Something's Fishy

Last night I got to experience Lynah Rink, filled with several thousand passionate hockey fans who help create an atmosphere that is unparalleled in the sport of college hockey. The Cornell fans--the "Lynah Faithful"--are clever and fun and make themselves as much a part of the game as the players do.



Hockey is delicious to watch—speed, coordination and lots of tough guy figure skating. And the Ivy-League fans show their support with creative chants, yelling out everything in perfect unison, from a Harvard goalie’s girlfriend’s phone number, to the tease, “Ironic, we invented the Heimlich: YOU choked!” when Harvard surrendered to a three-goal lead. (Physician Henry Heimlich was a Cornell grad.)

The most notorious taunting is the fish hurling. For Big Red fans, The Cornell-Harvard rivalry dates to the 1909-10 season. The baiting tradition began in 1973, when a Harvard fan threw a dead chicken (some say it was alive!) at the visiting goalie, alluding to the Cornell College of Agriculture and Life Sciences. Big Red fans have been tossing fish on the ice ever since. It’s our farm boys’ way of poking fun at the fishing industry in the New England area and telling the Harvard players to go back to Boston Harbor. As an added treat, while the fish are being thrown, the Cornell band plays the theme from the movie “Love Story,” in which Cornell beats Harvard in hockey.

My husband claims the fish throwing is a lot tamer than it used to be. He remembers the good old days when they managed to toss an entire shark out there. This year there were numerous official warnings that fish and alcohol were strictly forbidden! I really hope, like so much of life, that we don’t lose the fun and silliness. I think I should have let my boys sneak fish into the game last night. I deferred to my husband who had a lot more to lose than the dinner I was planning to donate--he is an employee of the university and season ticket holder.

So, as we continue to try to raise our sons without pushing down their spirit, I’ll have to either wear a disguise (I think I have a Harvard sweatshirt around here somewhere) or pretend I don’t know the Professor sitting next to me when my boys and I are thrown out next year.

Go Big Red!