mark Chipman.
Only he could screw up such a sweetheart arrangement as then-premier Greg Selinger handed him on a silver platter.
In the words of former Washington Redskins owner Edward Bennett Williams, he had an unlimited budget and he exceeded it.
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