And We Return to the Table

Old friends and new, let's gather again to remember the springs of our youth, the dreams of our fathers and the hopes of our friends, who all would and still gather to watch, worry and cry as our teams try to bring home the Stanley Cup.

It's time to drop the puck, get in the mix and feel what it is like to be alive, 20 seconds a shift. Pure fury, rest, then more bursts of sweat,confusion and rage, all in the hopes that my team, not yours, puts 16 wins together before any other in the tournament. Players will describe it as a grind, a march, a marathon or a war. It's personal, a job they must do. That's the takeaway. Whatever you have to fight your way through to get a little peace, what Imagine Dragons sings in "It's Time" as building from the bottom of the pit to the top, surviving the path that heaven runs through miles of clouded hell. That is the desire. That is the Cup.

I think of my father returning from the slaughterhouse, a nick here and a gash there, his boots a deeper shade of blood splatter, his eyes damp and sore from the daily kill. For him, the battle to provide for his family was won. He was all smiles. And if there happened to be a big game on the TV that night, there had better be a steak on the table to celebrate our good fortune.

My love of sports, and my passion for hockey, come from my father. Thanks to him, there is one game that matters to me more than all others. And for visitors to the Lounge for the rest of the spring, we will celebrate that spirit and the Stanley Cup playoffs. Rest assured that there is a place setting and a spot at the table for you. Come on in. It's steak night.