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Aug 18, 2003 I’m not a huge sports fan. I like watching certain events, but sports overall is not something I concentrate on, especially now with overpaid, arrogant, think-they’re-above-the-law athletes. But upon hearing about the death of Herb Brooks, I thought about it, long after I read the headline in the local newspaper and in USA Today. I even cried a little. I’d read the Sports Illustrated article about the “Miracle on Ice,” and I picked up a copy of the magazine where it was first published, at a flea market several months ago. It’s spread out on my lap right now. The “Miracle on Ice.” I remember seeing the goals. I remember Al Michaels. I remember him saying, seconds before the U.S. beat Russia, “Do you believe in miracles? Yes!” Think of it! These college kids, average age 20, beat the Russians. As a 12-year-old girl, even I knew what that meant. I was into hockey before it was truly popular in the U.S., and I remembered, as a very young girl, when the networks broadcast games. During the 80s, it seemed like the only way you’d see hockey on network television was if the Olympics were being broadcast. I remember part of the gold medal game against Finland. I remember it mainly because they cut to a commercial, and my father was so infuriated, he said a word I’d never heard him say before. The whole family was home that day, in front of the television. I remember the players on the bench, pounding the sides of the boards in anticipation. They knew. They just knew they were going to win. And it turned out to be something to be proud of, in a time where the U.S. was taking it in the nuts. The hostage crisis in Iran. Energy crisis at home. And the Soviets invasion of Afghanistan. Looking back, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Brooks had told his team, “The Soviets don’t deserve Afghanistan, and they sure as hell don’t deserve this gold medal. This one is yours, boys.” I was probably one of the few young girls in the country that thought Brooks was a hero. I had total respect for this man who worked his players hard, to the point of making them crazy, but knowing when to back off. He seemed mysterious, sort of like the Lone Ranger. Doing his job for the sake of doing a good job. Not for fame or fortune. And there’s not enough of that in professional sports today. Brooks seemed like a gentleman. People will talk about coaches, because it takes something special to be a good one; a great one. It’s the right combination of leadership, inspiration, knowledge and psychology. It’s recognizing good talent, taking assorted personalities, and getting the players to work well together. People might argue that your average boss does the same thing on a daily basis. I beg to differ. In the corporate world, everyone looks out for himself. The CEOs get the most recognition, these days mainly for bad things they’ve done. In the sports world, the players of a championship team are rewarded with scoring titles, endorsements, and equipment contracts. The coaches, while known, seem to be taken for granted. I realize Brooks remained in the hockey world long after the 1980 Olympic triumph. He coached in Europe for a while, then coached the Rangers. He made his final return to the Olympics in 2002, coaching the men’s team to a silver medal. Why come back to the Olympics? Brooks said, “Maybe I’m sort of like the players -- there’s a lot of little boy in me. And maybe I’m a little smarter now than I was before for all the stupid things I’ve done.” But after the 1980 Olympics, he seemed to me like he kept a low profile. No endorsement contracts that I knew of. No throwing of chairs. No problems that made front page headlines. No scandals. He went quietly about his job. Which reminds me of one last, enduring image of the 1980 Olympics. It was after the U.S. beat the Soviets. It was bedlam in the stands and delirium on the ice. I remember the camera cutting to Brooks walking down the hallway to the locker room. Everyone in America (well, except the Soviets) was celebrating and Brooks goes to the locker room? When asked about that moment, he said, “it was not my spot. I always say sort of flippantly, ‘I had to go to the bathroom.’ Or, ‘If I’d have went on the ice when this thing happened, someone would have speared me or something.’ It’s a great feeling of accomplishment and pride. They had to do it; it was their moment.” It was Brooks’ moment too. But he chose to let his players celebrate without their coach sharing the moment. There’s something about that shot of him walking down the hallway toward the dressing room. That something was pure class. And it’s something that hockey, no, make that athletics; whether they be collegiate or professional; will not see again. ------------ About the author: Gloria Diaz is an opinionated citizen of Generation X (member since 1967) who occupies herself by dabbling in photography, writing and as a written communications processing specialist for the government. She has written for several diverse publications including Scram, Spleen, The Fort Wayne Free Press, and for the Huntington County TAB. Email Gloria Diaz: Scoop5767@aol.com Comment on this column in the forum. Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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