Archive for the ‘The World of Sport’ Category

Remembering a One-of-a-Kind Fireman on International Firefighters’ Day

May 4, 2017

Jack Kirrane, 1960 Olympic Team captain and toughest defenseman

Today the world honors the brave first responders who every day put their lives on the line in service to those whose own lives must be preserved and protected when fires break out – at home, at work, on the road, anywhere.

It’s fitting that we do this – thank you to all firefighters for your service.

No better day than today to remember one special man was not only a lifelong member of the firefighting profession. He also served his country on the battlefields of Korea, and he led an unlikely contingent of his countrymen to an improbable and storied triumph in the world of sport.

Jack Kirrane of Brookline, Massachusetts is that man. He was captain of the 1960 United States Olympic Hockey Team that won the Gold Medal at Squaw Valley, California.

With all due respect to Mike Eruzione and his merry band from the 1980 games at Lake Placid, the 1960 Olympic victory was the real Miracle on Ice. The Americans ran up a 7-0 record in those games. They went 4-0 against the three best teams in the world: 7-5 vs the Czechs, 3-2 vs, Russia, 2-1 vs. Canada, and then 9-4 vs. the Czechs again for the Gold Medal.

Mitt Romney and his Salt Lake City Olympics organization took the easy way out in 2002 when they had the 1980 team members light the Olympic Flame. They should have given that honor to the 1960 team. Kirrane and coach Jack Riley were both still alive at that point, and they were both in Salt Lake City along with several other team members.

It was a minor miracle that the 1960 team held together and even made it to Squaw Valley in one piece. Just before the games, Riley got the OK from USA Hockey president Walter Brown to add the Cleary brothers, Bill and Bob, to the squad. The team desperately needed more scoring and playmaking. The Clearys had not gone through the pre-Olympics grind with the rest of the team, and some of the players threatened a boycott.

Jack Kirrane would have none of that, telling everyone that if he had to go to California alone to represent America, he’d do it.

As it turned out, that last-minute personnel move made all the difference. The Clearys played brilliantly. There would have been no Gold Medal, and probably no medal at all, without them.   The last man cut to make room for them was Herbie Brooks, who coached the team to Gold 20 years later.

Kirrane had been playing on the international stage as far back as 1948 at St. Moritz. He was the youngest player on his team then. He was the oldest player in 1960.

After the 1948 games he played for the Boston Olympics, which was a feeder team for National Hockey League players. Fernie Flaman, among others, played for the Pics. Kirrane never got an NHL shot, however. He was drafted into the army and shipped off to Korea.

Brookline honors Olympic hockey captain Jack Kirrane.

After serving in Korea, Jack joined the Brookline Fire Department and kept playing high-level amateur hockey. When the tryouts for the 1960 team came along, he took a four-month unpaid leave of absence. He also sold his pickup truck to pay his own way to the tryouts. When he returned to work, he had lost his seniority and had to start at the bottom.

Jack worked as a firefighter for 38 years and retired as a lieutenant. He also managed Harvard’s hockey rink for 15 years. He’s a member of the U.S. Hockey Hall of Fame, and there’s a rink named for him at Larz Anderson Park in Brookline.

I never knew Jack Kirrane. Everyone who knows and loves Boston sports and ice hockey ought to know who he was and what he did.

I wish that I’d had, at least, the honor of shaking Jack Kirrane’s hand. So today, on International Firefighters’ Day, I’d like to given him a special thank-you, as we all express our gratitude to his teammates on those hook-and-ladder trucks all over the world.

Great Men and Great Guys

April 23, 2017
grinold

Jack Grinold

This week’s passing of Northeastern University’s and Boston sports’ beloved Jack Grinold, my good friend and good friend to countless others, brought back so many memories. Here’s one, a recollection of one his personal anecdotes, that’s not only a fond memory. It’s also instructive.

Jack lived in Brighton, about a block from Boston College. One of his walking routes, for those infrequent days when nothing was going on in his life, took him through the campus.

It was a mid-summer Sunday afternoon a few years ago. BC was deserted. Summer session was over, and the students had not begun to arrive for the fall semester.  Boston College’s middle campus is a landscaping gem; the trees, greenery, flower beds and walkways have been beautifully maintained for many years.

Jack was strolling through campus when he saw a man hunched over, close to the side of one of the buildings. Coming closer, he realized that the man was a gardener, digging with a hand spade and pulling up weeds that had begun to sprout through the mulch.

monan

J. Donald Monan, S.J.

Coming closer still, he recognized the lone gardener. It was J. Donald Monan, S.J., former president and then chancellor of Boston College.

“Hey, Father, what you up to?” cried Jack.  And if you knew Jack, you know exactly how that high-pitched greeting sounded.

“Hello, Jack,” came the reply. “I just saw these weeds coming up, and I figured I’d better do something about them.”

Then they had a nice little chat, just the two of them, and each proceeded along his way.

Kipling once wrote something about walking with kings but not losing the common touch.  The late J. Donald Monan’s station in life made him one who frequently walked with kings. But how many of those of his social rank would – literally – stoop to pull weeds from a garden in the realm he ruled for so many years?

More importantly, Father Monan sought out and valued the company and conversation of people of all stations in life. He also knew that he had a kindred spirit in Jack Grinold. That’s a quality that makes those who rank as “great men” truly great.

In that respect, Jack Grinold was J. Donald Monan’s peer. And both of them knew it. Jack’s place on life’s organizational chart wasn’t as lofty. He wasn’t a king. But kings sought him out and valued his advice. So did students, and athletes, and writers, and historians, and everybody else.  Jack Grinold always had a kind word and genuine, sincere interest in others, no matter what their station. So too did J. Donald Monan.

I can imagine the two of them now, meeting up in the Second Balcony and looking down on the rest of us. There will be no weeds to pull, no press releases to get out. Still, they’ve got plenty to do up there, legions of old friends and acquaintances to catch up with.

But I suspect that each February, perhaps, they’ll get together for another little chat. Fierce competitors that they are, they’ll root for their respective schools’ teams in the Beanpot. But only if it’s a BC-NU matchup. Otherwise, I bet, they’ll be pulling for each other.

After all, that’s what great guys do.

Looking Back at the 1936 Olympics

January 3, 2017

on-board-ss-manhattanEighty-one years ago today (January 3, 1936), the United States Olympic Ice Hockey team set sail for Europe on the S.S. Manhattan.  They would play several exhibition matches along the way, but their ultimate destination was Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany. The coach was my uncle, a 32-year old guy named Walter Brown.

On February 6, 1936, the opening event of the Olympics was a game between the United States and Germany, played despite a heavy snow storm.  The summer Olympics and the heroics of Jesse Owens and the University of Washington crew team (“The Boys in the Boat’) were yet to come.

Our guys won it, 1-0, and eventually finished with the Bronze Medal. In the final round, we tied Great Britain, 0-0, and lost the last game 1-0 to Canada. The winning goal in that one came when a puck eluded U.S. goalie Tom Moone, who was blinded by the bright sun behind the shooter.

Great Britain won its first and only Gold in those games. Canada won the Silver Medal after three consecutive Golds.  The USA team actually never lost to the Brits, tying them in Germany and beating them in another game played in England.

The teams traveled in style.  The S.S. Manhattan, owned by United States Lines, was the largest steamship ever built in America. The line published a book with a passenger list, which was given as a souvenir to all travelers. Its pages are reproduced here.

Cover

Cover

Page 1a

Page 1a

Page 1b

Page 1b

Page 1

Page 1

Page 2

Page 2

Page 3

Page 3

Page 4

Page 4

Page 5

Page 5

Page 6

Page 6

Page 7

Page 7

Page 8

Page 8

Page 9

Page 9

Page 10

Page 10

Page 11

Page 11

Page 12

Page 12

Page 13

Page 13

Page 14

Page 14

A View from the Top of the Hill

November 22, 2016

My grandfather George V. Brown, Class of 1898, and my uncle Walter A. Brown, Class of 1923, were inducted into the Hopkinton High School Top of the Hill Class of 2016 this evening. Top of the Hill  honors graduates of the school whose careers were marked by both high achievement and contribution to society.

I had the privilege of accepting the honor in their names and of speaking in their behalf.  The following is my address to the gathering.

nov-22-2016-1In Hopkinton you have a saying. “It all starts here.” That’s true, when you’re talking about the world’s most prestigious road race.

But that’s not the entire story of Hopkinton and sports. Not at all. Hopkinton has given much more to the world of sport, both in America and abroad. Better to say “It all started here.”

It all started with two of the men that Hopkinton honors this evening for achievements and contributions to society. George V. Brown, my grandfather, and Walter A. Brown, my uncle, were two of our country’s finest sportsmen. They were founding fathers and pioneers.

So much that was good in the world of sport, over more than 60 years of the 20th century, came about because of them.

Regarding their achievements – it would take a long time to list them all. I will mention just a few. But before doing so I want to point out that these gentlemen were not sportsmen as we understand the term today. They didn’t enter their professions as wealthy men. Sports were their livelihood, not their hobby. They were very good at what they did. But more importantly, they were good people. They were men of their times, but they were men for all seasons and for all time.

George Brown went into sports coaching and administration right after Bryant and Stratton Business School. By 1899 he was working at the Boston Athletic Association, and became its Athletic Manager in 1904. The BAA was a prime source of athletes for America’s Olympic teams. George was at the 1904 St Louis Olympics and at every Olympic games until his death, as a coach or an official.

He also was hired to run the rebuilt Boston Arena in 1919. Hockey flourished at all levels in Boston. The Bruins played there. He launched Boston University’s program. He started the CanAm games. His son Walter was his right-hand man.

In 1933, the BAA’s financial leader Henry Lapham took over the Boston Madison Square Garden and made George general manager. When George died at the age of 57, in 1937, Walter succeeded him. George is enshrined in both the United States and the National Hockey League Halls of Fame.

Walter was already a leader of American ice hockey when he became the Garden’s general manager at age 32. He had coached the first American team to win the World Championship: the Massachusetts Rangers, in 1933. They defeated Canada in the championship game in Prague – the first time anyone had ever beaten Canada in international play.

nov-22-2016-2

With Boston College-bound Hopkinton High senior Olivia Sparr, whose class co-hosted this evening’s ceremony.

Walter coached the Bronze medal winning Americans in the 1936 Olympics. The opening event of those Winter Games was hockey: the United States 1, Germany 0, played in a snowstorm before a crowd that included all the high-ranking members of the Third Reich. That was the first time the Americans would defeat and disappoint their hosts. It wouldn’t be the last. A few months later, Jesse Owens and the track team – with George V. Brown as one of the coaches – would do it again.

Walter stayed a leader of American and International hockey up until his death – including running US Hockey when we won the Gold Medal at Squaw Valley in 1960. The Walter Brown Award goes to the best American-born college player in New England.

The BAA fell on hard times in the 1930s. Walter took over as president and ran the organization from the Garden. He kept the race alive in Boston. Nowadays, the BAA is back. It’s a superb, professionally administered operation that more than pays its own way and does many great things for the community. But it wasn’t always like this.

There’s another wonderful tradition around the Marathon that I must mention. I and all of my family members are most grateful to the BAA and Hopkinton for it. Every year since 1908, except for one, a descendant of George V. Brown has fired off the gun to start the Boston Marathon. And since 2008, George, in his statue, has been right there to watch.

Walter is probably best known in Boston as the owner of the Celtics. He bought them from the Garden in 1949 for $2000. In 1950, he was responsible for breaking the color line in the NBA when he drafted Chuck Cooper of Duquesne…and he told those present, those who objected, “I don’t care if he’s striped, plaid, or polka-dot. Boston drafts Chuck Cooper.”

The Celtics, as we know, became a dynasty with Red Auerbach, Bob Cousy, Bill Russell and all the rest. But it took a while, and it took a total personal commitment from Walter. In 1952, he took out a $20,000 mortgage on his house in Newton to keep them afloat.

Like his father, Walter died much too young. He was 59 when he had a massive coronary and passed away in 1964. As the newspapers stated, “Grown men cried that day.” Walter is enshrined in the National Basketball Hall of Fame and three hockey halls of fame.

What I’ve just told you is only the beginning of their achievements and contributions to society. I hope it suffices to say here that these two sons of Hopkinton were overachievers and substantial contributors.

But I’ve just recited a list of things. I don’t think these achievements are the true measure of George and Walter Brown.  Please let me point out what some people who knew them wrote or said.

Of George V. Brown:

“No other Boston man, excepting the late George Wright and Dr. Walter Kendall, has framed so many sport scenes with his personality.  He refereed football games before Jim Thorpe came as an unknown novice on his first visit to the Harvard stadium. He made the B. A. A. Winter Games a winter mecca for indoor athletes of the country and made the Boston Marathon the criterion of the world.”

“Hopkinton’s George Brown and the citizens of Milford were among the relatively few Americans to honor native American Olympic Games winner Jim Thorpe before he was unjustly stripped of his medals…George Brown felt none of the animosity toward Native Americans which other U.S. citizens harbored in those days…As far as Brown was concerned, the measure of a man was not his nationality or race. Rather, Brown expected an athlete to do the best he could in the Olympic Games competition, nothing more, and nothing less.”

“He held his friends through life. What better epitaph.  His word was unfailing. What better wreath to lay on his tomb. He helped the young. What better memorial to hang in his halls.”

And of Walter Brown:

“If none could enter the Boston Garden except by presenting a personal account of a gift of this man’s time, talent, counsel or money to some person or some cause in need of human kindness and help, not a seat in the Garden would be empty.

“And many such there will be in every audience that ever gathers, and they will all remember. And they will pass on to their children the memory of a man who felt that every charity or worthy cause had a claim upon him.  He was the embodiment of civic responsibility in the city where there are many common virtues. He was the exemplar of civic duty in a community where it is sometimes appealed to in vain. To these public virtues were added the virtues of gentleness, kindness, thoughtfulness, humility, and love for his family.

“In a city that had only residents, he was a first citizen. In a life that was crowded with conflicting claims, he was a citizen first.

“What he was, what he did, what he said, and what he thought for the good of his fellow man, each time the lights go up in the Boston Garden down through the years, he will be freshly remembered.”

I thank you for the privilege of addressing to you on behalf of my grandfather and my uncle.  I speak in gratitude for my mother Margaret, for the rest of Walter’s siblings, and for their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

Tonight I can’t help but recall the words of President John F. Kennedy – “We must judge a country not only by the men it produces. But by the men it honors. By the men it remembers.”

In remembering George V. Brown and Walter A. Brown as you have, along with our other distinguished honorees Fred Harris, Michael Shepard, Kelly Grill, Sunni Beville, and Libby Bischoff, Hopkinton tells the world, “These are our beloved sons and daughters. We nurtured them. We sent them forth. By honoring them, we bring honor to ourselves and all that we stand for.”

Fixing Up Society’s Toy Department: Two Modest Proposals

April 10, 2016

Is it a one-way journey, or will the train some day return to the station? Is this one of those times when I must hope for the wisdom to know the difference between things that can and cannot be changed?

No, I’m not thinking of weighty matters, like the way so much of the world seems to be sliding into chaos and towards perdition. I’m not musing on the sorry state of American politics, not pondering how the country has allowed itself to get into the mess it’s in.

That’s for another time, and for another forum. I’m thinking about fun and games, about the Toy Department of society. I’m thinking about college sports and Olympic sports. I see some things about them that I don’t particularly like, and that I wish I could fix. They probably can’t be fixed, and that’s too bad. But I don’t have to like them, and I were king I’d try something different.

Make College Sports an Educational, College Experience First: Get the Players from High Schools, not from Semi-Pro Leagues

Let’s take college sports first. Hockey season is ended, and the annual exodus of still-eligible players is well underway.  Last year, a total of 31 players left school early to play at some level of professional hockey. It will likely be similar in 2016.

Good luck to them all.  I hope they do well, although I think most of them are making a mistake. They’re not all Jack Eichel or Chris Kreider.

I know that this is reality. But for many of these exceptionally talented young adults, reality will bite.

It’s the same in the other big-money sports. In college football, some 125 underclassmen have declared their intentions to be drafted by the National Football League. And don’t even talk to me about college basketball and the “one-and-done” Wildcats of Kentucky. Players who are good enough, or who have been persuaded that they’re good enough, leave their schools, teams, and fans behind.

College scholarship athletes enter school with a five-year time span in which they may play four years of varsity sports. If they have a serious injury, they may get a “medical red-shirt” ruling and have an additional year.

Freshmen are eligible to play immediately. In football, very few “true freshmen” actually do play. Instead, they work out and bulk up for a year while learning “the system.”

At the end of their senior year, they might get to come back for a fifth year if they’re good enough. That’s if the coach wants or needs them, and if they’re not so good that the NFL doesn’t lure them away. And nowadays, a fifth-year player can also go to a different school and play a single season if he has only played three years at his first school.

Five years to play four is too long.  Make it four years to play three.

I suggest that if a scholarship player leaves after his first or second year of varsity participation, the school owes him nothing. If he goes pro after his third year of varsity participation, great. The school must allow him to come back and finish his degree.

If he’s not good enough to play professionally or get a pro tryout, but he’s had three years of college sport, that’s enough.  He’s there for an education – right? So give some other student-athlete a chance to show what he can do on the field of play.

Freshman eligibility for varsity play returned in the 1970s. We’re not going to go back to the days of freshman teams and jayvee teams. So let’s live with it. But let’s adapt to it in this way.

And while we’re at it – an even more importantly — let’s go back to bringing in college-age kids to play in college. We can do that. The four-years-to-play-three eligibility clock should start 12 months after a player’s high school graduation. Allow for one year of post-graduate preparation only.

In hockey, especially, we’re bringing in players who have played one to three years of junior hockey after high school. The best ones are almost fully baked as college freshmen. They’ve gone through a cycle of development and maturation that they should go through in college. They won’t need four years of college competition to get ready for the next level.  So most of them leave early.

Sure, with what I propose the college coaches would have to do more teaching.  They’d have to evaluate and make scholarship decisions more on potential than on accomplishment. So what? That’s their job.  There would be more busts, but more pleasant surprises too. “Walk-ons” and late bloomers would stand a better chance of making a team. And overall, more young people would have a chance to earn a college education with their athletic talent.

hc-ncaa-hockey-championship-quinnipiac-vs-north-dakota-20160409

North Dakota defeated Quinnipiac 5-1 in Tampa to win the NCAA Championship (Hartford Courant photo)

That was a helluva game, that NCAA hockey final, wasn’t it?  It’ll only be a couple of years until a lot of those who played in it can join AARP.

Champion North Dakota is a “young” team with 11 freshmen. Four of those freshmen are either 21 or 22.  Quinnipiac has fifteen players older than 21; four players who are 23; three who are 24; and one who is 25. In contrast, Boston College, Quinnipiac’s NCAA semifinal opponent, had just four players older than 21.

Dakota-Quinnipiac is rather like Cornell-Denver in the days of Ned Harkness and Murray Armstrong.  Ned’s 1970 tri-captain Dick Bertrand was 28 when he graduated. But at least they didn’t allow him to play in the NCAA tournament that year.

Yes, that was a great game in Tampa. The two best teams got to the mountain top, and the best one won. The teams played by the rules. However, the rules of eligibility need a rewrite. Maybe they’re too far along, too embedded and encrusted, to be changed.  But they should.

College hockey is the best of all sports, as far as I’m concerned. But I’d rather watch teams that develop and blossom, rather than plug-and-play.

Change the Olympic Business Model: No More Hosting by Cities. Make the Whole Country the Host.

This one is easier. The recent Boston flirtation with the Summer Olympics is all you need for an example of why a “host city” is no longer the right venue for the Olympic Games.

I am fond of the Olympics, despite their obvious faults and hypocrisies. I usually look forward to them. But I was glad that the Boston bid didn’t succeed. The games are too big and too expensive for a single city.  Nor is there any need to bring all the teams and athletes together, in one place, for the duration of the competition.

Why the International Olympic Committee hasn’t gotten that message, I just can’t understand. They should negotiate with entire countries, rather than with individual cities, to host the games. Bring everybody in for opening and closing ceremonies so as to preserve the pageantry. But hold each of the events in an existing facility, anywhere in the host country, that is best suited for said events.

Nobody does marathons better than the BAA. Hold the Olympic Marathon here. Yachting and rowing? Here too, in Marblehead and on the Charles.  Swimming? Harvard would be a good place, but so would many others around the country.

Gymnastics can go just about anywhere. So can track and field. And somewhere in America, there’s got to be a velodrome for cycling.

Give individual cities and states a chance to bid on a limited number of events, or on just one. They can do a good job at “their thing” when the spotlight is on them, and they won’t go broke. And wherever the athletes are, the TV cameras will be there too.

College sports for college-age kids.  Countries, not cities, for the Olympic Games. That’s all I have to say about that.

Sporting Reflections – Farewell to Bud Collins

March 5, 2016
Bud Collins

Bud Collins

I once met the pope. Got his autograph. And he signed his name, not his official title.

 

The name he signed wasn’t his real name. And I didn’t meet him in the Vatican, but in the press box at Foxboro Stadium, where I worked for many years as a statistician.

 

Pope Alvin was Pete Rozelle, the infallible autocrat who ran the National Football League for almost 30 years. He was born Alvin Ray Rozelle, and he’d been dubbed Pope Alvin by Bud Collins.

I was tempted to ask Mr. Rozelle to sign my game program “Pope Alvin,” but I chickened out. Probably a good decision. He did sign the book, but he seemed just a little affronted at the request. I rather doubt he liked the moniker from Collins, the fun-loving, nonpareil sportswriter-turned-broadcaster, who died earlier this week at age 86.

I met Bud several times over the years and had brief conversations with him, but I can’t say that I knew him. That’s my loss. What a great mentor he would have been for me, as he was with many other writers too numerous to mention here.

For Bud Collins, it seemed, writing wasn’t work at all. I was play. It was joy. He had a joie de vivre that came through on the printed page. Even if he was needling or obliquely criticizing, as was probably the case with “Pope Alvin,” I can’t imagine people staying angry with him.

A major portion of Bud Collins’ professional career was taken up with tennis, first as a writer and then as a broadcaster. He knew everyone and was revered by everyone. I’m a little sorry that his sport happened to be tennis, because tennis and its people never caught my fancy. So I didn’t seek out Bud’s stories and deprived myself of regular reading of a truly superb craftsman.

He was a master at the quick quip-in-print, the off-the-wall simile or metaphor that was just too clever for anyone else to dream up under pressure of a deadline. He was a master, and not just with his nicknames like “Bucharest Buffoon” for Ilie Nastase, and “Sisters Sledgehammer” for Venus and Serena Williams.
Once, when covering the handsome and rising tennis star Bjorn Borg, he described the Swede’s adoring female fans as experiencing “Borgasms.” If memory serves, that one got edited out before the Globe hit the streets. Of course, it would remain in the story today. Probably in the headline.

Bud loved what he did, and he loved the people he covered in their victories and their defeats. He knew that sports was the toy department of society. He enjoyed that department to the full, traveling around the world to cover it. One regular feature in the Globe was “Bud Collins: Anywhere.” And he could be reporting from just about anywhere, dressed in his trademark outlandishly patterned colored pants.

The first I met Bud Collins was back in the late 50’s or early 60’s. It was at the Corinthian Yacht Club during Marblehead Race Week. Bud was still working for the Boston Herald at the time. He came to Marblehead to find an intriguing subject for “The Collins View.” He got to talking with a bunch of us from Winthrop and told us he was a Herald sportswriter. I asked him if he was Tim Horgan. Nice try, but in any case he seemed favorably impressed that I knew somebody with a byline.

He decided to do his column on Winthrop’s own John “Mac” McDonald and his red-haired, freckle-faced Turnabout crewman, Peter “Red” Fenlon. He wrote of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, as I recall, and of girls wanting to go out in Mac’s boat, “Sea Note.” Mac and Red had their picture taken, shaking hands, to accompany the article. They had to go in to the Herald building in Boston for that, if memory serves.

The encomia for Bud Collins keep coming, as well they should. He was one of a kind. Rest in peace, Bud!

What Writers Live For

February 24, 2016

Cover front2Our book was published a little over a year ago. I just have to share the email (below) that I received from Shauna Sullivan McDonald. She is the daughter of Charlie Sullivan, Boston College Class of 1942.

This is why I love writing stories about people – whether they are athletes or not.

Charlie was the oldest former player whom I interviewed during the course of my research. He is, I am quite sure, the oldest living BC hockey alumnus. My co-author Reid Oslin interviewed Bill Hogan, Class of 1933, who lived to the age of 100 and who, unfortunately, did not live to see the book published.

Bill Hogan was the true founding father of Boston College hockey. He was class president in 1932-33. Hockey had been curtailed at the school due to the Great Depression. He persuaded the administration to revive the sport, and he recruited John “Snooks” Kelley to be the coach.

Charlie Sullivan came along a few years later. He was on a team that had three great players — Ray Chaisson, Fishy Dumond, and Johnny Pryor — and a bunch of scrubs including Charlie. In 1941, with World War II looming and knowing that he’d be called to service, Charlie didn’t come back to school in the fall. He waited around, but wasn’t drafted right away.

He happened to be on the campus one day when one of the priests saw him and asked why he was not in school. Charlie told him, and the good father promptly ordered him to report to the dean and to the athletic department.

Charlie played most of that 1941-42 season before the army came calling. His last game was on February 7 when the Eagles lost 7-2 to Dartmouth. Charlie wasn’t around at season’s end for BC’s first national championship. They won the George V. Brown Memorial Trophy as the top amateur hockey team in the country, besting the High Standard, Massena, and Saint Nick’s Hockey Clubs in the National AAU Tournament.

Charlie was just full of stories about his BC days. The team practiced only a few times a week, very early in the mornings at Boston Arena. Frequently, the practices were scrimmages against BU or Northeastern. The players would pitch a quarter each into a pot. The winners would use their money to buy breakfast at the White Tower restaurant on the way back to class.

The all had jobs on the side — usually at the Post Office or in supermarkets — while playing hockey and studying full time. For extra money, they’d sell pints of blood to the Red Cross.

Yes, times were different then. It was a privilege to be able to tell the stories after speaking with someone who lived through them.

Shauna Sullivan email

 

 

 

Farewell To Another Greatest-Generation American

February 9, 2016

The day after one of the most memorable Beanpot Tournaments ever, hundreds of  members of the ice hockey family journeyed to Cape Cod to pay final respects to Jack Riley.  Jack passed away at the age of 95 after one of the most memorable careers in the sport of hockey.

Riley 8a

Jack’s plaque from the United States Military Academy’s Hall of Fame enumerates his many coaching achievements and honors.

Riley 6a

Naval aviator, graduate of flight school in Jacksonville. Florida, May 1943

He graduated from Medford High in 1936, prepped for a few years, and enrolled at Dartmouth College. He starred in hockey under Eddie Jeremiah for two seasons, then left to serve as a Navy pilot in World War II.

 

Riley 4a

He returned to Dartmouth and finished out his college playing days, captaining the 1947 teams that was considered the best in the country.

Riley 9a

In 1960, Walter Brown selected Jack to coach of the United States Olympic Team for the games at Squaw Valley, California. They pulled off the real “Miracle on Ice” with victories over Canada, Russia, and Czechoslovakia.

A long and full life, blessed with six children and nine grandchildren…Jack Riley was not only one of America’s finest hockey men. He was one of our Greatest Generation’s bona fide heroes.

 

 

A Keeper from the Annals of Sports Writing

January 22, 2016

CricketAthletes can be the most interesting of people. That’s why I like writing about them. There’s almost always a good story behind the development of their talent, their victories and defeats, and “what it all means” to them. There are very few athletes and coaches who are thoroughly bad apples. I tend to write with sympathy and empathy about most sports personalities – or at least I try to.

That said, I value “objectivity” in the coverage of teams and the description of contests. Excessive shilling and one-sided, polemical writing are repulsive; and Lord knows, we have enough of that in the coverage of politics and business.

I simply must share with you the following passage cited by American journalist Edwin Newman in his book “Strictly Speaking.” It is by an Australian sports writer who traveled to the UK with his nation’s cricket team back in the sixties or thereabouts.

The writer took umbrage at the British sportswriters’ personal attacks on the lads he was covering, even as he properly critiqued the team’s play. I like this guy’s attitude. Keep this in mind the next time an investigative sports journalist trumpets a scoop about some Patriot’s peccadillo or Bruin’s blunder.

“As an old cricketer, I am a bit of a fogey when it comes to the privacy of dressing rooms, which belong exclusively to the players, and I purposely have not stayed in the same hotels as the Australians. If players on a tour as long as this want to let their hair down occasionally, they are entitled to do so in privacy and it would be more than odd if fit-to-busting young athletes did not want to go on the rampage occasionally with a few drinks and songs.

“Cricketers of any country are no parlour saints. The Australians did not emerge with flying colours from Scotland and Northampton. They were careless in their approach to both games and at Northampton apparently offended the shop steward of the waitresses by helping themselves to cheese and biscuits.

“Manager Ray Steel, a splendid manager with discipline but no stuffiness, dressed them down in no uncertain terms over their playing approach. He did not mention the cheese and biscuits.

“My hackles rise when I think they are criticized unfairly and it often strikes me as odd how the bare one or two, who were possibly no plaster saints on the field themselves, are so eager to dip their pens in vitriol against the Australians. You would think we are not of the same stick.

“Once again, I say I am proud of these young Australians, even if they do not ask for the biscuits and cheese to be passed. “

It is what it is, and that’s telling it like it is. Good on ya, Mate.

The Lord and the Lip: Lessons in Life from Bible and Ballfield

May 11, 2015

Next time you’re debating some weighty matter of ethics or morals – and for heaven’s sake, let’s hope it’s weightier than Deflategate – and your friend asks you, “What would Jesus do?” here’s your answer:

Jesus and Leo“Jesus? He’d cheer for Leo Durocher!

Yes, Jesus was one of the all-time nice guys of human history. He ended up on a cross. Leo “The Lip” Durocher is best remembered for “Nice guys finish last,” something he never really said.

But even though Leo got it essentially right about Jesus, that’s not why the man from Galilee would have been a Durocher fan. No, it’s because Leo Durocher, ferocious good-field, no-hit shortstop and one of baseball’s best managers ever, remembered one of Jesus’ favorite teachings. Leo Durocher said “thank you.”

Of all the great players recruited to the old New York Yankees by Paul Krichell, baseball’s best talent scout of all time, Leo Durocher was the only one who ever thanked Krichell for believing in him and bringing him into professional baseball.

Krichell traveled the land in search of players for the Yankees. Jesus traveled the land, preaching to believers and doing good things. In Luke 17, he comes to a village where ten lepers call to him from a distance, begging his mercy. He tells the whole crew to go and show themselves to the priests, and they all get cured of their disease.

Only one of them, seeing he was made whole again, came back to Jesus, fell at his feet, and thanked him. Whereupon Jesus says “Were not ten cleansed? Where are the other nine?”

I don’t know a thing about Leo Durocher’s religion, but he must have heard that story and taken it to heart.

“Scouting for the Yankees,” a wonderful profile of Krichell by W.C. Heinz, tells the story of Krichell’s fabled 37-year career. Between 1920 and 1957, he signed more than 200 baseball players. They included Lou Gehrig, Hank Greenberg, Phil Rizzuto, Tony Lazzeri, Whitey Ford – Hall of Famers all.

He also went to see a minor league team play in Hartford one day. He’d seen the shortstop’s name on file in the Yankee’s head office, and he remembered the key observation: “Can’t hit.” But he saw something he liked, and he signed that shortstop anyway. It was a kid named Durocher.

Leo went on to a Hall of Fame career too, as both a player and manager. He played shortstop for the Yankees’ Murderers’ Row and was captain of the Cardinals’ Gashouse Gang. As manager, he seemed to specialize in umpire-baiting tantrums and ejections from games. But he brought the Dodgers, “the Brooklyn Bums,” to their first pennant.

After sitting out 1947, suspended by commissioner Happy Chandler for his many “unpleasant incidents,” as well as his affinity for wise guys like mobster Bugsy Siegel and a tabloid affair with actress Laraine Day, he took over the crosstown rival Giants. The year before that, in talking about the Giants, he said “The nice guys are all over there, in seventh place.”

Many years later, in his autobiography, Durocher recalled his assessment of that Giants team as “Take a look at them. All nice guys. They’ll finish last. Nice guys. Finish last.” Sportswriters and broadcasters massaged those words down through the years until they became “Nice guys finish last,” which Leo never actually stated.

Durocher quickly changed the Giants and their losing ways. He was manager when they game from 13 and a half games out to win the 1951 pennant on Bobby Thomson’s home run. He managed the team to the World Series win over the Indians in 1954. He also managed the Cubs and Astros. In 24 years, he racked up 2008 wins. At the time of his retirement, he was the fifth winningest manager of all time.

When Heinz was interviewing Krichell for a piece in Collier’s magazine, he looked down the roll of baseball legends whom Krichell had discovered, and he asked,

Did any of them ever thank you? For seeing something in them and signing them – and without you they’d be coal miners or garage mechanics or carpenters?”

Krichell replied. “Only Durocher. Whenever I see Leo anywhere, he says ‘Here’s the guy I owe everything to. He saw something in me when nobody else would give me a tumble.’

“Most of them say nothing.”

Just like the other nine. But not like Leo Durocher.

Heinz returns to the subject of Durocher in his superb novel about boxing, “The Professional.” Of that book, Ernest Hemingway wrote, “The Professional is the only good novel I’ve ever read about a fighter and an excellent first novel in its own right. Hemingway.”

In the book, the protagonist describes Durocher’s approach to his game: “Durocher was a symbol of what baseball – any game – is all about, the overwhelming desire to win.” He tells of an interview scene in a post-game locker room after Durocher’s Dodgers had blown the 1946 pennant race and ended up tied with the Cardinals after losing the last game of the season.

“I’ll tell you what about it,” Durocher says to the reporters. “We’ll play ‘em until the snow flies.”

As it turned out, the Cardinals won two straight games of a three-game tiebreaker playoff, eliminating the Dodgers. Even the great ones don’t win them all.

I think Jesus would agree with that. I also think that if they’d met up in Galilee two thousand years ago, Jesus would have bypassed Peter and given that set of keys to Leo Durocher instead.

Leo Durocher might not have been a nice guy. But he was a competitor and a winner. And he remembered to say “Thank you.”