But there was a rub.

Hockey.

You see, hockey kinda takes forever to cover because the reporters either come back late from the games or modem their story in from faraway locales. So I would have to wait until late into the evening before I even had something to put into the paper.

Sometimes, things can get really exciting, like last spring, when the men's hockey team played in the ECAC final at Lake Placid, N.Y., while the women's basketball team took on Vanderbilt--in Nashville.

There was a little voice in my head.

"AT&T, how may I help you?"

Friday nights always seemed to always have some such impending disaster, but somehow things got done.

Fridays also always seemed to be the skeleton crew; unlike the other nights at the paper, the building was often a ghost town on Fridays.

But there were a lonely few that persevered, that resisted the temptation to party on Friday night so that there would be a Saturday paper.

And they came to be known as the Dream Team.

No, we couldn't hit 30-foot jumpers or whale on seven-foot Angolans in the lane, but nobody could put out a Saturday paper like we did.

I'm going to miss all of those Friday nights. A lot of people used to ask me wouldn't I rather spend Friday night out. I used to think that the answer was yes.

But as much as I'm sure I hated giving up those Friday nights at the time, now I know I wouldn't have traded them for anything.

************

Last night was the last time I'll edit a Friday night page. Sure, I may edit a few more pages on other nights, but they won't be the same.

I feel like it was just yesterday that PRS was yelling at me to finish the page before sunrise.

Actually, it probably was just yesterday.

To the 124th: Good luck!--you'll do a great job.

As for me, I'm outta here.

I had a ball.