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Oh, to be a Minnesota fullback in the year 2025 — a position that technically still exists, mostly as a courtesy, like a pay phone at a rest stop or a hot dish at a vegan potluck.
Which brings us, naturally, to C.J. Ham of Duluth's Friendly West End.
Not “former Duluth.” Not “grew up near Duluth.” Actual Duluth. Denfeld Duluth. Lake-effect wind Duluth. The kind of Duluth where you learn early that blocking is more important than glory and showing up every day matters more than showing off once a week.
Ham has made a career out of that idea. A long one. A respectable one. A quietly remarkable one. And now, as another Vikings season grinds toward its final cold Sundays, it’s fair — and unavoidable — to ask the question out loud, preferably over coffee strong enough to peel paint:
Is this it?
Is this the last ride for No. 30, the last true fullback standing in a league that keeps insisting it has evolved past such things, even as it keeps needing one when the weather turns mean and the games stop being theoretical?
This is not a rumor column. Nobody whispered anything at TCO Performance Center. No anonymous league source slid into a text chain. This is simply the natural moment where time taps even the most reliable shoulder and says, “Hey, you still good?”
Ham is 31 now, which in fullback years is somewhere between “seasoned veteran” and “museum exhibit.” He’s been hit by linebackers who weren’t alive when he first learned how to square his shoulders. He’s carved out a niche in a league that keeps trying to sandpaper that niche smooth. And he’s done it without drama, without volume, and without ever confusing himself for something he isn’t.
That’s the part that makes this interesting.
C.J. Ham has never been about illusion. He knows what his job is. He knows how rare it’s become. And he knows exactly what it costs — physically, emotionally, and in those quiet moments when the season ends and the body starts filing its complaints in alphabetical order.
This is a Duluth column because Duluth understands this moment better than most cities. It understands work that doesn’t come with applause. It understands staying longer than people expect. It understands knowing when to leave because you still can, not because you have to.
Ham has already beaten the odds. Undrafted. Unflashy. A fullback in a passing league. And yet here he is, year after year, trusted by coaches, beloved by teammates, and quietly indispensable whenever the Vikings decide they actually want to run the ball like adults.
He blocks. He catches when needed. He plays special teams. He mentors. He absorbs punishment meant for others. And he does it with the kind of professional dignity that never demands recognition but always earns it.
So what happens next?
If this is the final season — and let’s stress the if — it wouldn’t be because he can’t play. It would be because he’s smart enough to read the calendar and honest enough to listen to his body. It would be because he understands that leaving on your own terms is a luxury, not a surrender.
There’s also the matter of life after football, which for a guy like Ham won’t involve chasing cameras or carving out hot-take real estate. You can already see it: coaching, mentoring, community work, something grounded and useful and rooted in the same values that got him here in the first place. Duluth doesn’t produce a lot of people wired for self-promotion. It produces people wired for responsibility.
Still, don’t mistake this for a goodbye tour. If Ham comes back next year, nobody inside that locker room will blink. He’s the connective tissue. The tone-setter. The guy who makes the glamorous stuff possible without asking for a thank-you note.
And if he does walk away? He’ll do it the same way he played: without noise, without bitterness, without pretending he was something else.
There will be some young skill-position player someday who won’t know his name but will benefit from the lane Ham created years earlier. There will be a December game where the Vikings need one yard, and someone will mutter, “Man, we could use a C.J. Ham right now.”
That’s legacy. Quiet. Durable. Earned.
So will Ham retire after this season? Maybe. Maybe not.
But if he does, Minnesota won’t just be losing a fullback. It’ll be losing one of the last visible reminders that football, at its core, is still about leverage, trust, and doing the hard thing so someone else can look good.
Which, come to think of it, sounds an awful lot like Duluth itself.
And that’s why this question matters.
If Ham does retire, he’s not disappearing. He’s just changing where you notice him.
You won’t see him chasing a studio desk or arguing on television. That’s not his wiring. C.J. Ham has always been a useful guy, not a loud one. So wherever he shows up next, it’ll make immediate sense to anyone who’s been paying attention.
Start with the obvious: the Vikings don’t let guys like that wander off without at least knocking on the door.
Ham feels like a natural fit inside that building — player development, culture, mentoring, something with real gravity. The kind of role where young players pull him aside and say, “How do you stay in this league?” and he gives them the unsexy answer that actually works. He’d be especially valuable now, when rosters are younger, faster, and sometimes a little too convinced the league owes them something.
Then there’s coaching — not tomorrow, not as a headline-grabber, but eventually. Fullbacks make good teachers because they understand the entire play, not just their slice of it. He sees leverage, spacing, timing, and sacrifice. He understands protection schemes and accountability. Put him in a tight ends room, a running backs room, or even special teams, and he’d quietly elevate everything around him.
But here’s the sneaky answer — the one that fits Duluth best.
Don’t be surprised if he comes home.
Not in a ceremonial way. In a real way. Youth football, high school programs, community leadership, maybe even something tied to the University of Minnesota Duluth down the road. Duluth loves its stars, but it trusts its grinders. Ham would walk into any gym, any field, any school in the Northland and immediately have credibility without having to say a word.
There’s also the corporate and nonprofit angle — leadership roles where discipline, teamwork, and calm competence actually matter. You can already see him on a board, in a foundation, or helping guide something that needs steady hands rather than flashy slogans.
And here’s the quiet truth: whatever he chooses, it won’t be rushed.
Guys like Ham take a beat. They breathe. They let the game leave their bodies before deciding what comes next. No panic. No scramble. No identity crisis.
So if you’re looking for the headline answer — “Vikings assistant,” “coach,” “mentor,” “community leader” — sure, those all fit.
But the real answer is simpler.
He’ll show up somewhere that needs someone dependable, respected, and comfortable doing the hard work without applause.
Which, if we’re being honest, means he’ll still fit right in around here.
Howie, 71, is a veteran Duluth print journalist and publisher of HowieHanson.com, which he has operated for 21 years. He is the region’s first and only full-time online daily columnist, covering local news, politics, business, healthcare, education and sports with an independent, community-centered voice. Hanson has spent more than five decades reporting on issues that shape the Northland.
