Finishing in Style: The Class of '94

It's all about to be over.

And they don't know, can't know, what will come next.

They are the seniors of Harvard hockey, and even if the Crimson plays its way into college hockey's national championship game, they only have until April 2 to enjoy a way of life in which some of them have spent the entirety of their intelligent lives.

To what can you compare the object of their loss? A wonderful marriage, perhaps, but that only ends in death, and you can never predict death--old age sets to arbitrary limits of eligibility.

For that matter, define "hockey"--what does that mean? It is not just a game, anymore--maybe it once was, in a simpler phase of childhood, but somewhere between pond hockey and the Boston Garden, the game develops complicated emotional ties that are not so easily severed.

But here they are, the six of them. Kennish at center, Baird to his right, Farrell on the left, and a defense of Body, Maguire and McCann. The goaltender would have to be pulled to get these six on the ice at once, but once sense that if the Crimson was trailing late, they have all the qualities of a team you'd expect to get the job done.

Come to think of it, one of them em already has...

With what looked like four seconds to play in Harvard's regulation season, Brian Farrell suddenly added another five minutes to the clock, scoring a game-tying goal at St. Lawrence which might looked back upon weeks from now as a season-saver.

It's shame that his goal came off of a lucky bounce and not on something more like a topcorner slapshot, for otherwise it could function it could function as one of the perfectly symbolic moments of his Harvard career.

See, Farrell is the type who stays after practice, lines up 10 or 20 pucks in row and methodically buries them into one corner of the net. Or has someone feed him point shots in the crease while he practices tip-ins. Or serves as the Harvard's official skate-sharpener, being the player who demands the most perfect specification from his equipment.

"That's how I was raised in all sports," Farrell says. "My father was a perfectionist in his sport of baseball, and that's how he always taught me to practice, telling me how he always did it. And it was a way of getting to enjoy the game--the more you practice, the better you are, and for me personal satisfaction comes from success."

John Farrell was a draftee of the Boston Red Sox and the U.S. Army unfortunately, the Korean Conflict took precedence, and the bad timing fouled up his baseball career. But the love of baseball he gave his kids led to Brian's passion for sports, and the street hockey of his youth developed into his primary athletic interest.

"They threw me in goal--hey, we need a goalie, they'd say," Farrell recalls of his childhood friends. "But I started to really enjoy it. I started watching it on TV, and I learned how to skate on our pool at home--Dad would take half the water out of it in the winter, it would freeze and I had ready-made boards for my miniature rink."

Ten hours a day he would stay out there. "We had lights..my parents would yank me in for dinner, and afterwards I would run right back out until bedtime."

Of course, those boards soon became speedbumps to the maturing Farrell, and as he filled out to the 6-0, 200-pound frame he occupies today, his world of hockey expanded to include role models like...Bob Probert?

"That's a strange name I like to throw out to people," he chuckles. Probert is a forward for the Detroit Red Wings--a true "goon," some would say.

"If you asked me if I'd like to fight him I'd say 'no' pretty quickly, but I do like to see a rough style of play in the NHL," Farrell says. "I think there's a million other people like me out there who enjoy watching guys like [Probert], and I think it's necessary for the game. If it was gone, a lot of the cheap stickwork would just get worse if there wasn't someone to enforce stuff out on the ice."

One gets the feeling that Farrell is truly plugged into the pro game. "You read the papers and hockey news magazines, follow pro games and people that you know...it's all part of the 'hockey world,' so to speak."

Not that Farrell is some Frankenstein's demonic creation--some rotisserie hockey freak who can actually play the game. In fact, one of his off-ice passions is about as far from "goon hockey" as you can get.

"I'm big into fishing--I spend all of my free time fishing," he says. "Just a freshwater kid that runs out to the local pond and drops a line, all hours of the night. I watch the fishing shows, buy all the tackle and equipment...I'm even known to sneak with my friends into illegal waters at two a.m."

Clearly, there is nothing "halfway" about Brian Farrell. And such is his resolve to continue his devotion to hockey after Harvard.

"I know that I'm going to play beyond Harvard," he says firmly, "I'm not thinking about it now, though I know I'll miss my Harvard days here. But I'm miss my Harvard days here. But I'm excited to move on and play as long as I can--as long as health permits, I'll be playing, in the minors or wherever."

Why? "When you get into a sport like this, when you spend to much time doing it at practice, it's a bug--if you lay off it for two days, you're dying to go back on the ice and shoot a puck. And if I go to a pro game at night, it drives me crazy--I want to go straight to the rink that night."

With that self-imposed approach to his sport, it is a tribute to his values and his upbringing that at the end of the practice day, he can still say the following.

"It's hard work, but at the bottom of it, sports are fun. That's one of the things you have to take into sports when you're playing them it's game, and when you stop having fun that's where you should stop, because that is no longer a sport."

American society has come to recognize that "child abuse" means more than physical violence. But in the sports world, where frustrated parents can vicariously live their fantasies through their children, our culture has come to accept the "Little League Parents Syndrome" as an unavoidable evil.

Which is too bad. Look at Jennifer Capriati, aperfect example of a highly-publicized life leftin tatters by athletic success.

Capriati was a phenom at age eight, on the WITAtour by the age of 13. Yes she can point totournaments won and past grand slam successes, butshe now points from afar--the strain ofcompetition demanded of her by her parents hasrobbed her of a life she is trying to put back inorder.

In Bright Hockey Center, the fathers are moreoften than not there at every game, too. But thesedads would tell stories like Farrell's, givingtheir love largely through sport and watchingtheir kids seize the gift on their own. That, andonly that, is how the passion can become theirs toshare.

Perhaps another example would be in order.Let's start in Bright's Section Eight, just to theleft of the Harvard band, where one could find LouBody's dad always lurking when the Crimson was onthe ice this year...

"My dad and I are best friends, as close as wecould be," says the imposing defenseman. There'sa heart of Jello underneath what can be a DirtyHarry scowl, and the younger Louis F. Body speaksof his father in such soft tones as these.

"[My father] was a draft pick of thePhiladelphia Phillies right out of high school,but he turned that down to go to college," hesays. "Where...his career ended abruptly becauseof a broken thumb."

Body continues to feel his father's loss. "Henever really got a chance to experience teamsports, and I want to include him in myexperience. He comes to all my games, and has somuch fun at the games that I'm kinda playing notjust for me but for him also."

Which raises the alerted eyebrow: is Bodyactually a "little league victim?" No, he says,and he draws an important distinction.

"I wouldn't say that there is pressure fromDad," he says. "There are expectations from pastperformances, but if I wanted to quit hockeytomorrow, I'd be free to do as I want. He'd likeme to continue, and he'd think it would be amistake if I didn't because he thinks every oneshould give their dream a chance."

But as long as the decision is still Lou's tomake, he is immune to the Capriati problem. Andthat issue has never bothered Body; as it is withFarrell, hockey is still a game (albeit one whichwill always be part of his life), and as far as heis concerned, caring for his family always comesfirst.

After that, though, there are no hard and fastrules. His upbringing taught him value education,and he puts sports and academics into at least ahazy focus when he says, "I kinda traded hockeyfor this education. In ten years, I won't beplaying on this level, and maybe I'll have usedthe Harvard name to get me someplace in thislife."

After four years, it is the word "hockey" thatreadily rolls off the tongue. Not "baseball"--thatwas for his youth. Not "golf"--although thatdidn't fade from primacy until recently. No,hockey is the sport for Body now, although it tooka long time for it go gain supremacy.

Naturally, Body first took after his father andbecame a baseball bum. "Any position where youcould get the ball a lot, that's where I'd play,"he laughs.

But golf and baseball are both spring sports atManhasset High School, and a choice had to bemade. Ironically, his father helped push himtoward the practice tee and away from the battingcage--the one change Body wishes he could make,given another chance.

"That's the one thing I actually regret," hesays. "I wish I had played baseball, and I stilllove the game. But we'd put some good work into mygolf game by then, and I was shooting some goodnumbers. Being the number-one man on my highschool team in ninth grade kinda made it easier."

The family basement is also home to agolf-oriented laboratory of sorts, as both fatherand son run a small club-repair and constructionbusiness. But even as Body entered collegiate golfwith a bang, winning the Greater Bostons in hisfreshman year, he knew that he needed to put hislinks career at least temporarily on ice.

"That freshman year, I put a lot of effort intoacademics, hockey and golf, and there was a lot ofjuggling going on," he says. But slowly I startedto realize that, considering where I wanted to goin hockey and how much better I needed to makemyself, I had to put golf on the back burner."

It is a tribute to his prodigal golfing talentsthat he can coast on ability alone and still playin Harvard's number-one spot when hockey allowshim. He admits that he has "been riding my talent[since freshman years]," and he knows he mightcheat himself if he refuses to give more ofhimself.

"I have not put in the wholehearted effort ittakes to play on a professional level"--mind you,can he can hit the ball as long anyone on Tour,John Daly included, and he knows how to work theball to draw or fade--"and I know that right now.,I don't have it mentally, I don't know if I everwill; right now, I just hit it as hard as I can,as far as I can, as many times as I can."

Ironic, because as a defenseman his job is tosit back, read the play and workconservatively--the exact opposite of his golfgame. If he ever carries over those trends togolf, his unbridled links potential mightovershadow even his hockey outlook.

"When I'm done with hockey--be that in one yearor ten--I'm going to sit back, evaluate things,and then make a decision on whether to enter thebusiness world or give the minitours a shot," hesays. "I don't know if I'll have the desire or thepatience to work on my game, but as they say,knowing is half the battle, and I know what myproblem is. I just need to go out and do it."

In the present, even though much of histhoughts are centered around hockey, Bodycontinues to find time in his "senior spring" toenjoy himself. His teammates call him "Fobber"--asin, "Friend Of Babes" (FOB), for Body is alwayspatrolling the dating waters--and Body isdetermined to savor his last days in Cambridge.

"No regrets," remains the Body mantra. "Thesemay not wind up being the four best years of mylife, but when I look back on them, I know they'vebeen a hell of a lot of fun."

That's something else that strikes you aboutthis team. "I was the school jock," says Body, buthe's not alone--in fact, Harvard's senior classcollectively lettered in high school hockey(hmmm...) football, track, volleyball, basketball,golf, baseball, lacrosse, soccer and at least twosports which we're not at liberty to name.

And at some point, they all had to be pushedaside to make way for weight training, bus trips,extra shifts in practice, or whatever else it tookto become an ace in the deck of Harvard hockey.Body has never made a formal choice between golfand hockey, but everyone else has. Always leftthere is always the passion of hockey. Best leftfor explanation by a Canadian, eh?...

Ottawa is in Ontario, Chris Baird wants toclarify. "Not many people here [in the U.S.] knowall of the provinces," he explains.

Ottawa is also the capital city of Canada. Muchsmaller than the larger cities of Toronto andMontreal, the passion for hockey nevertheless runsjust as strong, the inept NHL Senatorsnotwithstanding. And in a climate where skating isa life skill, it comes as no surprise to learnthat Baird began learning the tools his adoptedtrade at the ripe old age of three.

"They have this program calledB-6Crimson File PhotoLOU BODY (15) and CHRIS BAIRD celebrate withthe ECAC Trophy.