The Fan's-Eye View

A beat reporter's take from a game in the stands
by Chris Aliano


Last night, I did something I haven't done in quite some time: watch a BU men's hockey game.

At least, I watched it from the stands, and not from a cramped press box with several other well-dressed men (and women) who care way too much about petty stats and situational data that only the nerdiest of hockey fans take the time and effort to appreciate.

It was a far different pace and atmosphere than what I've grown accustomed to.  There was no free food before the game, there were no starting lineups and game notes set out on a table when I walked into the Garden (the real Garden, sorry Boston).  And most notably, there was no live-blogging, no frantic scramble to set up a broadcast stream, no Leland Tyler Murray sitting beside me.

Instead, it was my parents and my fellow classmates (and several alum) who became my company, my partners in crime for the night.  And as soon as the opening faceoff came and went, I realized just how much I had missed being a fan of the one sport I've grown to love, the one sport that actually matters at Boston University.  Yes, the following is going to sound like some whiny, biased fan's perspective, but guess what?  Last night, that's all I was.  A fan.


Two years ago, when I was a freshman, my father and I made the trip to Madison Square Garden for the first-ever Red Hot Hockey.  It was worth every penny...considering I paid roughly $70 for two tickets when I should have just gone to the ticket office at Agganis and pay a meager $15 each.  Typical freshman naivety.  The Terriers went up 3-0 in the first; Joey "Bulldog" Pereira earned his nickname that night; Colin Wilson was incredible; even Luke Popko scored a goal.  Brett Bennett did his best to not be a total sieve, and BU went on to win 6-3 in what turned out to be, unfortunately, their biggest victory of the year.

Flash forward two years, and the pregame story is about the same for BU.  They're struggling coming into the contest, a paltry 4-7-1 on the season, and looking like a shell of the team they were a year before.  Cornell, on the other hand, is far and away the polar opposite of the porous team they were in 2007.  Their offense ranks second-best in the country, they've got a forward who's averaging a goal per game, and they've ascended to the No. 7 spot in the national rankings.  BU couldn't even garner a vote as of the last poll.

The consensus was that we were in trouble.  As I wandered around the "BU fan section" and met up with more and more people I knew, there was a perceptible amount of fear amongst us all.  Plenty of seniors who graduated last year when their team was on top were baffled to see how much we were struggling, and time and time again I had to explain what the problem was with our team in 2009.  They couldn't believe it, but in a matter of minutes their horrors unfolded before them.

Cornell goes up 2-0 midway through the first period.  Colby Cohen and Kevin Shattenkirk make a boneheaded move, press way too much in the offensive zone and leave Grant Rollheiser one-on-on with Locke Jillson, who fakes the backhand before making a nifty switch to the forehand and putting one right underneath our goalkeeper's leg.

Yikes.

As the Cornell Faithful erupted in celebration, I stood there dumbfounded.  The worst part was, after their first goal (which Rollheiser should have had, mind you), my father let out a raucous "YEAH!" and pumped his fist in the air in harmony with the Big Red fans.  To my horror, I looked to my right and realized my worst fears: he thought Cornell was BU, and vice versa.  It was going to be a long night, I thought to myself.

But then, Matt Gilroy appears, like magic, on the jumbotron.  He babbles something about wishing he could be there, and I'm pretty sure he says something about wanting to play for the New Jersey Devils... Regardless of my wildest dreams, his message stirs the Terrier fans into a frenzy.  BU picked up its play considerably, and closed the first period out on a high note, although they had nothing to show for it.

Between periods, I caught up with more friends who made the trip to see the game.  We all agree that BU's inability to finish around the net is one of their biggest problems.  Some are actually horrified to hear that the team leader in goals through most of the season (until Tuesday) was a freshman named Alex Chiasson.  They're even more startled to hear that it was four goals for awhile.  Zach Cohen has thankfully wrested that honor away from Chiasson now that he stands at a meager five goals.  Cornell's Blake Gallagher, on the other hand, had eight going into game, and would wind up with nine by the time it was over.

The Terriers started slow again in the second period, and three straight penalties by the scarlet-and-white gave Cornell a slew of opportunities.  It also gave David Warsofsky an opportunity as well, a chance for a shorthanded tally.  He took a pass from Joe Pereira, skated into the Cornell zone and ripped a slapper from the right faceoff circle that Big Red netminder Ben Scrivens got a piece of, but not nearly enough.  The puck trickled in for the first BU goal of the night and his second shorthanded of the season.  Finally, I had the chance to do something I hadn't done since April 11, 2009: celebrate a BU goal as a fan, and not as an unbiased, emotionally stunted reporter.

Needless to say, I had a blast, high-fiving people I didn't know, lifting my friend standing next to me into the air, yelling random obscenities.  The moments that immediately follow your team scoring a crucial goal are the most thrilling and passionate in all of sports.  I watched my New York Giants win a Superbowl, and I experienced my BU Terriers winning a national championship.  Both were in dramatic fashion, but 99 times out of 100, I'll say the latter was the better experience.

Unfortunately, that experience lasted about 90 seconds.  Gallagher put Cornell back up by two at 10:30 of the second period while on the same power play that Warsofsky scored the shorty on.  With one second remaining on the penalty, Cornell threaded a pass through an inexplicably open lane, finding the stick of Gallagher who tapped it in for the easy goal.  The elation, the ecstasy, was gone.  We were back in a hole that seemed to deep to climb out of.

Then came the questioning: why are we this bad?  Whose fault is it?  Shouldn't Kieran Millan be in net instead of this sieve?  Most of them were unfair and based purely on the anger and torment of being a passionate and emotionally tied fan of the team that matters most to you.  But that was exactly why those feelings are justified.  You're a fan, damn it, who's to tell you what you can and cannot feel!

The anger subsided as the Terriers slowly began to play better hockey.  The remainder of the second saw an inspired effort by BU, but no change on the scoreboard.  It was still 3-1 heading into the third, and a friend of mine and I both agreed that we needed to get one back early if we stood a chance against this vaunted Cornell offense, one that we had somehow held to 11 shots after two periods.

Nick Bonino must have heard me, because at 4:03 of the third he stole a puck in the neutral zone, skated in on a 2-on-1 with Chris Connolly to his right, tried to get the pass across but instead watched the puck deflect off the stick of a Cornell defenseman and past Scrivens for the goal.  It was exactly what we needed, and it set the pace for a dominant period by the Terriers.  Cornell was outshot 13-3, and they had absolutely zero Grade-A chances compared to BU's 10.  It was not a matter of if, but when the Terriers would draw even.

But in the back of my mind, I saw Chris Berman going "tick...tick-tick tick...tick-tick" like he does on ESPN's "Two Minute Drill."  Time was of the essence, and an elbowing penalty by Eric Gryba at 14:30 did little to calm my nerves.  Somehow, BU emerged unscathed, and then Cornell returned the favor, sending two men to the box and handing BU 40 seconds of a 5-on-3 power play.  Scratch that, coach Parker pulls Rollie the Goalie and is opting for the incredibly rare 6-on-3 power play.  When was the last time you saw that?

To my great dismay, Cornell killed the first penalty, and was homing in on the 'W'.  Everyone was on their feet at this point, while I stood with my hands on top of my head in the same way I did when BU was down 3-2 with less than a minute to play last April.  With the goalie still pulled, BU had the 6-on-4 opportunity for the rest of regulation.  They had to find a way to penetrate a Cornell PK unit that was yet to yield a goal.  Shot after shot was turned away.  Shattenkirk and Colby Cohen played tic-tac-toe at the point, trying desperately to stretch the Big Red defense.  Under a minute to go, and they still had no answers.

Then, Bonino took a pass, threaded a soft shot through the defense that Vinny Saponari got a piece of, but the result appeared harmless to Scrivens and the rest of the Big Red faithful.  That is, at least, until some clown on the other end decided to turn on the red, siren light often used to signal a goal.  But how could that be?  The puck was safely tucked underneath Scrivens' leg!  The ref blew the play dead!

At least, that's what I thought.  Much to Scrivens' dismay, the puck squirted free underneath his pads and between his legs, undetected by all except a persistent Connolly and the referee.  The sophomore from Duluth quickly pulled the puck out from underneath Scrivens and put it in the back of the net for the equalizer.  As the ref frantically pointed at the net signaling the goal, Terrier Nation erupted in satisfaction as teammates swarmed Connolly, who scored his second dramatic goal this week.  On Tuesday against Harvard under similar circumstances, Connolly buried the winning goal in overtime to put BU on top.

It was just another memorable goal in a growing collection of moments that have amassed from all of last season, and now this season as well.  It is then, in the pandemonium of a terrific tally that puts your team on top (or draws them even), that you truly appreciate being a fan of a sport that demands so much from not only the players, but from the fans.  Even those who know nothing of hockey and its splendors, namely my mother and brother, took in the moment with the rest of the Terrier fans in attendance last night.  It's a scene that I never tire of, and one that I hope countless others will get to experience.  It was no national championship, but I'll take what I can get. 

While the end result of a draw may not have been as satisfying as we were hoping for, it was still a positive note to go out on.  It was Cornell's game to lose, after all, so there's no shame in holding one of the best offenses in the country to 17 total shots and three goals.

As for the the Terriers, there are still plenty of questions surrounding them, but the tie was in itself a victory of morality.  Warsofsky had hinted last Saturday after a draw against UNH that this BU team was on the brink of a turnaround, and if they could just string together a streak of positive outings that there would be hope for this season just yet.  Call me crazy, but I think he's on to something.

And as for yours truly, that would be the last time I don the white sweater and enjoy a game from the fan's point of view for this season.  It's back to the press box, back to the free admission and complimentary eateries and game stories and sidebars and whatever else comes with the territory of being a reporter for this team.  But for one game, I was able to be a part of something that had me in tears last April, that had me screaming to the heavens in celebration last night.  Being a fan of BU hockey led me to the beat writing position I now hold, but while reserved as I may be up in those booths, and as neutral of a stance I may have to hold when putting together articles about everything BU does right and wrong, I will always be a fan at heart.

That much will never change.