Modern-day Vikings are heavy on culture and accountability, light on punchlines

Oli Udoh and his Vikings teammates are making life hard for Minnesota's sports columnists. By which I mean, me.

Udoh was charged with disorderly conduct and resisting an officer without violence last weekend in Miami.

He reportedly was talking to a woman in line for the women's restroom and then tried to enter that restroom. He was charged with two misdemeanors: disorderly conduct and the "jumbo shrimp'' oxymoron of resisting arrest without being violent, which makes it sound like he sent a mean tweet.

Udoh has denied the charges, and his agent said he did not enter the women's restroom. Coach Kevin O'Connell added: "I have a lot of confidence in Oli, the person, the teammate he is in this building."

This is not material I can work with. This is material that makes me pine for the good old days of Minnesota sports, when David Kahn and Tim Brewster roamed the Earth and the Vikings could turn a three-hour cruise into a national news story.

There was a time when covering The Purple meant having conversations with colleagues that included such phrases as:

He told cops his arms are more powerful than their guns?

Denny is suing the owners.

Headrick is wearing coaching shorts.

He was driving how fast in St. Peter?

What's a "switch?"

The head coach scalped Super Bowl tickets?

He did not release a video from a bunker.

Gary Anderson hasn't missed all season.

He went AWOL? Already?

They're trading Randy Moss?

They did what on the boat?

Why are there 12 people in the huddle?

How many Z's in Whizzinator?

Before the modern Vikings started using words like "culture," "accountability" and "try not to get caught committing a felony," the franchise put the funk in dysfunction.

Some of their transgressions were serious crimes. Those were not funny.

Some of their transgressions were funnier than the average HBO comedy special.

The "Whizz" was a device that could theoretically enable an athlete to pass a drug test while under supervision.

Smith not only possessed the Original Whizzinator, and tried to get it past airport security, but he claimed it was his cousin's.

Seifert was in the Star Tribune office in 2005 when he got a tip that Smith was involved in "some kind of incident'' at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. Seifert called the airport security office and asked for the documentation to be faxed.

He was told that if he wanted to see the paperwork, he would have to show up in person and go through airport security to get to the office, and that the office was closing in 35 minutes.

Seifert and fellow Star Tribune reporter Kent Youngblood jumped in a car and zipped to the airport, acquired a special pass that got them through security, found the public information office, and were told that the paperwork would cost them $5. Cash only.

The report detailed security finding vials of powder in Smith's bags and testing them for drugs. Finally, they asked Smith what the powder was, and he said it was dried urine, and that he was taking it to his cousin.

Youngblood drove back to the Star Tribune while Seifert read the report. When he entered the newsroom, he said, "every computer screen was on the Whizzinator website."

Seifert, being kindhearted, felt sorry for Smith, who would have his reputation damaged and become the butt of jokes, but there was no way to downplay the story. It ran on A1 of the Star Tribune and would be cited in congressional hearings regarding drug use.

The Whizzinator story remains the ultimate example of what life on the Vikings beat used to be like.