The Father, the Son and the Holy Grail.

I would be lying if I said that I remembered that first practice or for that matter the second or the third….I do recall being much better than I thought and much worse than I was. Alfie Snow was my first coach and he was aware of the recent passing of my Dad. He became an ally in what all of a sudden became an angry and confusing time for me. He taught me how to skate, shoot and pass in a fashion that seemed less fatherly and more friendly to me. The other men in my life seemed destined to replace my Dad which only infuriated me and instilled a rebellious reaction. Mr. Snow helped me to become a better hockey player and a better person.

Hockey was my escape and I was good at it. Whatever foibles I had physically , I made up for mentally as all those years of studying the game on TV paid profound dividends. I had a feel for the game – a third eye for the flow and ebb of a sport that was beautiful to me. Every time I would skate onto the freshly done ice, I became a paintbrush and this was my canvas. Every shift and every game was different yet somehow the same. Fifty people in the stands were more like a thousand in my mind as every play became as important as a Stanley Cup winner. It was during this time that I met my best friend, my goalie, and the brother I never had Denis Boyer.

The first few practices and games we did not speak much but I noticed a kinship, a familiarity as we shared the same humor and a passion for the game that threw us together. I was a defenceman which only helped us to bond and he was a Philadelphia Flyers fan which helped us to compete. After every game, all of us would go to the snack bar to get a soft drink, a chocolate bar and to talk about our game, practice or just hockey in general. It was there, in line one day, that Denis and I consummated  our friendship.

An attractive teenage girl worked at the snack-bar and she happened to be blessed with a healthy ‘set of lungs’. As Denis and I approached , I mentioned to Denis the attractiveness of the girl and her ‘two’ friends. Denis turned to me and said “Hey – that’s my sister!” After determining that he was not joking I replied. “Can I sleep at your place tonight?” His affirmative answer was the cornerstone of a lifelong friendship that began at are 12 and remains to this day.

Denis and I grew up with hockey being the common denominator. We played hockey… we went through puberty. We played hockey…  we lost our virginity. We played hockey… we drank beer and on it went. One season, with Denis as my goaltender , we went 23 games without a loss in a 25-game schedule. We tied the 24th game 2-2 and were one and a half minutes away from tying our final game thus enjoying an almost perfect season. There was a scramble  around the crease and the puck slipped from underneath Denis and was heading towards the goal line. I dove to knock the puck away as did Denis and the two of us found each other nose to nose on the line with Denis’ glove stopping the puck  as it began its journey into the net. The referee blew the whistle and Denis and I looked at each with an expression of relief knowing that our unbeaten season was still intact. It was then we noticed the players from the other team celebrating with their sticks in air. The ref called it a goal. We both charged the referee and argued to the point of receiving a match penalty. Upon realization that the goal was going to stand, we both returned to the crease area and started to cry. Two 16-year-old boys leaning on opposite posts – despondent over one loss in 25 games. Two boys on an entire team filled with boys who were not crying…two boys who shared a passion that went beyond a game that would eventually become their only loss of a winning season.