Duluth’s Harbor Monsters show what happens when a city dares to dream

By HOWIE HANSON
Editor & Publisher

DULUTH, Minn. — Not long ago, the notion of professional indoor football lighting up Duluth’s lakefront seemed like wishful thinking, the sort of pipe dream you sketch on a napkin over coffee and tuck away before reality talks you out of it.

Today, those scribbles have grown into one of the most remarkable sports stories in the Upper Midwest. The Duluth Harbor Monsters are not just defending Arena League champions, they’re 4-1 midway through a sophomore campaign that’s redefining what grassroots sports can mean to a city hungry for new energy.

But let’s be clear: this story goes far beyond highlight-reel touchdowns and raucous fourth-quarter stops. It’s about what happens when local leaders, businesses and everyday fans throw their support behind a single audacious idea—and refuse to let go.

A civic bet that paid off

Two of the earliest believers, Duluth Entertainment Convention Center boss Dan Hartman and first-term Mayor Roger Reinert, recognized indoor football for more than box scores. For Hartman, it was a chance to keep hotel rooms booked and restaurants humming in shoulder seasons. Reinert saw a vehicle for the kind of economic momentum his administration has staked its future on.

Reinert suggested the Harbor Monsters might be proof Duluth can sustain even bigger entertainment ventures down the line.

Grandma’s shows how local backing works

Look no further than Grandma’s Restaurants for evidence of that buy-in. From bold signage inside the arena to organizing game-night excursions for employees, the popular Canal Park institution has thrown its full weight behind the franchise.

Steve Walters, the Harbor Monsters’ general manager, doesn’t mince words about what that means.

“When a brand as respected as Grandma’s stands next to you, it tells everyone — fans, sponsors, the whole community — this is worth investing in,” Walters said.

The results show up in the ledgers. Walters said their sponsorship count jumped from 64 in the first year to more than 100 this season. That’s helped the Harbor Monsters build a rare safety net for minor-league sports.

“Our goal is to be profitable before the first ticket’s sold,” he said. “That changes everything. We’re never chasing money. Every person through the turnstile is just adding to a foundation that’s already solid.”

Turning the DECC into a destination

If the off-field blueprint is impressive, the on-field product has been equally important. The roster brims with former college standouts and players hungry for one more shot, delivering a style of football that’s tight, fast and unforgiving.

Public address voice Brian Prudhomme, who’s worked everything from high school hockey to football, says the difference is palpable.

“It is absolutely electric and the crowd gets rowdy as they’re right on top of the action,” he said. “To have it be my job to enhance that is truly awesome.” 

A franchise that feels personal

But the Harbor Monsters’ real secret might be simpler: it feels like family. From ownership to the cheerleaders to volunteers shaking pom-poms in the concourse, there’s a shared pride you can’t manufacture.

“People aren’t just punching the clock here,” Prudhomme said. “It’s hard to explain until you see it up close, but there’s this sense we’re all pulling in the same direction.”

That spills out into the community, too. Players regularly drop by youth programs for pep talks. Local bars show games on big screens. Fans swap stories about how the team gave them something to look forward to after tough winters or economic rough patches. In short, the Monsters have become part of Duluth’s story.

A model for other small markets

Duluth’s template is now being watched closely by other Arena League cities. New franchises in places like Hot Springs, Arkansas, and St. Joseph, Missouri, are borrowing the blueprint: find a tight-knit community, give them access to players they’ll bump into at the grocery store, and let word-of-mouth do what advertising budgets can’t.

“People want that personal connection,” Walters said. “You can cheer for the Vikings on TV, but you’re not likely to see those guys picking up milk at Super One the next day. Here, it’s that close. That real.”

Still, it all hinges on fans

For all the smart business plans and civic partnerships, the equation is brutally simple. If Duluthians don’t keep coming to the DECC — if they don’t keep buying tickets, bringing friends, losing their voices — none of it lasts.

“You can have the best sponsorship team in the world, but if those seats are empty, it’s over,” Walters said. “We’re lucky. This community has shown up for us. Now it’s about growing that.”

Prudhomme puts it more bluntly. “My expectations were blown away after year one,” he said. “Now I can’t wait to see just how far we can take this.”

So here’s the pitch

Buy a ticket. Drag a neighbor along. Be loud. Because in this corner of the sports world, the line between fans and family is blurred to the point of disappearing. If the Harbor Monsters lift another trophy come fall, it’ll belong to Duluth as much as the players in uniform — a testament to what’s possible when a city dares to dream together.

And that’s a story worth telling.