In the Bin [antikvár]

Without a doubt, I've not only played in more Stanley Cup finals than anyone on earth, but I've scored the v^inning goal in most of the games, usually in overtime off a feed from my older brother, Roger. Never heard of us? That's probably because these finals were played in our backyard rink on Jefferson Avenue in St. Paul. Not quite the same as the ice on St. Catherine Street in Montreal or on Madison Street in the Windy City, but when you're ten years old, the differences aren't all that important. What is important is that you're playing the greatest game on earth, dreaming about scoring the big goal at crunch time, and hoping someday to make it all the way to the National Hockey League.By the time I was in high school, 1 had been fortunate enough to play on a national championship junior team and to have competed in international tournaments, experiences which drove home the point that unless there should suddenly be a big demand for small players with marginal, nay, questionable, skills, my dream of playing at that level could more appropriately be classified as an hallucination. Well, at the tender age of 50, I finally did make it to the NHL, although not quite the way I had hoped I would.Hired in 1993 as an off-ice official by the National Hockey League, I have been assigned continuously to the Arrowhead Pond, home of the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim, with occasional travels to other arenas during the playoffs. During this time, I have worked both the home and visitor penalty boxes, run the scoreboard clock, kept the game stats, sat as a goal judge, and even spent one game in the video goal booth. This book is a compilation of those experiences and up-close observations of what really is the "coolest game on earth." I hope that when the last page is turned, the