Ah, spring break. Most people would be daydreaming of lounging on cocktail-strewn sand someplace warm. I was pulling out my game-worn hockey jersey, grabbing my warmest red and white gear, lining up at the box office for student tickets, and preparing to lose my voice. It was the conference championship. I couldn't let my boys down now.
Susan and I whipped over the hilly two-lane highways between Ithaca and Albany, braking only to pass through hamlets with known speed traps. On the way, we studied the opposing rosters.
Tim Plant - Vermont forward.
Plant him on the bench!
Chris Smart
Still at a safety school.
Kevin Du - Harvard center.
Duuuu nothing.
Dov Grommet-Morris.
Hmm. He's good. We'll just have to pull out the usual goalie cheers - Give me a G…R…O…M…M…etc. What's that spell? Sieve!
Four games later, we had passed out cough drops, received invitations from players' parents, cheered for the Harvard-Colgate semifinal to make it into triple overtime ("Our team's sleep-ing!”), watched Cornell advance to the national tournament, celebrated post-game, accidentally locked ourselves into the parking garage, imposed on the hospitality of people we'd met that evening, and gotten a written citation on our way out of town. A question lingered. Would we cut our skiing short and go to the national tourney?
Of course we would. To Minneapolis we went, in one crazy 17-hour burst. Vermont and Massachusetts went quickly. New York was familiar. The monotony of Ohio and Indiana could only be overcome with copious energy drinks. Then there was Chicago. Our road atlas was not up to the task of Chicago. Several unexpected tolls and a few detours later, we left Illinois poorer but refocused. We quickly reverted back to boredom, as Wisconsin’s main attraction appeared to be the dark lumps beside the road that might have been haystacks. In the early dawn, we crossed the Mississippi on I-35 and pulled into a parking garage for a nap. We were there.
Jittery from sugar and caffeine, giddy from excitement, Susan and I met the prior weekend’s hosts outside Mariucci Arena. Cornell's Lynah Faithful have a camaraderie, but the bond is intensified the further you are from Ithaca's Lynah Rink. At 1100 miles, we hugged and laughed with people we barely knew. Together, we Cornellians walked into the home of the Minnesota Golden Gophers – and realized we were 100 amongst 10,000. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers had but one goal.
Make ourselves known.
Susan and I whipped over the hilly two-lane highways between Ithaca and Albany, braking only to pass through hamlets with known speed traps. On the way, we studied the opposing rosters.
Tim Plant - Vermont forward.
Plant him on the bench!
Chris Smart
Still at a safety school.
Kevin Du - Harvard center.
Duuuu nothing.
Dov Grommet-Morris.
Hmm. He's good. We'll just have to pull out the usual goalie cheers - Give me a G…R…O…M…M…etc. What's that spell? Sieve!
Four games later, we had passed out cough drops, received invitations from players' parents, cheered for the Harvard-Colgate semifinal to make it into triple overtime ("Our team's sleep-ing!”), watched Cornell advance to the national tournament, celebrated post-game, accidentally locked ourselves into the parking garage, imposed on the hospitality of people we'd met that evening, and gotten a written citation on our way out of town. A question lingered. Would we cut our skiing short and go to the national tourney?
Of course we would. To Minneapolis we went, in one crazy 17-hour burst. Vermont and Massachusetts went quickly. New York was familiar. The monotony of Ohio and Indiana could only be overcome with copious energy drinks. Then there was Chicago. Our road atlas was not up to the task of Chicago. Several unexpected tolls and a few detours later, we left Illinois poorer but refocused. We quickly reverted back to boredom, as Wisconsin’s main attraction appeared to be the dark lumps beside the road that might have been haystacks. In the early dawn, we crossed the Mississippi on I-35 and pulled into a parking garage for a nap. We were there.
Jittery from sugar and caffeine, giddy from excitement, Susan and I met the prior weekend’s hosts outside Mariucci Arena. Cornell's Lynah Faithful have a camaraderie, but the bond is intensified the further you are from Ithaca's Lynah Rink. At 1100 miles, we hugged and laughed with people we barely knew. Together, we Cornellians walked into the home of the Minnesota Golden Gophers – and realized we were 100 amongst 10,000. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers had but one goal.
Make ourselves known.
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