I still have a half dozen sticks in my garage. Since I blew out my knees when I was about 25, I have only stood in my driveway and slapped a tennis ball (ya poke a hole in it to deaden the bounce) or a sponge puck against the fireplace. Of course, I still wear my #4 jersey and bend over at the faceoff inside the Boston blueline and look Bobby Orr in the eyes and say, "I am gonna put dat puck in dat net before you can dee Jean Belliveau... he shoots, he scores!"

If I am feelin real frisky, I "skate", in slow motion, and say, "Around his own net now, around the wing, picking up speed, over centre, splits the defence, he shoots, he scores! Yvan Cornee... Cornwhyer... Cor... what a deke!" I miss Foster Hewitt.