It would be stupid to bet against John Curry now, because athetes of his breed — the Doug Fluties and the Rocky Balboas and the Gonzagas — usually don’t stop proving people wrong once they start. And if Curry could elevate his play from a third-string bench-warmer to an All-American in college, why can’t he do it in the pros?
I would have been rooting for Curry to make it anyway, simply because I get the impression from spending some time around him the last three years that he’s a respectful, hard-working kid who has his priorities in the right place. But after Wednesday afternoon, I have another reason to root for him.
Anyway, just to be clear, the idea for a writer like me to shoot on Curry came from this series we’re doing this week, and not from some childish fantasy camp idea (although, all professionalism aside, it was pretty fun). When I informed Boston University’s junior netminder of my idea, he happily agreed, albeit countering my admitted nervousness with some of his own.
“Actually,” he said, “I think there’s more pressure on me.”
True. For someone who’s only been playing hockey since January (me) to get stuffed by the best goalie in Hockey East would hardly be embarrassing — although I certainly was worried about simply whiffing. Curry, though, was worried that letting one up to such an unseasoned skater — and having the campus know about it — would look worse on his end.
But let it be known that he deserves no blame. A monkey with a stick and no defensemen would probably score on Patrick Roy if he had as many tries as me. That’s the thing about hockey — the players and coaches constantly repeat it, but it’s true that no other sport features more fluky bounces. The real reason I did this was to see for myself, from ice level, how impressive the Minnesotan is in net — and I saw it.
With oversized helmet on head and wooden stick in hand, I hopped onto the Walter Brown Arena ice, which was empty except for Curry, Ryan Monaghan and Pete MacArthur. The smirking sophomore, MacArthur, had a look of disbelief on his face, and had two words for my fellow Daily Free Press hockey writer Matt Stout, who was there to chronicle the goings-on.
“Pretty unbelievable,” MacArthur said.
“What, this?” Stout asked.
“Yeah. This,” MacArthur said with a chuckle.
I was too nervous to be laughing. After the goalie readied himself, I dove right in, completely unsure what approach to take to try and beat him. I had enlisted ideas from friends — one told me to deke left, pull it back to the forehand and see if the five-hole was still open. At first, I decided that just shooting it would be easier. I twice tried to flick the puck high, but Curry casually pushed one to the corner and gloved the other — without rising from his knees. The third time, I threw it past his head and hit the crossbar, giving myself a glimmer of optimism.
Of course, I knew I couldn’t duplicate that shot, and having settled down a bit, I tried to hold onto the puck for longer and see what I could do. That’s when I really learned how good John Curry is. I have watched just about every game he’s played over the past two years, but I honestly couldn’t have imagined the how quick, how aware, how imposing he really is in net.
MacArthur fed me a pass, and by the time I grabbed it and looked up, Curry had stepped out of the cage and completely cut off my angle. I had nowhere to put it, so I threw it into his stomach.
The next two times, I streaked in, planning to make a move, but both times, he emerged and swatted it away with a lightning-quick poke check. After that, I managed to get a weak shot off before the stick came in, aiming at an open five hole. It closed. Fast.
With a hopeless feeling, I abandoned the whole stickwork thing — if Curry’s anything, he’s steady, and with my lack of offensive ability, he wasn’t going down, and I wasn’t scoring. So I used that attitude to my advantage. I skated in the same way, letting him think I was going to (try to) make another move. But just before he came darting at me, I let loose a high wrister — a shot that would find the puck-sized hole Curry left open in the top corner no more than one out of a hundred times.
It happened to be that time.
MacArthur hooted and hollered, Curry tilted his head back and I swung around to the side boards, duplicating Pete’s board-smashing goal celebration just feet from BU’s leading scorer.
Of course, that was the high point. The rest of the time on the ice, Curry’s amazing reactions, disruptive stick and precise pad movements astounded me. Imagine you have to bury the puck in a square the size of a golf hole, but the hole has a fast-closing lid and a spear that, if you take too long, takes your chance away. I can’t imagine what it’d be like if Dan Spang was actually playing defense, too. To me, hockey is the most difficult sport skill-wise in the world, combining toughness, strength, skill and smarts more than any other sport — and if you’re not locked in, the speed of it all flies by you before you even know. Guys like Curry have all those skills and are always locked in.
It soon became clear I had no chance of scoring again on Curry by myself — even after MacArthur gave me some words of advice (“Deke with your shoulder, then when he goes down, beat him high,” he said.) I simply wasn’t good enough to execute. So MacArthur initiated a game called “rebound” that involved us three skaters against Curry.
One shooter stands in the slot and the other two hover around each post. After the initial shot from the slot, the forwards try and bury the rebound — with one pass allowed before each shot. If the goalie covers, clears or directs it to the boards behind him, he gets a point. A goal gets the shooters on the board. The game goes to 10.
It’s probably a pretty even game when all three shooters are competent, but the first time, we lost, 10-1 — and that was with Curry not even trying to smother my meek wristers from the slot. As Stout respectfully put it in his notes, “No offense, but it’s two different worlds.” Once I got the hang of it a little, though, we narrowed the gap in the second game to 6-5. I had been avoiding Curry’s glove all day, and even though he had compensated for my tendency, my glove-side attempt that headed straight for the post was snagged with a split and a stretch.
Two more points for Curry made it 9-5, and I was able to extend it one more goal when I one-timed Monaghan’s cross-crease pass over a sliding Curry, somehow managing not to whiff.
But the goalie quickly closed the door after that, as he does more than 90 percent of the time against people who can play.
Including, I would bet, NHLers in a couple years. And now I know why.
