A. They were fine until the last game. Of course, I was dreaming at night; I was making about a thousand saves a night. But I've always done that. Once at Cornell I lurched in my sleep and my roommate said, "Hey, Ken, nice save." It wasn't until the Boston series was tied at three games each that I got hit with a bad attack of nerves.
Q. Where were you?
A. We all were in our motel at Boston the night before the final game. I was watching television, calm as could be, when what do they put on but a show called Bruin Hi-Lites. This was only the second time in my life I'd ever seen myself on television, and it shattered a lot of illusions. I look like a big stiff.
Q. No, you don't.
A. Well, I do to myself. What a sobering experience! I'd always thought of myself dipping and darting across the goal mouth with all the grace of a wood nymph, while violins played in the background and everybody in the stands went "ooh" and "ahh" at my performance. I thought of myself as Nureyev on ice. But on TV I realized that I was a dump truck. I was an elephant on wheels.
Q. And of course since the show was called Bruin Hi-Lites all you saw was a bunch of Boston players bearing down on you.
A. Right! And scoring! Watching that show, you would have thought I never made a save in the whole series. It really demoralized me. Butterflies started swirling around in my stomach, and my legs felt like they wouldn't even carry me to the restaurant.
Q. What'd you do?
A. There was a little lake near the motel, and I went out there and thought pleasant thoughts.
Q. Ann-Margret doing the Dance of the Seven Veils?