I’ve been a hockey fan all my life, which, admittedly, is odd for a guy who never learned to ice skate. (Full disclosure: I also never learned  to ride a bike. I grew up in Manhattan. I learned to ride the subway.)

All through the ’60s, my best friend Jimmy Schnell and I (who knew every player in the six-team National Hockey League) frequented the second balcony of the old Madison Square Garden, from which – for two bucks – you could see exactly 2/3 of the ice surface.

But you could easily see legendary New York Rangers  goaltender Gump Worsley stop 50 shots and lose 3-2.

So I was un/pleasantly surprised when I arrived in Boston in September, 1974 to discover both school busing (a total what’s this about?) and Fred Cusick’s calls of Boston Bruins games

Cusick was smoother than single malt, a consummate pro at capturing the rhythm and crescendo of a hockey game (see Bryan Marquand’s fine obituary in Wednesday’s Boston Globe).

Fred Cusick, 90. Let his tombstone say he called a great game.