My son will come down and start chirping me. “Hey Dad, Kunitz was wide open! How come you didn’t pass it to him? Come on!”
And I’d be thinking, I didn’t see him because there was a 230-pound defenseman trying to take my head off, you little rat. But instead I’d just smile and patiently explain to him that the passing lane was closed from my perspective so I had to chip the puck in deep to start the cycle — all while frying up some eggs and toasting his bread just the way he likes it. God love him. I swear, between him and Sid, it’s neverending. I’ll be sitting on the bench after a shift and Sid will turn to me and say, “Hey, remember what happened down in their zone last period when you did this, this and this?”
And I’ll be sitting there like, “Uh … no?”
My game will always be a simple one.