I’m not gonna lie – the Red Sox have always been my life. I went to Fenway 18 times in 2002, and this year I’ve already been twice. I even went to Baltimore to see them three times. I’m still convinced Pedro is a deity who has a bad start every once in a while to try to convince us that he’s human.
But for the first time in my life, I’m feeling a huge void in late April.
Not that I’m not enjoying the Sox this year. They’ve given me plenty of the late-inning breakdowns that I love them for, and the 2003 club is one of the most likeable in recent memory. I’m as optimistic as always, and baseball is still my primary passion.
But gee willikers, after just a month without it, I miss Boston University hockey. A lot.
Since this was my first year at Walter Brown, I’ve never felt this void before, but Terrier hockey has some things that Red Sox baseball just cannot replace. There’s no paint on my face, no Section 8 and it doesn’t seem right to call Geronimo Gil a sieve.
I need to see Sean Fields snap his glove forward, watch Kenny Magowan slip another beautiful feed between his skates and admire Fero as he skates circles around whichever defenseman happens to be unlucky that night.
Even though I’ve never tasted one inside the arena, I need to see large beers. I miss Ellen Weinberg, Jim Prior and Rhett. It’s been months since I got a free pizza. Boston College still sucks, but I no longer am able to share that with the world in a proper forum.
I can replay Brian McConnell laying out Chris Collins in my head as many times as I want, but I need to see it happen again. I can already taste Beanpot 26, and I can already feel the FleetCenter ringing not just for the second Monday in February, but the second weekend in April.
I never thought I would miss a bare-chested, hairy man who was overwhelmingly voted “beast” in a poll entitled “Is Sasquatch man or beast?” But I can’t wait to see him tear his shirt off again.
Sure, I want moments like Maiser in double OT and Freddy against University of New Hampshire in January, but I’ll take the 80-foot BC goals at Conte Forum and the Ayers blankings as well, so long as it means the sound of metal scraping ice enters my ears.
The toughest part is thinking about all the things I won’t even get come October. No more “Sa-bo” chants. No more Frederick Augustus hip-checks. And no more Ryan Priem skating around looking for somebody to hit.
But I can already hear that To-Morrow song from “Annie” echoing off Walter Brown’s low ceiling. I can’t wait to see the other new freshmen cruising around, trying to establish themselves in the best conference in college hockey. While it’s sad leaving the past behind, the revolving door of college sports will return glory to Babcock Street quickly.
This is ridiculous. I feel like a little kid waiting for his birthday – only a little over five months away …
It’s also pretty tough watching the NHL playoffs. Sure, it’s still a thrill to see grown men skating their butts off trying to beat the other guy to the puck, only to get leveled just before they get there. But I couldn’t give a rat’s back porch who skates around with the Stanley Cup. I want the Terriers to be the ones out there knowing that one inch and one bounce could be the difference between success and bittersweet failure.
Sure, I contemplated suicide about halfway through the first overtime in the Hockey East semifinal, but something about that horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach makes me love every minute of it. It’s not logical, but if you are a diligent perspective reader, you know what I think about whether or not sports are logical.
Captain Mark Mullen? Fero for Hobey? What else can Sean Fields accomplish? The possibilities are endless.
Maybe this summer will be easier than I think without having to walk past Walter Brown Arena every day. Or maybe the Red Sox will put together some sort of run to distract me.
Who am I kidding? Besides that unrealistic Red Sox thing, I know I’ll think about BU hockey every day from now until Midnight Mania and then a lot more after the 2003-2004 team is presented for the first time. If this makes me a pathetic individual, then so be it.
All I know is that this year, after 16 home games, 15 away games, eight overtimes, four Sean Fields shutouts, two wins over BC and one Beanpot, all I want is more.
Mike Lipka, a freshman in the College of Communication, is an assistant sports editor of The Daily Free Press.
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