My Hockey Exposure as a Kid.

I have been a hockey fan for a lot of years. Just turning 34, I feel that it would be a disservice to say I have been a fan since birth, as my comprehension of the game didn't take shape until I was at least close to 10 years old.

It starts in a blue collar family household, where the parents struggle to get by, but are willing and able to make the sacrifices to give their children the things to make life comfortable. As a kid, I remember watching the Buffalo Sabres games on local television, and wanting so badly to play the sport.

I would play in the street outside my home on Heward St in Buffalo, NY, which by all sorts of awesome, was on a dead end street. I played with a bunch of fellow neighborhood riff raff. No families on this street had any real money per sea, so equipment was at a premium to be able to play.

My hockey stick was a wooden shaft, with a plastic blade purchased at Gold Circle and screwed into the shaft to play with. It would wear over time mind you, and you would put a curve on that thing that wouldn't be legal even in most beer leagues.

Our hockey net was so worn down, that you needed rope, twist ties, plastic, duct tape, and anything else we could find to keep it together. It was also important to make sure you had the net sealed up, so there was no dispute if the puck when into the net.

We had community goalie equipment, which we all fought over to play with. Goalie was the popular position back then, and everyone wanted to be the 'official goalie', and then the rest of us would play with a take out line. The pads were so worn, that the foam on the back of the Mylec pads was breaking off in chunks, causing us to reach for dad's duct tape more often then not. One person had the pads, one person had the glove and blocker, someone had the stick, and we had a couple of masks. We could not play with a goalie unless everyone was in town, or someone trusted someone else to hold onto the other items. And chest protectors? We didn't need them. Mine was an old Starter jacket my mom found at the Niagara Outlets at the Starter Store, on sale.

My mask was one with some character, as it was the mask my father wore for Halloween nights to frighten the neighborhood children. It has knife holes in it, fake blood in some spots, and really was not made for use in such an atmosphere other then the soft warm weather ball we used in the street.

We always wanted to BE the NHL. BE the Sabres. BE that hero in game 7. It was always Hasek, Barasso or Belfour in net, with Lemieux, Jagr, Gretzky, Mogilny or Lafontaine out playing. We had our own verbal Rick Jeanneret calls we would yell out with any goal or save. It was fun.

As I grew up and entered my teen years, my parents were fortunate to be able to award my sister and I with televisions to watch in our rooms. The televisions were not flat screens, or plasma, or LCD Hi Def. These TVs were hand me downs, with squiggly lines and big antennas. This was a reward for good work in school, and at this time I discovered CBC's Hockey Night in Canada.

Saturday nights were the best. I would do my chores, eat dinner, and if we were out doing a family function, would beg to get home in time for the start of the Hockey Night in Canada double header. It was always Canadian teams, but who cares? It was hockey. Good Hockey. Don MacLean and Don Cherry taught me a lot about the game of hockey. They taught me the rules, the codes, and the superstitions. The most important superstition that I learned from them, was not touching the Stanley Cup unless you win it.

I know, I know. Adam would never have a chance to win the cup, so why does it matter? I watched my entire teenage years, and 14 years into my adult life, grown men and some young boys beat themselves up for the right to push that superstition aside and kiss the cup. As a fan, there is nothing that I respect more in team sports.

I have been to the Hockey Hall of Fame only once, and the Stanley Cup was not there. It was a relief in a way to me, as I did not have to wrestle with the choice of wrapping my arms around it, or grabbing it. Some of you who will read this will think I am crazy, but that doesn't concern me. Putting into perspective for the average fan, take the most impressive, amazing, and recognized achievement you have ever received. Now, let's say I come along and want to take that, rub my hands on it, and take it for a ride in my 4 door sedan. That would make me feel a little uncomfortable.

Now, this is multiplied by 40 plus years as a Sabres fan. I feel that as a Sabres fan, I shouldn't be touching the Cup. The cup is the closest to the Holy Grail that anyone will come to touching. I know some religious nuts would cut me down for this, but it's true. I feel that until the Sabres win that Cup, the Holy Grail to me is nothing more then another bowl sitting on that three tiered shelf in the scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Once the Sabres become Stanley Cup Champs, I can grab that cup and take my picture with it, even wrapping my hands around it in joyous celebration.

To this day, there is no picture of me with the Stanley Cup, and I will still be a tad uncomfortable if the day comes again when I have the opportunity to have it taken. As an average fan, this is what the Cup means to me.