What are friends for?

For those of you who mistakenly believe that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, you should have been at our home on Christmas morning. Tucked away among the trains, trucks and puzzles was a very tall and slender wrapped present from the Jolly Old Elf.

To the trained eye, the item was no mystery. It was a hockey stick. The mystery, though, was to whom it belonged. One look at the tag, written in red ink, showed the present was a gift to my son, Colin, 4, from "Santa-opoulos."

For those who know Colin, I’m not bragging when I say that he’s pretty smart. He, too, knew it was a hockey stick. Still, he tore off the wrapping paper with enthusiasm, trying to determine its ownership.

As the paper fell to the carpeted floor, it was clear that the game-used stick once belonged to Boston Bruins star Patrice Bergeron. Colin, having seen the name many times, even recognized the lettering on the shaft.

"Daddy," he exclaimed, "it’s Patrice’s stick! It’s Patrice’s stick! Santa brought me Patrice’s stick!"

Fast forward, now, to the day after Christmas. We find ourselves in Wilmington, Mass., dodging raindrops in the parking lot of the Bruins practice facility. A large, black truck pulls into a parking space. Bergeron hops out.

As Bergeron makes his way to the locker room, Colin’s voice rings out: "Hey, Patrice. Gonna sign my stick?"

I didn’t know whether to be proud or embarrassed. All I could do was laugh.

Bergeron, who has come to recognize the voice through their many meetings and the trading of autographed photos, stops in his tracks, turns around and smiles.

"Sure, Colin," he says.

Opening bid = $200

It’s no surprise that rookie cards of Pittsburgh Penguins star Sidney Crosby are hot commodities. What is a surprise, though, is that I now have one.

Though there will be other top-shelf jersey, patch and autograph cards of The Next One, the 2005-06 Upper Deck Hockey Young Guns Card No. 201 (shown at left) will always be the first league and players association licensed card to feature Crosby in an NHL uniform.

While I’ve missed out on some of the old-timers’ rookie cards, this card, valued between $100-$200 in the January 2006 edition of Beckett Hockey Collector (17/178, with San Jose's Joey Thornton as the cover boy), will be safely tucked away along some of my other prized, and much more current, rookie cards.

Netting No. 900

Earlier in the season, when I was a considerable distance away, I set a goal of 915 autographed pucks for my collection. I’m somewhat embarrassed to say, that with just a few days left in 2005, I’m only 15 pucks from my goal.

When Matt Stajan, a young forward for the Toronto Maple Leafs signed a St. John’s Maple Leafs puck (see above) outside the team hotel in Boston on Dec. 21, he produced the 900th of my collection. Not bad, I’d say, considering I started the season with 600 signed pucks.

Now that I’ve reached that milestone, putting myself thisclose to my goal, I’ve decided to honor Maslow’s Hierarchy of Need (or some might say Greed) and raise my target to an even 1,000 autographed pucks by season’s end.

Seeing that I’ve collected 548 autographed pucks alone just in 2005, including an awesome 102 over a two-day span at the 2005 American Hockey League All-Star Classic in Manchester, N.H., this past February, I’m pretty confident I’ll reach that goal. After that, we’ll see. Maybe I’ll shoot for 1,250.

Birthday twins

Every once in a while, when the planets align perfectly and the wind is blowing from the south-southwest, my wife, Lisa, and I have a day off together. Most days, we run errands or work around the house. Every so often, though, we go on a date, so to speak.

One of our more recent "dates" found us at a Bruins practice in Wilmington. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I’m quite the romantic. But I swear it was Lisa’s idea. She hadn’t been to a practice this season. And with Ray Bourque, one of her favorite hockey players, likely at practice as a Bruins consultant, it was a true no-brainer to make the trip.

The biggest reason why Lisa’s a big fan of Bourque’s is that they share the same birthdate. Bourque may be a few years older, but they were both born on a Dec. 28th. (Come to find out, too, that Bourque has a sister who also was born on a Dec. 28th.)

Lisa caught up with Bourque during our "date" and was fortunate enough to get the Hall of Famer to sign a Bruins 75th anniversary puck (shown above). Not only did he put down a wicked sweet signature, but it’ll also look real good displayed with the Colorado Avalanche Bourque jersey that he signed for her earlier this year.

Since Bourque joined the team, his presence has prompted more hounds, such as myself, and some of the low-life, oxygen-thief dealers to show up. As a result, getting him to sign is, at best, a 50/50 proposition. It’s a shame, too, because it makes it even more difficult for fans, such as my wife, to meet their favorite players.

Cujo was a real Pang

In the world of journalism, sources are your best friends. They give you scoops, point you to the trees that need to be barked at and, generally, make your life pretty easy.

The same, I’m glad to report, can be said in the world of hounding.

After getting a tip that the Phoenix Coyotes would be practicing at a local rink before checking in to the team hotel, I found myself among a handful of hounds who had heard the news (Next time, boys, I might not be so free with the information).

After getting over the disappointment that The Great One wasn’t traveling with the team, the fact that we were able to watch the practice and then score autographs from nearly every player was a bonus.

Most players were cordial, willing to sign multiples. Some signed, but couldn’t resist taking a dig at us. And then there was Curtis Joseph, or CuJo.

Though the goalie, nearing the twilight of his mediocre (at best) career, signed for everyone else, he refused to sign a couple of pucks for me. When I told him that I was a collector, and not a dealer, his response was "Yeah, buddy, everybody’s a collector." Later reports indicated, too, that CuJo signed the next day, too.

Needless to say, I wasn’t too happy. And I let the team’s security director, who seemed to be much more cordial than most, know that CuJo couldn’t have been more wrong.

A few minutes later, after some fellow collectors asked what happened, another goalie walked toward us. It was Darren Pang, former NHL goalie and ESPN hockey analyst, who now serves as a color commentator for the Coyotes. He willingly obliged (see above), putting my silver paint pen to the Coyotes puck I had reserved for CuJo.

Looking back, I really shouldn’t have complained. I had a great day of hounding, collecting more than 85 autographs, including 29 pucks, on stops to Wilmington, Boston and Lowell. And I learned I can live without a puck, or two, signed by CuJo.

Yeah, I know it's been two weeks ...

... but with the holidays, job-hunting efforts, hounding trips and the fact that another blog has upset a few Beantown-based mouthbreathers, I've been challenged to find the time and energy to add some posts.

Don't fear, though, as I'll have a few more by week's end. You can look forward to my run-in with CuJo, which really turned out to be a real Pang (done, 12/28), as well as scoring my 900th puck (done, 12/29). I'll also have a funny story (done, 12/30) concerning Colin's growing friendship with Patrice Bergeron.

Until then, all I can say is that I've appreciated your patience. I've got a few trips planned in the weeks ahead, including a visit to the practice facility of the defending Stanley Cup champions so I can see firsthand what warm-winter hounding is like.

We're getting old

Every once in a while along the journey of life, one encounters a moment that reminds us that it's fruitless to fight the aging process. Sure, we can take care of our bodies and stimulate our minds. But nothing, other than the passage to eternal sleep, stops the passing of time.

One of those reminders came late Saturday night. After a day of hounding the Bruins in Wilmington and the Phoenix Coyotes in Boston, I found myself outside the Tsongas Arena in Lowell, Mass., finishing up my cards for the Portland Pirates.

One of my fellow Hub-based hounds, Eddie O'Keefe (undoubtedly, the best in Boston) was there, too.

As the Pirates were making their way to the bus, we spied Jon Awe, a rookie defenseman for Portland, headed our way. Earlier, Eddie and I saw his picture on a wall at Northeastern University's Matthews Arena. And, of course, it led to this exchange:

Eddie: Hey, we saw your picture today at Matthews.
Awe: Really? What were you doing there?
Me: Chasing the Coyotes.
Eddie (who proudly wears his Northeastern class ring): That's where I went to school.
Awe: Really? What year did you graduate?
Eddie: 1980.
Awe: That was a good year. I was born in 1980.
Me: (Giant belly-laughing and hooting, recognizing a classic moment in hounding history.)

Really, I shouldn't have laughed. I was just a year out of high school.

Snow day

There's something about the prospect of a foot of snow that keeps me safe at home, not out standing in a Wilmington, Mass., parking lot hoping to add another dozen pucks to my collection.

Though I had every intention of making the trek down to Massachusetts, I found something better to do.

It seems that Colin has been paying attention to the practices he's attended. Whenever we hold "practice" down in the basement, he insists on stretching. He said he saw the Bruins doing it, so he has to do it.

And for my friends who are truly Bruins fans, please accept my apologies for the Avalanche jersey. I'm only trying to teach Colin about diversity.

G! No. 850!

It’s surprising, to me at least, how quickly the pucks pile up. At the beginning of the season, I believed it would take me at least until the 2006-07 campaign to near my goal of 915 pucks. And now, less than three months into this season, I find myself within striking distance.

As the magic number draws near, I find myself becoming much more selective. There’ll be no gimmes here. I want the pucks to mean something. I want a story behind each puck. As I’ve said before, quality takes precedence over quantity.

That’s why I was pretty psyched to get Ken Gernander on the 850th puck of my collection. Granted, Gernander, or "G" as he is called, is not a household name. But, to hockey fans, Gernander is a great story.

A fifth-round (96th overall) draft pick of the Winnipeg Jets in 1987, Gernander played only 27 games, including playoffs, in the National Hockey League. The right winger did, however, notch 624 points in 973 games in the American Hockey League, mostly in the New York Rangers farm system, becoming the AHL’s highest-scoring American-born player.

Gernander, the only team captain in Wolf Pack history, now serves as an assistant coach with the team.

What I like most about Gernander, though, is how he made a career out of hockey. Though it would have been easy to be disillusioned by having no more than a "cup of coffee" in the NHL, here is a guy who played hard, became a leader and, I believe, is a living tribute to perseverance.

Brrrr-aving the elements

Anyone who has ever played hockey knows that the mind is just as important as the body. You must be able to think positively, visualize scenarios and, more importantly, block out pain.
Hounding, I’m beginning to believe, is no different.

Standing for hours in all forms of inclement weather, dealing with hotel security guards unable to pass a police department’s psychological profile and getting the increasingly all-too-often egomaniacs to share 10 seconds of their precious time requires a certain mental toughness.

This past Saturday night in Portland, Maine, when the Hartford Wolf Pack played the Pirates, provides a good example. It wasn’t so much having to deal with the delightful, but dippy, beer-soaked Hockey Annies to my left, or the gargantuan, hockey-loving-but-face-stuffing Trekkies to my right. Even the overzealous, seat-stealing, cliché-driven, trenchcoat-wearing daddy didn’t bother me.

No, it was the fact that the crystal-clear night sky and the crisp northern wind reminded me that winter, and all of the booger-freezing wonder that goes with it, is right around the corner. Maybe it’s just that I’m another year older and that ecological changes apparently enhance the piercing effects of sub-freezing temperatures. But, boy, was it ever cold.

I’ll tell you something, though. This was the earliest I’ve ever had to employ the mind games I use (visualization of tropical climates, fireplaces and a certain Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue from the late 1970s) to help keep my nose and toes warm.

With any luck, my hounding efforts will soon shift way south of the Mason-Dixon Line, to a place where a long-sleeve T-shirt and cargo shorts will suffice in a year’s earliest months. Until then, it’s long johns and woolies for me.

Pucks, among the 16 gained during the shivering night, shown above:

Top row:
Hartford Whalers: Ulf Samuelsson
New Jersey Devils: Jim Schoenfeld
Washington Capitals: Jim Schoenfeld

Bottom row:
New York Rangers: Al Montoya
Hartford Wolf Pack: Al Montoya
University of Michigan: Al Montoya

Joey, Part II

It was hard not to feel a little sad after watching Joey Thornton’s introductory press conference as a member of the San Jose Sharks.

You could tell that he was still in shock, so to speak, after being traded from the Bruins. And though he said all the right things, it was his body language – the red eyes, the withdrawn look, droopy shoulders and forced smiles – that belied his true hurt feelings.

Those feelings, too, were felt throughout New England. Some people were upset. Some were livid. And some, including myself, were resigned that Joey’s departure, no matter how hard it was to fathom, may prove to be exactly what the team needed.

There was one comment that Joey made, though, that has stuck in my brain. To some degree, it has helped me get my arms around this deal. It came when he spoke about loving Boston and its fans – mainly that he grew up in Boston, coming to Beantown at the "tender" age of 18.

Looking back, we all watched Joey grow up. He arrived as a fuzz-faced kid, full of optimism and a ton of that dreaded word – potential. That potential grew into skill, as the boy became a young man. And that’s what Bruins fans must remember.

We need to think of Joey as our kid brother, our favorite nephew or grandson or the goofy kid who lived across the street. We’ve watched him grow up, but now it’s time for him to move on. Sure, we’ll see him from time to time, though not as often as we’d like, or in our favorite colors – Black and Gold.

In the meantime, it’s OK to think about him, wish him well, keep him in our prayers and, even, cheer for him and the Sharks (Think Ray Bourque and the Avs in 2001). Above all, Joey’s a part of Boston. And Boston will always be a part of Joey.