September 26, 2007

The worst dodge ball player you'll ever meet
Target practice with lacrosse goalie Jeff Hannon

Mark Gould | managing editor
mgould@smcvt.edu

“You do have to be a little nutty,” Hannon says. “It’s very awkward at first, to see something flying at you, and not only stay there, but go towards it.”  (photo courtesy of sports information office)

Outside the 300s townhouses stands a man who guards an orange square with poised aggression and fourth-quarter intensity. Rubber balls whip out from players' lacrosse sticks and bounce off dying grass into the wide netting of his lacrosse stick, and sometimes off his body. He never flinches.

Meet St. Michael’s men’s lacrosse goalie Jeff Hannon. An inch shy of 6 feet, and weighing in at 251 pounds, he would be well-suited for the offensive line should St. Michael’s re-institute the football team.  But the four-year starter has proven that backstopping the Purple Knights lacrosse squad is a perfect fit for him.

In his time in Colchester, the Massachusetts native has helped the team improve its record from a troubling 4-10 in 2004 to an impressive 9-7 last spring. He’s never missed a game because of an injury, an amazing feat considering playing goalie in lacrosse is like diving in front of balls during a dodge ball game featuring major league pitchers.

“You do have to be a little nutty,” the senior says. “It’s very awkward at first, to see something flying at you, and not only stay there, but go towards it.” 

During practices and games, Hannon is the lucky player who tries to block flying rubber balls as players snipe out the corners.

“I had always liked to get my body in front of things, and sell out for the big plays,” Hannon says.  “That’s part of what being a goalie is all about.  You’re the last line; you just kind of do whatever you can do to keep the ball out of the way.”

For someone of Hannon’s size, getting in the way of the ball seems easy. If the purpose is to catch the ball in the net of the stick, plan B is to be in the right place at the right time to absorb the shot (If you’re anyone but Hannon, the wrong place at the wrong time).

The ball, sized like a tennis ball, but heavy like a hockey puck, usually zooms in around 85 miles per hour.  Some players have shots that clock in around 100 miles per hour, though Hannon says he only faces these triple-digit bullets in certain situations.

“You’re not going to have the same scenario in games to see that, unless you’re man down, and kids get time and space,” Hannon says.

Let’s talk time and space for a minute. The time he has to react to the shots is likely less than that of a batter in baseball, as the shots can come from much closer.  The space element? Hannon is charged with defending a net that is six feet tall by six feet wide. 

And you thought soccer goalies had it rough. 

And did I mention that goalies actually wear less padding than other lacrosse players?  Hannon takes the field armed with a helmet, chest protector, gloves, cup, and stick.  No, he didn’t forget to wear elbow pads, they just get in the way, he says.  With more than half his body exposed, a shot to bare skin is inevitable.

It might come in the first minute of practice, halfway through a game, or even during warm-ups.  And although Hannon will never tell you it hurts like hell, one can only imagine what the bombardment of stingers feel like.

“I summarize when I get hit by shots into two reactions,” Hannon explains.  “If the ball hits me and doesn’t go into the net, it feels good.  It’s just a little sting, and you know it was worth it, and it actually feels good.  Then, you get hit, and the ball is in the net, and it starts throbbing.”

I asked him if he had any bruises to show for the first few weeks of fall practice.  Hannon pulled up his shorts to reveal a purple blotch the size of a shoe on his thigh, surrounded by a yellowing outline.

 The bruise covered most of his inner thigh, and was the first of four that he showed me. In a game when Hannon makes 15 saves, one out of every three hits bare skin, he says. 

“If you’re hurt, then you get back up and you keep playing,” Hannon says. “If you’re injured, then you come out, and you have to take care of it.  When I get hit with the ball, it might hurt, but it’s not an injury.”

How does one train for this seemingly insane position?  In high school, when Hannon began blinking when shots came, his coach developed a drill to fix the problem.  

“I’d lay on the ground and he’d drop tennis balls on my face, so that I kept my eyes open,” he says. “He wouldn’t stop until I kept my eyes open for three in a row.”

Thinking no man in his right mind would volunteer for this position after all Hannon had told me, I finally asked him if he considers himself crazy.

“Yeah, I’m a little bit crazy,” he says. “I’m crazy enough to do it.”