I assured him that he had nothing to worry about. But I was worried, He-had not taken it seriously enough to eat a training meal, but could he take the match seriously enough to play without his artificial dental plate? That was going to be the psyche factor.

"Naw, I'll keep the teeth in," Cavanagh assured me. "I'll be wearing sweatpants, too, unless you want me to put on the uniform." This was hardly the case.

We arrived at the field house, and Jimmy Cunniff graciously lent me all the equipment I needed. Marty Garay, who had done the same sort of thing with heavyweight wrestler Jim Abbott and All-American sabreman Larry Cetrulo, was there for moral support. He was also taking pictures.

I struggled into the awkward goal-ie's pads, found a good, solid mask that I could see through, and borrowed LoPresti's gloves and stick. I was ready.

Six-of-Ten

Brookline High School was using the ice at the time, and LoPresti asked their coach if, in the interest of athletic history, we could have one end of the rink for awhile. He agreed LoPresti gave me a brief, comprehensive lesson in goaltending, and I was set to go. But so was Cavanagh and he beat me easily on the first shot. I heard a roar from the stands, and looked around anxiously. I half-expected to see the Master rushing out on the ice and start shooting those pucks. But I settled down. When Joey came in on me the second time. I managed to smother the puck on the right side of the net. I was jubilant.

But he scored the third time, and I began to experience the feeling regularly. It was like a drowning sensation. Seeing the puck for a few seconds, then losing all control of it as it disappeared somewhere. I had no idea where. But on the fourth shot. Joe came in faked then skated around the net. He hadn't been able to get off the shot. Or hadn't cared to.

The fifth was a standing slap shot-from about 35 or 40 feet. I saw it coming and managed to catch it in my glove hand. He was two-for-five I saw the next slapper, too. I watched it with interest as it zipped past my ankle into the right corner of the cage.

Then he started to deke again. He faked me way out of the cage and flipped it in easily. Again I came out to meet him and he swerved around me and shot at the open net. Then, he missed another skating around the cage without shooting. Then, he faked me again. I slipped and accidentially tripped him. But he scored anyway? It was over. He had made six-of-ten.

"Congratulations," he grinned. "That first save was really good. Really." Suddenly I knew why Cavanagh was an All-American. The boy, is a good judge of talent. He really knows the game.