Saturday night's disappointing hockey loss to B.U. was like a fight between a pair of alley cats over the beautifully manicured female (the ECAC trophy) that looked longingly at them from a window. The teams clawed at each other from the start, though at times tentatively, recognizing that neither of them had the ability to knock out the opponent.

With the teams so evenly matched, perhaps it was inevitable that the game be decided by which team committed the fewest errors. Since neither could dominate play, the teams had to capitalize on mistakes.

Most of you have played baseball at one time or another. You then have experienced the awful sinking feeling in your stomach after a ground ball has somehow eluded your glove that you were sure was down as far as it could be. You also know the humiliation of having to confront your teammates' accusing glares and the derision of the fans, some of whom kindly suggest you commit suicide as the best solution to your team's fielding problem.

Even if this baseball analogy meant nothing to you, empathize with the Crimson's sophomore netminder Jimmy Murray. A long bomb from center ice which was supposed to give B.U. enough time to change lines, seemed to surprise Murray and he let it handcuff him. It was a key goal for B.U. and Harvard's goalie knew it. His head slumped in disappointment until Levy Byrd, representing the whole team, glided by and whacked him on the pads to show him that the squad still supported him.

Murray's counterpart, B.U. goalie Ed Walsh, has his name strewn all over my notes, and usually it is followed by any one of these adjectives: "Spectacular, acrobatic, amazing, impossible." Walsh robbed everybody, and was especially tough on power plays as he turned aside at least four drives from the slot by Jim Thomas and Bob Goodenow. The second worst thing about these saves (beside the obvious fact that the Crimson did not score) was the reaction they brought from a walrus-like B.U. fan with a waxed mustache seated directly behind me. Bringing the bedroom to the Garden, he moaned and bellowed as if near orgasm, "Ah, ah, ah go B.U." I preferred their old cheer because an organ, which used to lead their cheer, cannot spit.