Fate has a funny way about it

Bobby Hart -- Staff Essay

When I arrived at SCSU in the fall of 2001, I was as confused as anybody when I thought about where my collegiate life was supposed to lead me.

I juggled art and business as potential majors, but I couldn't really see myself in either field due to either a lack of interest (business) or job markets (art). The only thing I really knew about myself was that I loved sports, but I was pretty mediocre-to-bad at them which limited me to being a fan for the majority of my life. "If only I could be a professional fan," I thought.

The problem that struck me when I came to SCSU was that I was in a so- called HOCKEY TOWN. I would've rather watched a bad episode of American Gladiators than a game of hockey. It was a game that I could never grasp, let alone ever want to.

My fate took a strange turn when I showed up to my Criminal Justice class during my first semester. In a huge auditorium of students, I ended up sitting next to a kid that donned the same SCSU Hockey sweat pants, always had a five 'o clock shadow and appeared to be fighting a hangover with the same cup of coffee that he'd walk in about five minutes late for class every day. "Must be a hockey player," I thought.

I ended up being right ... for the most part. My stereotypes were a little off. Instead of being the egotistical Div. I jock that I had assumed, the stranger ended up being a pretty cool guy.

Out of all the normal every day conversations, I finally asked him one day, "So ... do you play hockey here?"

"Yeah," he responded.

Then came the stupid question. "Are you any good?"

He responded modestly and said something along the lines of "Not really ... I just like to play. You should come watch sometime."

"That'd be the day," I thought, but I told him I would.

Although I didn't think there was a chance of it, I finally forced myself to go to a Husky Hockey game. It would end up being the first of many, but I still remember it. I had never been in an atmosphere that was so electrifying. I still didn't know a whole lot about the game and the only player I knew was my classmate, who ended up being a little better than he led on. The stranger from Criminal Justice class ended up being 2001-02 Hobey Baker candidate Mark Hartigan, who finished with a team record 37 goals and 75 points.

Husky hockey captured me, so much so that I ended up taking their beat for the University Chronicle when the job opened last season. I learned more than I could've imagined last season, but with my college days winding down, my hardest classes weighing me down, plus my newly instated responsibilities of sports editor, I was almost positive that one year would be my last.

But for some strange reason I couldn't let it go. There was something that resembled closure that kept eating away at me when I'd think about it at night. After a disappointing injury prone 2002-03 season where the Huskies finished sixth, the untimely death of former coach and hockey legend Herb Brooks and a preseason pick to finish eighth out of ten teams in the WCHA this season, things weren't heading in the right direction.

Yet, I find myself covering the Huskies for the second straight year and with only two semesters left of college, everything is finally clear to me. Every time the lights go out at the National Hockey Center for player intros, I know I'm somehow meant to be there.

The Huskies have surprised nearly everyone in the nation with their top spot in the WCHA and No. 7 ranking in the nation, except for me. For some reason this was supposed to happen.

For those of you who still have no clue where college is supposed to take you, don't sweat it. Things have a way of working out if you keep an open mind.

All I needed was a little push from a fellow classmate in Criminal Justice.

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