Four Fabulous Years of Fantasies and Frustrations

Call it only a college romance if you like but for me it was a torrid love affair. For four years you led me around--the anticipation, the sudden passes, the excitement, and then the score.

Three and a half years ago I was only a freshman from Ohio who thought "playing hockey" meant skipping school. In the Midwest, basketball was the only sport in the winter, but you--the Harvard hockey team--stole my affections.

After that first B.U. battle in Watson Rink, I was hooked. We were both undefeated and this was for the King of the East. It was no contest.

Captain Randy Roth and the "B" line of Burke, Bell and Bolduc soared down the ice and a dead chicken dropped from the stands. Watson went wild and the Terriers went home whipped, 7-2.

That was when I had to queue at nine o'clock in the morning a week before a game so I would have a chance to see you. And everyone in Cambridge would jam into Section 19 to be part of the victory celebration.

You kept me exhilarated like that the whole year. There was that power play where you teased the opposition before slamming home the goal. Against Dartmouth, Roth swept everyone off their feet with his coyness and slickness on a penalty shot deftly lifted past the stunned goalie. And Ed Rossi would hang out at the Blue Line (the puck was never in our zone) and rack up the points.

Finally there was the Yale game. Remember, you were the best and the Bulldogs had no bite. But those Elis had us down, 2-0, with only three minutes to go.

And yet Watson Rink was noisier than ever because we knew you would not roll over and die. Then Kevin Carr and Dave Gauthier led a charge that produced three goals and I knew you were something special.

Sophomore year you did not look quite the same. Roth was gone and Bolduc and Ted Thorndike were Olympians. But the magic was still there along with Brian ("only the Lord saves more") Petrovek and a smooth-as-silk rookie named George Hughes.

Still, I remember you as a fiesty devil then. Captain Carr and his "Irish Line" wouldn't let anybody push you around. At the end of the regular season you weren't in the top four of the ECAC standings so you didn't have the home ice advantage in the first round.

But, so what, you were still tough on the road. And somehow, you shined again and shocked New Hampshire on its ice, and back to the Boston we went. However that year the season ended there and not at the nationals like the previous year.

When I saw you again in my junior year I barely recognized you. Petro was still there but there were so many new faces and that winning style of yours just did not seem the same.

You tried so hard but it hurt to see you like that. First, B.U. beat you in overtime to begin a heart-wrenching season of ups and downs.

For a moment though, I though it could be good times for us again. When Jon Garrity bagged a goal to bring the Beanpot back to Harvard Square there was a flicker of hope.

But I knew the end was near. I sat with a dwindled Watson crowd as Dartmouth scored off a face-off and Petro's leg to help keep you out of the play-offs. And what hurt most of all was that your coolness and confidence that had attracted me were gone. You had learned how to lose.

This year I hoped you would return to being the "real you" but somehow things just did not work themselves out. I thought that weekend after exams in Philly and Princeton would do you a world of good but you lost them along with numerous fans.

Hotshots

Yet I still hoped for that last flash of brilliance that I had come to expect from you, and you almost acquiesced. Those hot-shots came to town and for the first two periods you brought back the good mems. The crowd was rabid and you skated like a dream to a 3-0 lead.

But like the end of this romance, the game went sour. We lost in overtime, 4-3, and both you and I parted without blame but in frustration.