Princeton University Athletics
Senior Athlete Banquet
September 19, 2001 | General
Abbey Fox
I felt really honored when Gary Walters called to ask me to speak tonight. I had no idea what a difficult task it would be trying to condense my experience at Princeton as a student athlete into a coherent short monologue. But as I think is true with all areas of life, sometimes we find it most difficult to adequately convey in words the intensity and depth and meaning of our experiences. I'm looking out at all of you and wondering how this moment has already arrived. It means so much to be able to scan the crowd and see the faces of my family, my closest friends and fellow athletes. This is a select group, and I know everyone has a personal story as to how they got to be sitting in this room tonight. I just want to tell you a little bit about mine.
The thought that continuously appears in my mind when I envision my experience as an athlete is FAMILY. Family as in how important mine has been in shaping who I am and encouraging me to pursue whatever it may be that I want to-hockey, academics, love, whatever. Family as in being a member of a team, as in learning to live and work and try together. And family as a bond-as something that unites every one of us in this room right now.
My dad is my best friend. He would always tell me that the game is not just about hockey. Instead, the game is about life. He would say that hockey teaches you to work hard, to be part of a team, to work together for a common goal, to be aggressive and go after what you want, to push yourself and question your limits. The game isn't about hockey, it's about life, he would say.
Eleanor Roosevelt once said that no one can make you feel inferior without your permission. When I was five years old, I was a feisty little girl. I used to watch my older brother Chris go out on the ice at the local rink, but the watching didn't last long. Like any younger sister I wanted to do what he was doing and so the next thing I knew I was the only girl playing hockey among a bunch of boys. I loved it. I have vivid memories from those days, from the evolution of blonde pigtails to my tomboy bowl cut. My parents were very encouraging and made sure that I didn't let any of the boys push me around. I specifically remember times when boys from other teams would put their sticks up between my legs, and everyone would tell me to just fight back-that if I did it back to them it would probably hurt the boys more than it would hurt me. Our chests looked the same as little kids, and even though I liked being the only girl around, I liked being able to be one of the team and get dressed in the same locker room. The only time that it became a problem was when I was coached by Dave Bergman who played professional baseball for the Tigers. Dave would threaten that the last kid to get out of the locker room would get a big kiss from him-and of course all the guys thought it was gross but I just sat there with all my equipment on. My point is-we were a team. In the end it didn't really matter that I was a girl-not to me, not to them, not to my family. The differences among us vanished when we came to be part of a team, part of a family that shared a bond, we were equals.
When I got to middle school, the private school I attended told me I could not play on the boys' team. Instead, I could play with girls who tried to play hockey in figure skates. This of course made both my dad and I livid, and after several years of battling with this, they finally allowed girls to at least try out for the team.
In high school, I stopped playing hockey and really began to dedicate myself to soccer and drama. But I missed the game and decided to play for a girls' team when I was a junior. This team represented a conglomeration of women from all over the state of Michigan-from all different walks of life. It was the first time I truly gained exposure-the first time I was able to widen my perspective. Some of my teammates were gay, others could barely afford hockey equipment, one was pregnant, and still others had accepted offers to play Division I hockey in college out East. We were an eclectic group-but we were an awesome state championship team. Wealth, race, sexuality-all of these differences were eradicated-faded when we stepped onto the ice together. The superficial distinctions no longer carried weight. We were teammates, we were our own family.
The values I acquired from those developmental experiences as an athlete provided the groundwork for my journey at Princeton. I arrived here knowing no one. My older brother went on to play hockey at the University of Michigan and was therefore really close to home. It was rare when my parents would miss one of his games, but going to Princeton was an entirely new thing for all of us. But now my younger sister Sarah is also here, and she plays hockey as well. My younger brother James is a freshman in high school and loves to badger his sisters about someday going to Harvard.
I actually met my best friend Lucy on our recruiting trip-I know this sounds trite, but we were wearing the same pants and took it as a good sign. But playing hockey my freshman year was definitely a challenge-for more reasons than one. There was no sense of team. Instead, we were a bunch of random individuals who gathered for four hours a day to go through the motions. There was no sense of family, of I actually met my best friend Lucy on our recruiting trip-I know this sounds trite, but we were wearing the same pants and took it as a good sign. But playing hockey my freshman year was definitely a challenge-for more reasons than one. There was no sense of team. Instead, we were a bunch of random individuals who gathered for four hours a day to go through the motions. There was no sense of family, of unity, of camaraderie, or drive. We lacked that core inherent sensation of a team. I remember telling my dad I didn't want to play hockey anymore, that it was the first time in my life where hockey had a negative vibe and trying desperately to make him understand that. He told me that this journey would be a roller coaster, that I should not quit and that being part of the team-no matter what form it manifested-was a commitment I had made.
I stuck with it my sophomore year, hoping that the good would outweigh the bad. It started looking a lot better when Lucy and I finished our fall exams and planned a three-day getaway to Cancun in the middle of our season. Little did I know that returning to the rink refreshed with tanned skin and big smiles would cause such a ruckus. Apparently, I was supposed to be lifting weights and skating on my own time. Obviously, I hadn't quite mastered the terms 'discipline' or 'commitment' or most importantly 'TEAM.' When you are part of a family, you don't put yourself first. You go to practice day in and day out because people are counting on you-because you have committed to a greater purpose, because that is the value of team.
My senior year clarified my experience as an athlete at Princeton. Even though I told myself that time would fly, you don't realize how quickly it does until it is gone. When the end is near, it is inevitable that your perception changes. Every practice, every game was like a countdown. The adversity I faced from previous years only fostered a more complete appreciation for the team there is today, for what came to be my family away from home. I feel fulfilled knowing that I took part in shaping this Princeton hockey family-that as my class leaves we know that it is a better place than when we first stumbled upon it.
Being a student-athlete at Princeton has opened a lot of doors and created a number of opportunities. Although my plans are up in the air as I am still in denial of graduating, I have worked for David E. Kelley who played hockey at Princeton, and is the writer and creator of 'Ally McBeal,' 'The Practice' and 'Boston Public.' Princeton has also allowed me to travel and explore different parts of our country and Europe. But most importantly, being an athlete at Princeton has enabled me to experience that indescribable feeling of being one with others-of creating a family in search of a common goal. Getting ready for a game, listening to that music you always do, preparing your mind and body for competition, being able to embrace the flow of the game and not worry about anything else-these are the moments I will miss. A friend of mine who plays professional hockey once told me that he enjoyed playing a sport in college far more than playing professionally. He told me that the difference was that in college the guys had the team's intentions in mind rather than their own. He said that the genuine team bond dissipated as players become more prone to look out for just themselves.
Hockey, football, soccer, lacrosse-your sport is not just about the game, instead the game is about life. Just as every one of us has a personal story as to how we ended up in this room tonight, I'm sure that every one of us can look back at our athletic careers at Princeton and see a roller coaster ride-we can recall adversity, touch victory, experience inspiration, doubt, anger and freedom. We are all necessary ingredients for the concoction of a team-whether you are the leader, the role-player, the entertainer or the enforcer. Each of us are unique components of a family-individuals who have learned the values of the game and the values of life. Although this particular period or quarter of the game is coming to an end-we have the opportunity to face the challenge of a new beginning.
David Mordkoff
Good evening. To begin I'd like to take a minute to thank everyone who made this moment possible: the Varsity Club for sponsoring this event and helping to support Princeton athletics, the athletic administration for putting this event together and making it possible for us to take the field during the year, the coaching staff for training us, my parents for making the trip tonight and to all my sporting events over the years and all the members of the class of 2001 who have dedicated the past four years to the Orange and Black.
Senior year, more than anything else, is a series of lasts. Your last lecture, your last practice, your last Thursday night at The Street, your last exam and numerous other end notes to four years at Princeton. Despite the cavalcade of final moments that we will encounter in the next few days leading up to commencement, the biggest "last" for me took place in early November in Philadelphia.
But that's the end of my story. First, let me take you to the beginning.
As a na?ve freshman in the fall of 1997, I knew very little about Princeton athletics. I knew the basketball team had knocked off UCLA in the tournament the year before because it messed up my bracket in the NCAA pool. I knew from my high school coach that the lacrosse program was very strong and that Princeton lost the first college football game in 1869. I also knew Princeton had a lightweight football team because of a feature I saw on SportsCenter many years earlier-long before ESPN became the Alpha and the Omega of sports information that it is today.
Despite my lack of a deep understanding of the scope and success of Princeton athletics, it took me less than a week to figure out that I wanted to play a sport here. While I liked the relaxed pace and celebratory atmosphere of Frosh Week, I missed the rigor of daily practice and the feeling of being part of a team. After all, having taken six classes a year in high school while playing a sport nearly every season, how hard could it be to take four courses and be on a team in college? The answer: much harder than I anticipated but much more rewarding at the same time. Students from across the globe are drawn to Princeton for its academic excellence, the beauty of its campus and the chance to study with the best students in the world. Similarly, there exists an allure to the athletic program, which attracts over one-fourth of Princeton's undergraduates. But defining this appeal is difficult.
Certainly, Princeton's athletic prowess-including 15 consecutive years with at least one national championship-acts as a strong enticement for young players. Princeton fields nationally competitive teams in sports ranging from baseball to squash, and the school is synonymous with success on the fields, courts and waterways of the nation. For many of Old Nassau's teams, winning has become commonplace.
While winning is the ultimate goal of sport, it is the pursuit of victory that takes the most time and effort. The pursuit of victory was why we trekked down to Caldwell every afternoon or to DeNunzio or the boathouse on chilly mornings. It was the pursuit of victory that made us board a bus to the middle of nowhere to take on an Ivy League opponent. It was the pursuit of victory that compelled us to train during the off-season.
It was the pursuit of victory that drove me-and 12 of the best guys I've ever met-to play sprint football through our senior year. Of all the things I've done at Princeton, from coursework to writing for The 'Prince,' the memories I have of practicing, competing, and hanging out with my teammates are the ones I'll miss the most next year.
While its pursuit may be arduous, winning provides the best feeling that sport can offer. A sudden, hard-fought victory produces an exuberant rush and release of emotions that cannot be adequately described-they are only to be experienced. My most vivid memory of Princeton came during sophomore year, when my team beat Navy in overtime, a team that had beaten us by 47 the year before. The emotions on the field and in the locker room remain constant reminders of why we all participate in sports.
I'm sure that all of my classmates here have similar memories culled from four years of Princeton athletics.
In this year of "lasts," the final game for many seniors-whether a thrilling win or a tough loss-is an emotional moment. For all except a very elite few of us, our last game at Princeton marked the last game of our careers. Writing for the Daily Princetonian for the past three years has allowed me to witness and report on other athletes' last games-their last chance to pursue victory. These games have provided some of the most enduring moments that I've witnessed at Tiger sporting events.
Two winters back I watched the women's basketball team upset the eventual Ivy League champions in their last home game of the year. When the final horn sounded, the seniors hugged at midcourt, while their teammates ran off the bench and surrounded them. That image of unity, in an otherwise bleak season, exemplifies what it means to be part of a team.
Sports also teach us the importance of never giving up-a principle exhibited in the football team's season finale this fall. With the opposition about to kneel down on the ball on the last play, a Princeton senior soared over the line, crashing down in the Dartmouth backfield in a final attempt to claim a victory in his last game. Though his dive was not successful in staving off defeat, it showed everyone the will to win that burns inside of each athlete in this room.
As for me, my last game was at Penn six and a half months ago. From my position in the defensive backfield, I was unable to fly over the line as the Penn quarterback took a knee on the game's final play. As I walked toward the sideline, I glanced up at the scoreboard, watching it tick away the last seconds of my career. For the second time in four years, my eyes began to water at the end of a game. These were not tears of joy, nor were they tears of pain. These were tears that came from knowing that the sprint football team, the aspect of my time at Princeton that has meant more to me than anything else, was now a part of my past. Thank you.