One cold February day, across the frozen Charles River, in the belly of the Bright Hockey Center, a Harvard coach made a promise. Amidst a crowd of witnesses, men’s hockey skipper Ted Donato ’91 gave me his word. And here I sit, two months later, my graduation date in sight, and Donato is nowhere to be seen.

His secretary claims he’s out of the office. The calendar tells me that hockey season is over. But deep down, I know the sad truth.

Ted Donato is afraid of me.



***



I suppose I should begin from the beginning. Back in 1970, intrepid Crimson reporter John Powers ’70 (now of The Boston Globe) challenged All-American Joe Cavanagh ’71 to a penalty-style shootout—Powers in goal, and Cavanagh with 10 pucks.

I decided to run the idea past Donato—a 13-year veteran of the NHL, a member of the 1992 U.S. Olympic team, and the tournament MVP of Harvard’s 1989 national championship squad.

Measuring his resume against my brief careers as a figure skater (age five) and a goalie (pee-wee soccer), I was fairly sure that Donato would accept. I’ve seen him skate in practice, and the former forward is nothing if not competitive. And a shootout with me...well, it looks pretty much like a guaranteed win for him.

“Oh God, you’re serious?” asked Jamie Weir, former sports information director for the team, when she heard of the plan. “This isn’t a joke? You know, he’s going to enjoy this. He even used to make his goalies look bad in practice—what do you think he’ll do to you?”

Indeed, with me voluntarily terrified in goal, Donato would have a conveniently cloaked chance at revenge. I’ve written my fair share about him over the past three years—all in jest, I swear—but because he is an administrator, a responsible adult representing a hallowed institution, he has had to grin and take it.

When crafting a feature about his 1990 stint on ‘The Price Is Right,’ for example, I screened old video footage and asked one of Donato’s players to describe a particular screen shot.

“Well,” the player said, “here we have Coach Donato with about five hairs—which is four more than he has right now—hugging some crazy lady on ‘The Price Is Right.’” Several paragraphs later, I poked fun at Donato’s tight, early-’90s pants, then I ended the piece with a flash-forward to the present, when Donato’s “hair and white-washed jeans are mere memories once more.”

And then there was that time last spring, when Harvard’s presidency was up for grabs and I suggested Donato fill the post, quoting one of his players: “Half of Harvard’s presidents have been bald, so I think Coach fits in well.”

A quick glimpse at Donato’s presidential office? “Maybe a mahogany desk,” the player mused, “a leather executive chair, a plant, some shrubbery. I guess he’d probably have to put a computer in there for looks.”

Suffice it to say, Donato should want this contest. He’s been a good sport long enough, and for a while now, he’s probably pined for the opportunity to send a few pucks in my direction.



***



Bruce Irving, the Crimson’s goalie coach, promised me a few lessons. The team’s equipment manager, Kevin McInnis, agreed to lend me goalie gear from the women’s squad.

And when I suggested the shootout in February, Donato agreed, adding that we should wait until hockey season was over—then, he’d have the leisure to indulge my inane suggestions.

“All right,” I said in the tunnel to the locker room, loudly enough for numerous witnesses, “but you’re not getting out of this.”

Donato stopped a moment and looked at me quizzically.

“Oh,” he said, grinning slightly, “neither are you.”

And yet here I am, two months later, and nothing has happened. Donato is “out of the office.” Nowhere to be found. What could cause this NCAA champion—this NHL veteran—this Olympic alum to renege?

I hate to say it, but I think we all know the cold, hard truth. There’s only one reason Ted Donato would bail after giving his word in public. What is that reason, you ask?

Ted Donato knows I would kick his butt all over the ice, and he’s scared. He’s afraid to lose a 5’2 girl. He’s afraid to lose to the student reporter who covers games in four-inch heels and is forever chewing a piece of bubble gum.

But I know you’re out there, Coach Donato. Time to face your fears. You gave me your word. And I don’t graduate until June 7. Call me. We’ll set something up.

—Staff writer Rebecca A. Seesel can be reached at seesel@fas.harvard.edu.