Hardly a Consolation

BOSTON--It's not every day that you can walk into the Boston Garden and pick any seat in the house.

But such was the case last night, in that bizarre incarnation known as the Beanpot consolation game.

It was a macabre exercise between two teams playing in a dead stadium in a game that inspired little excitement or suspense for the fans.

The sounds of the Harvard Band echoed through the Garden like shouts into the Grand Canyon.

The Garden public address announcer regularly misidentified Harvard skaters.

Northeastern's cheerleaders led cheers for no one.

And disappointed aisle vendors took seats and sampled their wares, awaiting the crowds that would eventually appear for the final.

To be in the building in those circumstances was downright saddening.

"It's tough to play when there's no one in the stands when you go off to the start of the first period," Harvard coach Ronn Tomassoni said. "But we have to be tougher mentally than that."

Maybe so, but to force two teams to play another game in a tournament for no other reason than the fact that the match-up appears on the schedule seems to take a whole lot from the game.

At least when one team is really at home, you've got fans, cowbells, etc. going in the stands.

And you've got a public address announcer who knows Joe Craigen is number nine and Jason Karmanos is number 19.

Surprisingly, the players were not disturbed by the lack of interest in the game.

"It's not like we were taking this game lightly," Karmanos said. "You always like to play the game regardless of the circumstances."

But perhaps the nightmare of consolation games is the possibility of injury.

Such a hard-luck story befell the Crimson last night, with junior defenseman Geb Marett pulling his groin and dressing up in street clothes after the first stanza.

But even Marett supported the idea of the consolation game.

"In terms of pride, it's nice to get another chance to win a game in the tournament," he said.

On leaving the stadium, making my way through the throngs of fans arriving for the final, I was asked at least twice for a ticket stub.

When I left the Garden, I was warned twice by a security guard that I couldn't re-enter the building. You shoulda seen the look on his face when I assured him that yes, we were leaving before the final.

It seemed that the consolation game was just a matter of going through the motions, fulfilling some edict from the hockey gods laid down long ago.

But after all, it was a last chance to play on the ice of the Boston Garden, a building soon to be turned into a heap of rubble by a wrecker's ball.

Ever seen that Rold Gold commercial when Jason Alexander (of Seinfeld fame) plays goalie in a dream?

Playing on the Garden ice is like that, an opportunity few of us ever get to savor.

"It's a place shrouded in tradition," Karmanos said. "It's a fun place to play hockey."

Tomassoni, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind the Garden's demise.

"I can hardly wait for the new one," he said. "I'm not going to miss this place."

For me, however, a Beanpot consolation is no way to say good-bye to the Garden.

Last night just didn't have the feel of a true college hockey game.