Beanpot Musings and Post-Mortems

February 24, 2015

Well, it was worth waiting for.

The 63rd annual Beanpot Hockey Tournament was the first ever in which both rounds underwent postponements for snow. After a two-week delay, the 2015 championship game took place on February 23. About halfway through the third period, after Northeastern had stormed back from a two-goal deficit to Boston University at 3-3, p.a. announcer John Dolan turned to me and said, “This is what it’s all about.”

And it was. The teams had been battling with reckless abandon for the entire contest, and somehow, coming down the home stretch, they dug deeper within themselves and called for more. The fans from Northeastern and Boston University were in full-throated roar, as they too had been all game long.

There’s a lot of good college hockey yet to be played at TD Garden this year – both the Hockey East championships and the Frozen Four – but I doubt they’ll come close to matching the atmosphere of Beanpot.

Nobody asked me, but here are some deep thoughts to rival those of Jack Handey.

beanpotBig Picture: I know that the result, a BU championship, is a familiar one. But the Beanpot is once again a four-team tournament. Three of the games this year went into overtime. In the one that didn’t, Northeastern scored with less than two minutes to play to defeat Boston College 3-2.

All four Beanpot teams are contenders for advance to the NCAA Tournament. They won’t all make it; only BU is certain to receive a bid. But they’re all good enough.

Northeastern’s Knocking: Yes, it’s 27 years and counting since the Huskies won a Beanpot. That was in 1988. It took them 29 years to win their first one, back in 1980. But during that initial span of 29 years, Northeastern made it past the first round to the championship game exactly three times. In olden times, they were the Beanpot doormat. Not any more.

Since 1999, NU has played in the championship game eight times, including five of the last seven years. They will be back in the winner’s circle again soon. Husky fans, don’t lose faith.

So will Harvard. The Crimson last won a Beanpot in 1993. That, also, is far too long a time. I thought that, going into this year’s tourney, Harvard was the best team. I’ve also told more than a few people that if Harvard gets another crack at BU in post-season, Harvard will win. Their go-ahead goal in the third period of this year’s first round, double-overtime loss to BU should not have been disallowed.

Harvard’s first line of Alex Kerfoot, Kyle Criscuolo, and Jimmy Vesey is as good as any in college hockey – including Jack Eichel’s line at BU. Harvard has skill and speed, and they like to hit. They’ve also gotten good goaltending from Steve Michalek. After losing the consolation game, 3-2 in overtime to BC, Harvard will likely have to win the ECAC playoff championship in order to make the NCAAs. They can do it.

Goalies: Michalek set a new Beanpot single-game record with 63 saves against BU. The old record of 52 was set by Jimmy Barton of BC in a 5-4 loss to BU in 1970. Michalek has the bigger number now, and hats off to him. But as far as I’m concerned, Barton’s performance, over 60 rather than 82+ minutes, is still the best ever.

BU outshot Harvard this year but did not outplay them by much at all. Harvard probably should have won in regulation but had that goal disallowed. But back in 1970, BU’s barrage against Barton and the Eagles was constant, overwhelming, and unrelenting.

The MVP: Matt Grzelcyk is Boston hockey’s feel-good story of the year. He’s the Townie kid whose father works on the Garden bull gang. He’s the kid who always dreamed of Beanpot heroics. His dream came true with two goals, including the overtime winner.

Everyone has been talking about the year Eichel has been having, and rightfully so. He’s several cuts above everyone else, even as a freshman. The only other freshman of comparable skill I’ve ever seen was Brian Leetch of Boston College back in 1987. Eichel does it all, and the pros are drooling, but I hope he sticks around for at least another year. Eichel and linemates notwithstanding, Boston University would not be where it is without Grzelcyk.

Matt is a defenseman, a member of the junior class. His team mates elected him captain to lead the turnaround after last year’s miserable performance. He had only played half the games last year before going down with a serious shoulder injury. But they elected him anyway.

I frequently hear sports fans and sports writers wax poetic about this coach or that coach. “He’ll get them up for the big game,” of “He won’t let them lose again,” and so on. That’s overstating things by quite a bit.

Success is all up to the players on the team, and especially to the upperclassmen who’ve been around for a while. The coach picks the players, sets the agenda, devises the strategy, teaches the game – but the players must take responsibility for their fate.

That’s what’s happened at BU. When the players came back to campus in the summer, they wore t-shirts with “Never Again” printed on the back. Grzelcyk, along with the team’s only seniors, Evan Rodrigues and Cason Hohmann, have been leading the way. I suggest that they’re the ones who are primarily responsible for BU’s fast return to the Beanpot championship.

Boston College, whose run of consecutive Beanpot crowns ended this year at five, has enjoyed a huge run of success since they made it to the NCAA Final at the Garden in 1998. Coach Jerry York is another who picks his players carefully, makes sure they buy in fully to his way of doing things, and then puts the onus on them to perform.

For the past decade and a half, BC has had at least one high-scoring line, usually two, and sometimes even three. Not so this year. The Eagles have found goals very hard to come by. Every game is a nail-biter. But they’re still in second place in Hockey East with one weekend of play remaining.

This may have been the best-coached team of Jerry’s tenure. It also follows that it’s a well-captained team. Like BU, BC has a junior defenseman, Michael Matheson, as captain. There are also two senior forwards, Quinn Smith and Michael Sit, who are alternate captains. BC has built a solid winning record on a good defense corps, strong goaltending, and four lines of grinders and muckers.

Next Year: The first-round Beanpot pairings will be the same was this year’s championship round. Harvard and Boston College will play in the early game, and Northeastern will face BU in the nightcap.

Maybe in 2016 we’ll finally, at long last, see a Beanpot final of Harvard vs. Northeastern. For me, that’s a bucket-list item.

“Jews and Words” – Book Review and Reflection

February 18, 2015

Jews and WordsDid you ever wonder why the Jewish kids always did the best in high school? Did you also ever wonder how the Jewish people have not only survived but prospered and contributed untold good to humanity, despite centuries of prejudice, ostracism, and persecution?

I always wondered, and I think I know now, after reading “Jews and Words” by Amos Oz and Fania Oz-Salberger. It’s a tight little 204-page essay by two people who describe themselves as “secular Jewish Israelis.” At the outset, the authors declare who they are and whence they come:

“First, we don’t believe in God. Second, Hebrew is our mother tongue. Third, our Jewish identity is not faith-powered…There is not a religious bone in our bodies.

That’s pretty strong stuff to declare in a book that is, after all, about a people who are identified by their religion. I can’t imagine a Catholic author saying anything similar in a book about his confessional faith. But their ability to utter such words is, as it turns out, a logical conclusion to one of the big differences between Judaism and Catholicism – the infallible guy in Rome.

Near the end of the book, they write, “The Jews never had a pope…Because suppose we did have one, everyone would be slapping him (or her?) on the shoulder, saying that their grandfather knew his grandmother in Plonsk or Casablanca. Two degrees of separation at most. Familiarity, intimacy, contrariness – this is the stuff our communities are made of…Someone will always dissent. Our smoke will never be white. So much for a Jewish Pontiff.”

They earlier stated, “There is a Jewish theology of chutzpah. It resides in the subtle juncture of faith, argumentativeness, and self-targeting humor. It amounts to a uniquely irreverent reverence. Nothing is too holy to deserve the occasional send-off. You can laugh at the rabbi, at Moses, and the angels, and at the Almighty too.”

No, that’s not the way it was for someone who grew up Catholic. But maybe this Jewish approach to things is one of the reasons that I enjoyed being the only goy in attendance at monthly business networking meetings at a temple a few communities distant.

There’s another thing about the Jewish people that this book confirmed for me. I think I had it essentially right, but the book explains why. Before reading it, I had come to believe that one of the greatest sources of Jews’ strength and resiliency was that they remember who they are. I believed that their rituals, their traditions, their religious learning all undergird their collective identity.

The authors seem to agree, They write “Almost all societies have cherished the imperative of intergenerational storytelling. Almost all cultures have glorified the passing of the torch from old to young…But there is a Jewish twist to this universal imperative. …No ancient civilization…can offer a parallel comparable with Judaism’s insistence upon teaching the young and inculcating in them the traditions and customs of their people….Where other cultures left boys in their mothers’ care until they were old enough to pull a plough or wave a sword, Jews started acculturating their youngsters to the ancient narrative as soon as the tots could understand words, at two years old, and read them, often at the ripe age of three. Schooling, in short, began soon after weaning.”

The vessels for all that learning were the written texts. When the Jews went into the Babylonian captivity – and even before that – families understood that they must “act as relays of national memory embedded in written texts.”

So there it is – early literacy and facility with storytelling that gave the Jewish kids a big leg up on their contemporaries once the secular schooling began. No wonder they had some many honor students. And there too is the collective memory of who we are and how we got here. No wonder that the Jewish community has staying power.

That collective memory, those cultural touchstones and common points of reference, it seems to me, are fading away in modern America. It seems like there’s a lot of insubstantial fluff being taught today, mere stuff and nonsense. The Common Core, anyone?

We need a real common core, a cultural canon that every American must experience. A return to ,close familiarity with the Bible and all it offers would be a giant step back towards the right path.

And spare me, please, the knee-jerk, selective quoting of Tom Jefferson’s 1802 letter to the Danbury Baptists on the “wall of separation between church and state.” If you insist that the old plantation owner and slave driver’s private writings be the supreme law of the land, then bring in what he had to say about black people in “Notes on the State of Virginia.” You might have second thoughts.

But back to Amos and Fania’s thoughts on the matter. They point out that there are “more Bible-wise atheists in Israel than anywhere else.” And that, too, is an advantage.

They go on to say “Most Western nonbelievers today have not crossed paths with the Bible as a literary text. Unlike Homer, it is not widely taught in schools. Like Twitter, it is handed down in byte-sized chunks…The paradox is clear to an Israeli eye. Today, in many secular societies, religion itself obscures this exquisite work of art from view. The Constitution of the United States helps bar it from public schools, because it is mistaken for a (wholly, solely) religious text. This is a sad cultural loss.”

Can’t agree more with that one.

I’m glad I got this book. It also has a lot of things I never knew about the women of the Bible, about the resurrection of the Hebrew language, and about the delicious brand of humor that is distinctively Jewish.

If you like to read, if you love history, if you want to know why things are as they are, and if you enjoy learning “the rest of the story,” I think you’ll like it too.

Calling Wayne Turner!

February 5, 2015

Wayne Turner holding the coveted Pot in 1980. Is there any wonder that NU hockey fans refer to the man from Kitimat, British Columbia as "Beanpot?"

Wayne Turner holding the coveted Pot in 1980. Is there any wonder that NU hockey fans refer to the man from Kitimat, British Columbia as “Beanpot?”

Where have you gone, Wayne Turner? Husky Nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

In Boston, it’s starting to feel like 1978 with all this snow on the ground and predictions of more.

On Causeway Street, though, I hope we time-travel back to 1980. We need this generation’s Wayne Turner to come through with the game-winning goal and to bring the Beanpot back to Northeastern.

After that, we need 2016-2018 to reprise 1981-1983. In those three years, BU, BC, and Harvard all won a Beanpot championship. We need this February festival to be a true, four-team event in which every squad has a strong chance to emerge the winner. The years from 1980 to 1983 were the only four-season span in which every team took the title once. I think that such balance is coming back. Let’s hope that it does.

It’s hard to believe that the Huntington Hounds haven’t been Beanpot champions since 1988. They have come up empty in their last 26 tries.

When Turner scored that magical overtime goal to beat BC 5-4 back in 1980, it gave Northeastern its first Beanpot crown ever. That took 29 years to accomplish. We had waited too long back then, and we’ve waited too long now.

It’s just as bad over at Harvard, if not worse. The Crimson have not been Beanpot champs since 1993. Moreover, Harvard has made it to the final round just once since the year 2000.

On Monday night, Northeastern will be making its seventh appearance of the current millennium in the Beanpot title game. This is the fifth time in the last seven years NU has gotten that far. By contrast, before NU won the 1980 championship on its 29th try, it had made it to the final round exactly twice.

There has never been a championship final game pitting the Huskies against Harvard. We almost got to see one this season. Boston University spoiled that possibility when they beat the Crimson 4-3 in double overtime in round one. Harvard’s Steve Michalek’s incredible 63-save goaltending show went for naught.

Northeastern got a goal from defenseman Dustin Darou and beat Boston College 3-2 in the second game of this year’s first round. It came with less than two minutes to play and just before midnight. Maybe Darou is the Huskies’ Malcolm Butler. Dustin had scored only one other goal in his college career up until that point.

That set up this year’s final, with the 11-11-4 Huskies taking on the 17-4-4 Terriers. NU’s win over BC was not a giant upset. The Eagles were favored, but only slightly. Northeastern’s record is deceiving. They started off 0-8-1, so since mid-November their record is 11-3-3. And it’s been against some pretty tough foes.

It’s unfortunate that the postponement for snow, followed by those horrendous snarls on the roadways and on public transit systems, kept the first-night crowd at the Garden well under capacity. The whole evening was college athletics at its best.

Every year we say that the teams are evenly matched and that any one of them could win. But it was true this year. Both Harvard and Boston College played terrific games, even in defeat. The Garden fans, all of them knowing that their respective teams had a real chance to win, were loud and spirited.

Even the national anthem singers, Taylor Carol of Harvard and Grace Greene of Boston College, delivered boffo performances. Grace’s sons Matt and Justin played hockey for BC a few years ago. Her “Land of the Free” flew higher than the Garden rafters, much to the delight of the cheering fans.

If you were there, I’m sure you agree that it was a wonderful night of sport. If you weren’t, you missed something special.

Next year the first-round pairings are the same as this year’s second night: BC-Harvard in the opener and BU-Northeastern in the nightcap. So maybe in 2016 we’ll see that long-awaited championship matchup between the Huskies and the Crimson.

Harvard needs a Beanpot win. They’re vastly improved, and they’ll have most of their stars back again next year. So there’s reason to be optimistic.

But Northeastern has been knocking on the Beanpot door incessantly. They’ve won it only four times. They’re way overdue. It’s time for them to win again.

Bette Midler and Tom Brady

January 27, 2015

Bette and Tom: Two Consummate Professionals

Bette and Tom: Two Consummate Professionals

I love Bette Midler – her acting, her singing, her delightedly devilish approach to life.

I love Tom Brady – his passing, his play calling, his fiendishly aggressive approach to football.

I appreciate what they do, and I’ll pay to see them do it. I don’t know either of them personally, and I don’t particularly care to. That might dim their halos, extinguish their auras. I’ll watch them – from a distance.

Well, okay, I admit. I would love to take Bette Midler to lunch at Rossetti’s, and then to walk for a while along Winthrop Beach with her. “Beaches” was a wonderful movie with great songs, particularly “Wind Beneath My Wings.” I’d like to know if Bette, in person, is really the way she was portrayed in that movie. I’d risk dimming her halo to find out. But I digress.

Bette’s song “From a Distance” is one of my favorites. It came on while I was driving the other day, and I started humming along with her. Just before that, I’d heard yet another breathless, indignant-sounding dispatch on what’s become known as “deflategate.” Enough, already!

The song and the “scandal” are more closely related than one might think.

If anyone feels even a touch of disappointment at the mere possibility that Tom Brady might have been behind the needless altering of pigskin air pressures, here’s why. We’re no longer viewing his football heroics from a distance. Instead, we’re seeing – or we might be seeing, though I personally doubt it – one gritty little detail about what it takes to win at big-time professional sports. We don’t like it at all.

We are witnessing a reality show. We want fantasy fiction.

We want to watch the unerring spiral passes, the leaping balletic catches, the split-second artful deflections, the bursts of pure sprinter-speed, the mighty tests of strength. They’re beautiful manifestations of skill in Tom’s game, and they’re real. Just like the majestic eagle of whom Bette sings.

We don’t want to see the thumbs in the eyes, the ankle twists beneath the pileups, the forearm shots, the cleated stomps on unprotected joints. They’re ugly manifestations of brutality in Tom’s game, and they’re real too. Just the agonized last minutes of life of the fish, seized from the river by that eagle, run through by saberlike talons and pecked to death in the aerie.

Those things are obscene, in the original sense of the word. They have to take place away from the stage, as when Macduff and Macbeth exit, dueling, and Macduff returns with Macbeth’s severed head. We know that the killing and beheading happen, but we must be spared the discomfort of watching.

There’s something else about those unsavory tactics in pro football. Every player who’s good enough to make it to that level expects them. Dirty play is a reality that not everybody practices. But they all accept it and deal with it. We shouldn’t cheer it or like it. But we shouldn’t be shocked – shocked – that it takes place.

This is not to say we ought not to be angry and disgusted with some parts of the game. We should even hate some things about it.

I hate the Oakland Raiders. I was in Foxboro in 1978, watching from the press box when Jack Tatum paralyzed Darryl Stingley with a vicious, open-field hit.

I hate West Virginia University. I was at Boston College in 1974, watching from the press box when a hoodlum defensive player deliberately injured BC star Mike Esposito. The guy jumped onto Mike’s shoulder and upper arm, after a tackle and out of bounds.

West Virginia – different coach, same dirty tactics – did it to BC again in 1983. This time it was to Troy Stradford. They threw him to the ground and piled on his arm after a kickoff return.

All of those cretinous thugs should have been banned from the game. I will always root against the teams that spawned them. I don’t care how long ago it was. I don’t care if they recruit rosters full of altar boys. I hope that they always lose – badly.

That is the serious stuff. Deflategate is not. And it probably never happened anyway. How silly and risky would it be for Tom Brady to order an assistant ball boy to suck more air out of the footballs after they’d passed inspection?

Even if deflategate did happen that way, it’s nowhere near the realm of the aforementioned unsavory football tactics. Rather, it would be an example of going a hair’s breadth too far with something that every successful team does: find ways to gain that little edge, that slight advantage that can befuddle opponents and lead to victory. Sometimes they’re within the boundaries of the rules, sometimes they’re not.

We’d rather watch from our distance and not hear about this stuff either. But our beloved Celtics coach Red Auerbach was famous for it. So too was 1980 Olympic hockey coach Herbie Brooks, when he coached at the University of Minnesota. Tarnished halos, anyone?

The world will never be as Bette Midler sings: “no one is in need…no guns, no bombs, and no disease, and no hungry mouths to feed.” But that doesn’t mean we should not love our own corners of the world and do our best to make those corners better.

Professional sport will never be as we long for it to be: contests in which every participant plays fairly, honestly, and in rigid adherence to both the letter and the spirit of the rules. But that doesn’t mean we should not watch them, root for our favorites, and admire the talent and hard work of the athletes.

Let’s not spoil it for ourselves. Let’s put an end to obsession about manufactured ills like deflategate.

And as Forrest Gump would tell you, “That’s all I have to say about that.”

Today’s Cultural History I Never Knew: The Jaywalker, and the Power of Public Relations

December 29, 2014

Cartoon by veteran Canadian political cartoonist Steve Nease

Cartoon by veteran Canadian political cartoonist Steve Nease

Up until about a century ago, the thoroughfares of America belonged to pedestrians. Like the spectator benches in “Casey at the Bat,” the streets were black with people – women, men, children at play – along with the occasional horse-drawn wagon.

Then came the motorcar; specifically, the affordable motorcar. Henry Ford’s Model-T, introduced in 1908, made the horseless carriage cheap enough for middle-class families.

Ford’s popular new machines were not only affordable. They were lethal. Capable of speeds up to 45 miles per hour, they could maim or kill any person or animal that happened to get in the way. And kill they did, especially in cities, as drivers moved down pedestrians “in the homicidal orgy of the motorcar,” as a New York Times article put it.

In 1922, 10,000 children marched through the streets of New York during a “safety week;” that demonstration included a separate group of 1,054 kids who represented the youngsters who were killed my cars during the previous year.

By 1925, according to the December 2014 Smithsonian magazine, auto accidents accounted for two-thirds of all deaths in cities with populations of more than 25,000. Children were especially vulnerable; a third of all traffic deaths in 1925 were children, and half of them were killed on the streets of their own home blocks.

The automotive industry had become the new evil empire. Sales of cars, which had been growing steadily for several years, slumped 12% between 1923 and 1924. Anti-car legislation, including some laws mandating speed governors, was discussed and promoted.

The carmakers and drivers fought back. Their mission: to make the streets exclusive territories for motorized vehicles, not for people. Their leader: Charles Hayes, president of the Chicago Motor Club. Their method: a public relations campaign to change the subject and blame the victim. Their weapon: the jaywalker.

“Jay” was another term for a rube, a clueless hayseed, a country bumpkin. If you were a jay, you were the opposite of cool, hip, and “with it.” If you walked like a jay, out there in the streets where the motorcars belonged, you could get killed. And it would be your fault.

The carmakers succeed brilliantly. It was a blitzkrieg, a “lightning war” that ended in total victory.

They employed Boy Scouts to hand out cards that warned pedestrians to cross streets only at certain corners. At a New York safety event, they had a guy who was dressed like a rural rube get jokingly rear-ended again and again by a Model-T. In a Detroit parade, they entered a float with a huge tombstone that read “Erected to the memory of Mr. J. Walker: He stepped from the curb without looking.”

The compliant press – newspapers and magazines – was totally in the tank for the automakers. How could they not be, with hundreds of millions in advertising revenue at stake? The Providence Journal, for one, reprinted an article titled “The Jaywalker Problem.” The piece had originally appeared in Motor magazine. The accompanying Steve Nease cartoon might be from just a few years ago, but it typifies the media’s newly evolved frame of mind in the 1920s.

In a few years, it was all over. But as early as 1924, the word “jaywalker” appeared in a dictionary. The definition: “One who crosses the street without observing the traffic regulations for pedestrians.” America’s love affair with the automobile resumed, and it has never cooled off again.

So, don’t jaywalk. And don’t take on people who have bottomless bank accounts and willing allies in the media.

One more thing. Think about how the tactics of the Chicago Motor Club and its fellow travelers are still in use. They’re not so much public relations as they are out-and-out propaganda. Can you think of any examples in the public realm today where a particular interest group attempts to brand those who oppose it as the “jays” of this era? As uncouth, uncool, unsophisticated bumpkins? I can.

How do they do it? Oh, promoting their agenda by changing the subject of discussion, by distorting and obscuring the facts, by blaring deceptive one-liners and slogans, and by demeaning the character and motives of those with whom they disagree? Sound familiar? It should. And, unfortunately, it’s effective.

“Plus ca change,” as the French say.

Look both ways. That’s today’s history lesson, and that’s the rest of the story.

A Chat with One of American Hockey’s All-Time Greats

December 19, 2014

Bill Cleary and Tom Burke at Gridiron Club of Greater Boston Awards Dinner, December 18,2014

Bill Cleary and Tom Burke at Gridiron Club of Greater Boston Awards Dinner, December 18,2014

Harvard hockey legend Bill Cleary attended the Gridiron Club Dinner on December 18. That evening, Crimson coach Tim Murphy received the Division One Coach of the Year Award, and defensive lineman Zach Hodges won the Bulger Lowe Award.

Bill was one of the stars of the 1960 United States Olympic hockey team. He and Bob Cleary, along with Billy and Roger Christian of Minnesota, were the two sets of brothers who led Coach Jack Riley’s crew to the Gold Medal.

All due respect, boys of 1980, but that 1960 team pulled off the true “Miracle on Ice.” They had a perfect 7-0-0 record at the games in Squaw Valley. They defeated the Czechs twice and knocked off Russia and Canada too. Cleary had a goal in the 2-1, come-from-behind win over the Canadians. Len Ceglarski, another of college hockey’s greatest coaches, once told me that Bill Cleary was the greatest American-born player he’d ever seen.

Bill told me of another BC hockey player who should have been mentioned in “Tales from the Boston College Hockey Locker Room.” His cousin George Malone played for BC teams from 1940 through 1942. George had a goal and an assist in the Eagles’ 6-4 win over Saint Nick’s in the championship game of the National AAU Tournament at Boston Arena.

That game, on March 8, 1942, gave Boston College its first national championship. The NCAA Tournament would not become a reality until six years later, after World War II.

It was also the final hockey game of George Malone’s life. He joined the Army Air Corps and died in a mission over Germany. His name may be seen on the Roll of Honour at the American Memorial Chapel in Saint Paul’s Cathedral, London.

Thank you, Bill Cleary, for all you’ve done for hockey. And thank you, George Malone, for your service to the game of hockey, and to God and country.

There’s Still Time to Get an Autographed Stocking Stuffer for that Special Hockey Fan in Your Life!

December 15, 2014

Co-authors Tom Burke and Reid Oslin at Book-Signing Event on December 13, 2014

Co-authors Tom Burke and Reid Oslin at Book-Signing Event on December 13, 2014

Almost a hundred people took home personally-inscribed and autographed copies of “Tales from the Boston College Hockey Locker Room” last Saturday night. An added bonus: we saw the Eagles whip Michigan by a score of 5-1.

Michigan and Boston College played each other for the first time in the first-ever NCAA hockey tournament. That was on March 19, 1948. The Wolverines won that game, 6-4 in overtime.

The book has the full story of that game, and of many more memorable hockey games and hockey people. We think you’ll enjoy it, but don’t take it from us. Here’s what some of the experts have said:

“Fabulous read! Terrific look back on our history here!”
–Jerry York

“A great read! And this from a BU guy!”
–Gary Fay

“‘Tales’ tells not only the remarkable story of the B.C program’s many triumphs, titles, Beanpots, national championships, and extraordinary roll-call of stars who went on to excel as Olympians and Pros but, even more importantly, of its genuine commitment to the proper canons of collegiate sport.”
–Clark Booth

We’ll be at the Winthrop, Massachusetts Public Library on Tuesday, December 16, from 6:30 to 7:45.

We’ll be at BookEnds of Winchester, 559 Main Street in Winchester, Massachusetts, on Sunday, December 21 from 2:00 to 4:00.

If you can’t make it to either session and you’d like an inscribed copy, please email eaglepuckhistory@gmail.com and we’ll get right back to you.

You can also find “Tales from the Boston College Hockey Locker Room” at your local book store or can order it from the Boston College Bookstore or from most online book sellers.

Merry Christmas to All!

“You are NOT Special” by David McCullough Jr.: Book Review and Reflection

December 14, 2014

bookAfter a recent book-signing appearance at Buttonwood Books in Cohasset, the store owner kindly offered Reid Oslin and me the opportunity to take home any book we wanted. My pick, after a hasty scan of the shelves, was “You are NOT Special…and Other Encouragements” by David McCullough, Jr. I just finished reading it, and I’m glad I made that choice.

McCullough, son of the author of well-received biographies of John Adams and Harry Truman, teaches English at Wellesley, Massachusetts High School. This book grew out of his June, 2012 commencement address at Wellesley High. He shot to fame when some of his excerpted remarks went viral along with a video that someone had taken and uploaded without his knowledge.

I’d heard of his talk and read an article or two about it, but I didn’t know he’d written a book. It’s a good read, rather like an expanded version of that commencement address. He weaves in a lot of his personal experiences and anecdotes as he discusses a range of topics: being a parent; education and being a teacher; high school kids; school sports and extracurricular activities; the college scene; wealth and success; and lives well lived.

He also wades through the minefield of explaining the differences between boys and girls. He begins,

“Before we proceed, though, a caveat. ..I intend no offense and apologize in advance if any is taken. I’ll be playing the percentages as I see them, merely, and this with no formal training or education beyond a sociology course in college thirty-something years ago that I found largely tedious. If you anticipate even a teaspoon of umbrage, skip this section. …Here’s my first salvo: the genders differ…they differ so much, in fact, I sometime wonder if there are two realities, the male and the female.”

Author David McCullough delivering his 2012 commencement address at Wellesley High School.

Author David McCullough delivering his 2012 commencement address at Wellesley High School.

To my mind, he makes it through that minefield unscathed. What he has to say on the subject is going to be helpful to me in my still-new assignment as a writing instructor for young college students. Thus far, I’ve found that there’s a big, big difference between the guys and the girls in their respective approaches to academic matters. Now I understand a little more about why that is.

I also thought of a goodly number of people I know, and whose friendship I treasure, while reading the chapter about college. Wellesley High undoubtedly sends a high percentage of its graduates to “prestige” or “elite” institutions. Though he has a great respect for such schools and the Wellesley kids who enroll there, McCullough also writes with enthusiasm and respect for other possible post-secondary-school approaches to preparing for the game of life.

That part first reminded me of William F. Buckley’s quip – that he’d rather by governed by the first 2000 people in the Manhattan phone book than by the entire faculty of Harvard University. I also recalled Oscar Wilde’s dictum about education’s being a fine thing, but that it’s good to remember that nothing that’s worth learning can ever be taught.

But that section also made me reflect upon my friends who’ve taken routes other than four years of college into their admirable, productive adult lives. Some of them went right to work or into the military; others got married early and started their families right away. Some stumbled early and then got serious about themselves and those around them. Along the way they found their respective niches. A few picked up some targeted or specialized training, or earned a college degree later on. Other just realized what they loved to do, and went out and did it.

Most of those friends did it the hard way and scrapped for everything they’ve got. They appreciate what they have and don’t sweat the small stuff. They love every day of their lives, which they live with passionate engagement. I love spending time with such individuals. I’m glad that the author seems to share my affection for them. America needs more such people.

Which brings me to another of the book’s most important points: the importance of friends and friendship. He writes,

“We are, then, most genuinely ourselves in our choice of friends…Show me your friends, and I’ll tell you your future. And, of course, much about who you are…In their company we encounter the universe and sift together through our discoveries for the gemstones over which we revel together. And through the rough patches we commiserate. In friendships abides our true wealth. They warm the cosmic chill.”

Great stuff, that. I could go on, but I think I’ll stop here. Suffice it to say that David McCullough manages to get a wealth of valuable advice and wisdom born of experience into his compact little book. Much of what he says, you’ve already heard. But perhaps not in quite the same way that he puts it.

So if you’re looking for a good book, check this one out. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

Please Join Us for an Evening of Sports Talk!

November 11, 2014

Authors Tom Burke and Reid Oslin Invite You to

doyles logoDoyle’s Cafe – “Boston’s Best Pub”
3484 Washington Street
Jamaica Plain, MA 02130

Tuesday, November 18, 7:30 to 9:00 p.m.

No Cover! No Minimum! Just bring a love of Boston sports (especially hockey!)

tom and reidTom and Reid’s new history of Boston’s sport at Boston’s college, Tales from the Boston College Hockey Locker Room, is now available at bookstores everywhere.

The book, published by Skyhorse Publishing of New York, chronicles the long and successful history of “The Montreal Game” at Boston College. It begins with the early days of “ice polo” on rivers and outdoor rinks of the 1890s and runs through the Eagles’ skein of four NCAA Championships since 2001.

Cover front2The authors interviewed dozens of former Eagle players, coaches, and rivals along the way. Included are chapters on the origins of hockey at the Heights; on BC’s iconic coaches John “Snooks” Kelley, Len Ceglarski, and Jerry York; on the NCAA Tournament’s origin and evolution; and, of course, on the Beanpot Tournament.

The book also recaps many memorable Boston College games and seasons, but it is not just for BC loyalists. As the Authors’ Note at the beginning states,

“College hockey is a unique sport. It is ‘big time,’ with many of its best players going on to win Olympic medals and carve out successful professional careers. Yet it is a ‘small’ sport as well. Relatively few schools have chosen to make the game a part of their athletic tradition and to invest the time and treasure required for success. So the college hockey community is a tightly knit one. We’re an extended family. We’re all in this together.”

Here are just a few of the comments the book has received to date:

“Fabulous read! Terrific look back on our history here!”
–BC head coach Jerry York

“A great read – and this from a BU guy!”
Gary Fay, Terrier power play point man extraordinaire

“Thoroughly enjoying my copy.”
Jim Reid, former Northeastern University crew captain and Winthrop High School’s first hockey co-captain.

“Great read, thanks for the Beanpot props!”
-Mike Powers, BC’s 5-goal man in Beanpot opener, 1973

Tom Burke was Eastern College Hockey’s first national correspondent. He wrote for the Hockey News for eighteen years and was a New York Sunday Times college hockey contributor for seven years. He has served as a member of the Hobey Baker Award Selection Committee, and he annually presents the Walter Brown Award, which is named for his uncle Walter, to New England’s best American-born Division One player. Tom serves as assistant secretary of the Beanpot Tournament and has contributed to the annual Beanpot game programs for over thirty years. He also is the Boston College Varsity Club Hall of Fame’s biographer, has been the arena voice of BC hockey for twenty-seven years, and the stadium voice of BC football for thirty-nine years. Tom grew up in Winthrop, Massachusetts and now resides in West Roxbury.

Reid Oslin was affiliated with Boston College and its athletic program for forty-one years, including twenty-four years (1974–1997) as the Eagles’ associate athletic director and sports information director. During this period he attended hundreds of Boston College athletic events and got to know thousands of student athletes, coaches, staff members, and fans. He served as the senior media relations officer in the university’s Office of News and Public Affairs before retiring in 2012. Oslin is also the author of two books on the history of Boston College Football. He is a native of Springfield, Massachusetts and now resides in Scituate.

If you have questions or comments, or to schedule a talk by the authors, please email eaglepuckhistory@gmail.com.

Memoria Maris: A Visit to Gloucester Harbor

November 7, 2014

IMG_9048“They that go down to the sea in ships” reads the inscription on the famous Gloucester Fisherman statue.

The full text of that Psalm (107; 23-24) appears on a plaque in the memorial plaza overlooking the harbor. It continues “…that do business in great waters; These see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.”

Those words touched my soul today, as I paid my first visit to the Fishermen’s Memorial. The statue draws thousands of tourists a year, and that’s a good thing. But it is more than just another landmark of this marvelous nation. It is sacred ground, a place of abiding sorrow, a holy shrine.

I had come as a tourist. I became a pilgrim.

I was glad that no one was nearby. The steady rain and the smoky, low-lying clouds had kept them away. I didn’t mind the rain at all. I didn’t put my jacket hood up – it seemed that to do so would be a sign of disrespect. The few gulls that there were on the beach cooperated, keeping a deferential silence. The tide, at lowest ebb, had uncovered the black veils of seaweed on the rocks. There wasn’t a whisper of wind. Wavelets barely crested and spent themselves at the water’s edge. I listened, though, and like Matthew Arnold on Dover Beach, I could hear them “bring the eternal note of sadness in.”

IMG_9050I prefer quiet solitude when I pay my respects and when I pray. And the Fishermen’s Memorial is a place where one should pray.

The statue, the man at the ship’s wheel, gazes intently toward the horizon. But he also keeps watch over his brothers – 5,368 Gloucestermen known to have died at sea – who are honored there. At his feet, on the semicircular wall that curves oceanward, are the plaques with the names. The first is Jeremiah Allen, deceased in 1716. The last is Peter Prybot, who perished in 2011. There is ample space below Peter’s name for additional honorees. And yes, it is only a matter of time before more names arrive.

memorial 1aThe memorial says that they were called fishermen, but they were known by other names: father, husband, brother, son. They deserve our prayers. Today, walking in the autumn rain, I gave them mine.

The psalmist, whoever he was, was right about the Lord’s wonders in the deep. Masefield’s joyous “call of the running tide” and his tall ships and stars to steer them by have stirred the blood and beckoned to the adventurous. We can all wax eloquent as we speak of flashing seas and glorious dawns and calm blue lagoons. But that is not the lot of those who go down to the sea in ships. Just a short walk from the Fishermen’s Memorial is another plaque with the following passage from Kipling’s Captains Courageous:

“’We lose one hundred a year from Gloucester only, Mr. Cheyne,’ she said— ‘one hundred boys an’ men; and I’ve come so’s to hate the sea as if it ‘twuz alive an’ listenin’. God never made it for humans to anchor on.’”

No, that’s not why God made the sea. And I would not gainsay anyone from Gloucester who had also come to hate the sea as if it were alive and listening. I thought of Jeremiah Allan and of Peter Prybot. And of all those since Jeremiah and before Peter, and of those yet to come. Whose brother, son, father, husband were they? What were their dreams, their hopes, their fears – and their loves – that the sea has taken from them? We don’t know. Maybe some day, when they return, we will.

When I departed the Gloucester shore this afternoon, I thought of the Book of Common Prayer’s rite for burial at sea: “We therefore commit his body to the deep…looking for the resurrection of the body, when the sea shall give up her dead, and the life of the world to come.”

May the Gloucester Fisherman stand strong and firm until that day, and may he be the first to welcome back his long lost brothers when the sea at last gives up her dead.


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