{"id":26022,"date":"2003-10-24T22:04:55","date_gmt":"2003-10-25T03:04:55","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.uscho.com\/2003\/10\/24\/on-cool-sick-and-sweeeeeeet\/"},"modified":"2010-08-17T19:55:32","modified_gmt":"2010-08-18T00:55:32","slug":"on-cool-sick-and-sweeeeeeet","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wp-admin.uscho.com\/2003\/10\/24\/on-cool-sick-and-sweeeeeeet\/","title":{"rendered":"On ‘Cool’, ‘Sick’, and ‘Sweeeeeeet’"},"content":{"rendered":"
This summer, quite suddenly, my son discovered the concept of “cool.” <\/p>\n
He’s five and I learned about this on consecutive days in June. First, while riding to “Storyland” in Conway, N.H., my sister mentioned she had to go shopping for kids’ clothes.<\/p>\n
“Cool or cute,” said Little Joe. <\/p>\n
I wanted to make sure I heard correctly. “What did you say?”<\/p>\n
“Cool or cute,” he replied. “Clothes are either ‘cool’ or they’re ‘cute’.”<\/p>\n
The following week, he and his brother were selling lemonade and snacks in front of the house. As Son No. 1 shouted out to passing motorists, Son No. 2 spoke up.<\/p>\n
“Don’t bother yelling at the guys on motorcycles,” offered Little Joe. “Guys on motorcycles are ‘cool’ and cool guys don’t eat this stuff.”<\/p>\n
Ah, the power of Nickelodeon.<\/p>\n
I can’t recall when I first grasped the notion of something or someone being “cool.” Maybe it was Steve McQueen. Or Sean Connery. It could have been an athlete but as everyone knows, being “great” and being “cool” are two different things.<\/p>\n
No one had a better season in my youth than Carl Yastrzemski of the Boston Red Sox in 1967. But Yaz was never cool. The Big Bad Bruins of the 1970s had talent. Orr was great. Espo was pretty good too. But Derek Sanderson was the one people tended to call cool. Him and perhaps Gerry Cheevers’ mask.<\/p>\n
A diehard Sox fan, I just finished watching a dramatic Red Sox-Yankees playoff series and despite my devotion to the Sox, there was truly just one ballplayer in the series who was the personification of cool: Derek Jeter. <\/p>\n
Hockey Cool, like cool itself, is in the eye of the beholder. I mean, believe it or not, the mullet was cool once. Still is in Barry Melrose’s house. When Gretzky played, having part of your jersey tucked inside your pants was cool. (When Teddy Green did it 20 years earlier, it was annoying.)<\/p>\n
Remember “Cooperalls”? Some people thought they were cool once. I think.<\/p>\n
When you were on the freshman team in high school, the varsity was cool. When you practiced and played games all over the place and generally worked out of the trunk of your family car, the guys who had a home rink and a permanent locker room were cool.<\/p>\n
I remember watching the Boston University teams of the ’60s and ’70s and thinking their varsity jackets, red wool with cream color leather sleeves, were cool. On the other hand, their helmets, with that tall white stripe down the middle, were not.<\/p>\n
Cornell’s Ken Dryden, standing majestically with his gloves atop his stick, was both great and cool. His mask, what there was of it, was cool.<\/p>\n
When you sat on the bench, it was definitely not cool to have the blade of your stick up. They tell me that has changed. They also tell me that the word “cool” itself is not cool in many circles. It is now “sweet,” with the word pronounced as if there was more than two “e’s.” Or maybe you would call something “sick.” Like when a puck carrier, on a one-on-one, first puts a puck through a defenseman’s legs and then dekes a goalie and beats him with a backhand roof shot. An observer might say, “That’s sick!” Meaning it as a compliment, of course.<\/p>\n