The Purity of an Underdog's Effort

Having just watched the Twins survive a bases loaded top of the 12th against Detroit and then score to put themselves into an unlikely playoff against the mighty Yankees, I'm probably one of a thousand or so writers wondering what comes next. Will the proverbial gas tank be empty of emotion and/or effort when they step into the magnificent $1.5 billion structure that is Yankee Stadium (and yes, like the 'Marvelous' that Marvin Hagler saw before his name so frequently that he finally added it legally, the price tag for the House that Steinbrenner built will surely always be there), or will they believe they are *Destined* and continue over-achieving?

It's so true that America loves its underdogs, beginning with the rag-tag conglomeration that was the Continental Army challenging the highly favored British Empire to da Bums of Brooklyn, celebrated in every WWII flick as the dying kid's deepest wish to see win the Series before he died, to Lake Placid's 'Miracle on Ice' victory over the Russians and well, Kurt Schilling's bloody sock and the Red Sox finally beating the Yankees in the clutch and then winning a Series for the first time in longer than most humans live on this planet, we cherish watching sports for exactly this sort of impossible scaling of the heights.

If you've ever been on the mind-bending winning side of the equation, its simply something that can be withdrawn from the Memory Bank when things aren't going at all well and provides an emergency transfusion of air back into your cajone holder, or conversely, be placed alongside circumstances that are exceptionally favorable--say, discovering those silver dollars Grandpa gave you way back when you were five are worth like $50,000--and be delighted just how crazy good that feeling overpowers whatever is second. Having previously overcome that small-market-team-beats-the-odds mountain before (Kirbo and Jack Morris defeating the dominant Braves) maybe this Twins version isn't that same category though...

Finding the Rochester Institute of Technology game program from 1979 when I was coaching the Brockport State girls hockey club as a college senior revived my own underdog memories, and since I was actually searching boxes trying to find 2005 and 2006 state tax returns, such a diversion was welcome.

'The Game' was actually against Ithaca College, which had beaten us 3-1 a week earlier at Brockport, getting an empty net goal with :02 after we'd done a textbook job of keeping the puck in their zone for over a minute and peppering their goalie with 6-7 quality shots. Going to play them at Lynah Arena on the Cornell campus was about Big Time Payback, a truly amazing attitude for a club team with **ONLY TEN PLAYERS** going against a varsity team of 20 identically outfitted players. Their coach noted "some of your girls don't have cages on their helmets" in our pre-game meeting and that cages were mandatory for ECAC teams, which was true, but we were a CLUB team (one step above 'interest group') and intramural helmets was the best we could do.

Actually, our goalie (Judy Dufresne) represented our single best chance of winning, and my only rule as a coach was that NOBODY be allowed close enough to put ice shavings on her back when she covered up pucks. Judy was wearing a purple-gold LA Kings jersey while the other girls wore green, including four cold, wet, stinking jerseys that I'd borrowed after the men's varsity practice the previous afternoon and tossed into an equipment bag. When one of the girls commented about those aspects I only said, "Put it on, we gotta tape a number on it." I'd borrowed some other equipment (sticks and shin pads) early that Saturday morning, and believe me, guys knocking on doors at 8:30 are NOT the most welcome people in college. I guess I should be grateful that the "venerable" VW bus I got from someone never made it off the campus because the gears were shot--if they'd failed on the hilly terrain around Ithaca or even on the three hour drive there, we'd *really* have been in deep poop.

It was funny LATER, but when I arrived at the athletic complex to pick everyone up, hearing that "Barbie's sick!" was a killer notion, because Barb Hain, *maybe* 5-feet of energetic enthusiasm, was one of three key players. Barb went from playing field hockey to hockey to lacrosse and was an awesome combination of quick and fast--she got past you, chances of catching her were slim. I originally recruited her during a foosball game. While we had to stop several times en route for her to puke, it turned out to just be 'Freshman Flu', also called a hangover. Because Ithaca didn't 100% clear the ice time with the Cornell men's JV, our game started over an hour late, and Barb recovered enough to score two goals and skate like a demon the entire game.

In fact, four girls scored two each as we whipped the Blue Bombers 8-2, and I swear my feet never touched the ice going over to say "nice game" to their coach. Linda Wilcox, who had been a four year starter for Ithaca (and still struck fear into players who remembered her hits in practice) had two and was truly a coach on the ice while playing a ton of multiple shifts; she could only play for us because while her eligibility was used up, we weren't ECAC varsity.

That my brother Steve, who played JV hoops and did crew at Cornell as a freshman, knew I was coming and brought my folks, aunt, uncle, and nephew to the game before they went to see his game counts huge in the scheme of remembering. Mom mentioned that "all the girls have enormous rear ends", clueless about hockey padding and what my being a coach meant in any Bigger Picture. I was super cool in my three piece suit and polyester print shirt, snapping open the gate as we rotated nine players through three-15 minute periods... The girls thought it was hilarious that the Ithaca players got interviewed for local TV after we'd laid such a beating on them.

It was below zero driving back to Brockport, and it was a good thing we had extra blankets to wrap up in and a little herb to keep the post-game 'high' going strong. Barb got drilled in a men's hockey class shortly after that game (I'm sure the guy was proud to have finally caught up to her), and Judy, also playing in a men's game to stay sharp, popped a blood vessel behind her eye and missed our last game, another 6-1 loss to RIT. 'Space Cadet' Jeanette soaked a soft cast from a Tues. volleyball injury off, and the ankle was so heavily taped she could barely get her foot into the skate. I got a great lesson in life while telling a teary female, who felt she'd let the team down because several barely moving shots scored (she didnt tell us she couldn't see s**t in the mask) and wanted to just leave, thanks for trying to take Judy's goalie duties but your buddies still need you to stay and play defense. As a team and athletes we had nothing left to give, so that Ithaca game was the best memory I'll ever expect to have--they absolutely played better than I can give myself credit for coaching. Hell, I put 'Head Coach Womens Ice Hockey Team' on my resume for five years after graduation simply because of my respect for what they had accomplished that particular afternoon.

I might add that I contacted the Charlotte Checkers ECHL team about a chance to strap on the goalie pads yesterday too. We'll see how that desire to maybe have Chubby the mascot take some shots at me 30 years after my last intramural game comes along in the next couple weeks. I'm willing to sign a bunch of CYA (cover your ass) paperwork to make it come true, and I *do* have a job with medical coverage just in case...