English writer Charles Caleb Colton once wrote, "Imitation is the sincerest of flattery." Yes, that might make Colton a poseur. But either way, I've decided to use this column as a personal ode to my favorite columnist, Bill Simmons. After all the entertainment he's given me with his takes on Boston sports teams and random ramblings, I feel obligated to honor the man affectionately known as "The Sports Guy."
With that being said, here is my Simmons-esque running log of my time at the Frozen Four.
11:47 a.m. - The sports editor (Kevin), the photography editor (Christy) and I arrive at the Fleet, just a smidgen over six hours before game time. We were giddy, to say the least. The Fleet was set up like the Hearst Castle for sportswriters. Luxurious media rooms, huge open hallways, and, the best part, a dining room with all the free food you could eat. Greg Gumball couldn't have dreamt up a better place to spend a Thursday. In addition to that, the Fleet was jumping like Jason Giambi watching Traffic. Everybody who is anybody was there. I think at one point I saw Chris Berman ride by on a tricycle. Just absolute insanity.
Noon - All the writers pile out of the dining room to watch the Duluth-Denver game. The other Heights editors and I stay behind to figure out how to steal the "ESPN Dining" sign while no one is around. After coming up with a decent plan, I think of Enemy of the State and Sudden Death and realize the combined effect of both these movies is nothing I want to endure. So we give up.
1:23 p.m. - I leave my seat to tour the Fleet (that rhymes) and begin my search for a Frozen Four T-shirt. For some reason they are hard to find, which to me doesn't make any sense, because honestly, who in the Fleet at that very point in time is not looking for a Frozen Four T-shirt? I'd say three, give or take a couple. Then a woman strolls up next to me wheeling a cart that is holding at least 200 T-shirts. I ask her for one, but she says I have to wait until they go on the shelf. I mutter something under my breath at how ridiculous this search has been. She hears this mutter and starts giving me a mini-speech on how to be a responsible adult. I don't really listen and instead start thinking about how in the world someone hasn't invented pop tarts without the outer crust. They'd sell like hotcakes! I finally find my t-shirt 20 minutes later and go back to my seat.
3:15 p.m. - Minnesota-Duluth scores a tying goal with 32 seconds left when a Duluth player slides into the goalie with the puck and knocks it in, but the play goes under review. I begin to argue with everyone around me why the goal should stand, and then moments later realize the only basis I was arguing on was that the same play occured in Mighty Ducks to Goldberg and the play stood in the movie. I slowly stop talking and slouch down in my seat.
5:02 p.m. - During the downtime between the games, we all sit and eat as much free food as possible. But I noticed something when I was sitting there. When men sit around each other, they generally talk about sports. So when sportswriters sit around each other, logic would say that these sports conversations would multiply threefold, right? But they don't. When sportswriters sit around, they don't talk about sports at all. They either stick to themselves or, if a conversation does strike up, it's one of those quintessential conversations detailed in Office Space. It made me wonder: If what you do for a living concerns sports, is it too cliché to talk about it in your free time? Do you just get tired of it? I half expected them to break out into conversations usually much too awkward for men to discuss, like their sexual fantasies or how Down with Love might be the Casablanca of the 21st century. It scared me a lot, to be honest.
5:40 p.m. - I enter the elevator to go up to the press box, and who else steps into the elevator? None other than the Denver mascot himself fully decked out in his Bulldog apparel. I immediately think of every ESPN commercial I've ever seen and how great it would be to be in one. How amazing would it be if life was actually like that? How much less boring would the workplace be if you had the San Diego chicken running around as your intern? Answer: much less boring.
6 p.m. - Game starts
6:36 p.m. - Patrick Eaves commits his second stupid roughing penalty. He's now officially a combination of Portman and Mendoza from Mighty Ducks 2. All he has to do is lasso some guy to become a combo of just about every player added from D1 to D2.
6:47 p.m. - The great guys from Boston College WZBC radio invite Kevin and me to go on the air. So I give my amazing analysis, and then right at the end, I say "So overall, BC played a good half." I said our hockey team had a good half. I might as well have said BC had good pass protection on Matti Kaltiainen, or that all Tony Voce had to do was go up and down to win the Green Jacket. I shudder in agony and once again, slouch down into my seat.
8:11 p.m. - Maine scores its second goal to go up 2-1. I start to realize this miracle season might not end with a championship and it is really disheartening. I guess I made one of the cardinal sins of a sports fan and assumed we were going to win, just because fate had led me to believe so. I did the same thing with the Red Sox. It was a horrible feeling, and again, I slouch down into my seat, but this time, I was joined with thousands of other BC fans.
8:42 p.m. - Game ends. Season ends. Ben Eaves' collegiate career ends. This column ends.
Most heart-breaking BC defeats in the last four years:
1. Hockey loses to Maine in Frozen Four. (2004)
2. Football comes a play away from beating top-ranked Miami. (2001)
3. Natalie Portman and Jessica Biel decide to go to college in Boston, yet both overlook BC.
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