EXPOSING THE SECRET by Ed Granger
Olympic hockey gives the rest of the world a tiny bit of insight
into our beloved world of college hockey.
from U.S. COLLEGE HOCKEY MAGAZINE [5 March 1994]
 
Every few years, they borrow a little piece of our game.
 
Often, we get it back.
 
Sometimes, we don't.
 
I'm talking about the Olympics.
 
And I'm not talking about the fact that the U.S. Olympic Team, and
to a lesser extent the Canadian one, borrow players who would
otherwise by trying to help their schools -- the schools we root
for -- win an NCAA championship. I'm talking about the fact that we
no longer own the copyright on the tune we seemed to be the only
ones who wanted to hear. We whistled it to ourselves, and sang it
in our own choir, and occasionally tried to share it with someone
we thought would catch the melody.
 
Now, it's public domain.
 
Case in point. I recently stood with a bunch of colleagues watching
the Team USA tie Team Canada in Lillehammer. At one point, someone
said something about Ferraro.
 
Without even thinking, I uttered the phrase that might have been in
the minds of many a Maine fan at hearing that name: "Which one."
 
They turned and looked at me as if I'd just asked why the players
were holding their sticks by the butt end.
 
"Why, Peter of course," the replied with ready sympathy for my
ignorance, quick to demonstrate their patriotism and reverence for
the Olympic ideal by their knowledge of Tim Taylor's roster.
 
Peter Ferraro belonged to them now.
 
At least until the Olympics were over.
 
And maybe longer. Somewhere, in some nook or cranny of
Massachusetts, there is an unfortunate soul whose fondest memory of
Jim Craig revolves around the 1978 NCAA championship game. But Lord
Jim will always belong to the Miracle On Ice.
 
Lane MacDonald we got back. I doubt that any of those scoffers
gathered around the TV set could tell me who Lane MacDonald is.
 
But I remember Harvard's championship, the Hobey Baker and Ed
Krayer's goal. Lane MacDonald belongs to me.
 
And don't try to compare this Olympic phenomenon to players who go
into the NHL. It's not the same thing by a long shot. Most
Americans care as much about the NHL as they do about Manchester
United's fortunes in the English First Division.
 
Rooting for Team USA in the Olympics is different. That is a right
bestowed upon all of us -- like freedom of speech and a giant trade
imbalance -- as a mere condition of citizenship.
 
I admit, it gets me a little steamed when I read the AP wire and
some hotshot big-city columnist is referring to the defenseman
whose talents I long admired at Boston College as "Ed Crowley."
 
Or when those Olympic TV pilgrims act as if they discovered John
Lilley, whose two transcendent goals once lit the Boston Garden at
Beanpot time. Or when they say, "That David Sacco is really a nice
passer."
 
Tell me about it.
 
As much as I enjoy Olympic hockey, as much as I enjoy being able to
tell people, "You shoulda seen Barry Richter in the NCAA
championship game in '92," I kind of feel like I've had to
relinquish a part of something I was one of the few people who
cared enough about to keep alive.
 
But consider. Don't we always say that people who never saw a
college hockey game don't know what they're missing?
 
Don't we always say we wish college hockey got more respect, more
recognition, more attention?
 
Yet deep down, aren't we glad that college hockey is our little
secret? Would we love it as much if our Final Four was as big a
deal as basketball's? Isn't college hockey's obscurity a little
part of the reason we love it so, like a painter or composer
posterity has not yet discovered?
 
It's a conundrum, to be sure. And as with any conundrum, I would be
a fool to claim to know what the answer is.
 
But I do know that the next time some football-loving, Shaq-card-
collecting every-four-years hockey fan says to me, "That Todd
Marchant sure can shoot the puck, can't he?" ... my answer is going
to be simply: "You bet."
 
...end quoted material...
 
 
 John H
 U Mich