"I want to write hockey."

I missed the introductory meeting for comping Crimson Sports way back in my freshman fall. Gathering all my courage as a timid first year, I walked into the sports office and asked the editor laying out the section the requirements.

I knew nothing of college hockey. I had a vague idea that Harvard was supposed to be good. My whole life had been spent arguing the pro game in my North Jersey home. I have three older brothers, and the oldest is a Devils fan like me. The younger two are Philadelphia Flyers fans, and my father supports the evil New York Rangers.

Our household traded names like Ron Hextall, Kirk Muller, and John Ogrodnick. Nobody ever marveled at Lane MacDonald '89 or the Fusco brothers. I had heard of Hobey Baker only because former Devil Tom Kurvers won the award.

Ed Krayer '92's overtime goal to win the national championship? By 1989, I was still on a glow from John MacLean's overtime goal in 1988 to catapult the Devils to the playoffs for the first time in their history. New Jersey made it all the way to Game 7 of the Wales Conference finals that year before bowing out to Ray Bourque's Bruins.

I never played the game. My brothers did. They all picked up the sport in high school, and the school I attended did not have a team. The best I managed was strapping on some makeshift pads to rob my friends in the driveway. Hockey, however, remained important because it was about family.

Watching a game with my brothers or my dad was one of those rare rituals that consistently brought us together and fostered a greater appreciation for the sport on the ice. From the basement couch, I learned about everything from defensive positioning to the relative merits of the Jofa versus CCM helmets. I remember nearly being in tears when Stephane Matteau scored that goal in 1994 to send the Rangers to the finals over my Devils. I also remember the satisfaction I would receive a year later, standing in the rafters of the Meadowlands with my oldest brother Tony as Scott Stevens hoisted the Stanley Cup over his head.

And so when Becky Blaeser '98, night editor on that fateful day back in September of 1997, asked me what sport I was most interested in writing, the answer was intuitive. Her eyes lit up. It turned out she was the Sports Editor, and the staff's lone hockey writer. I knew then that I would be able to write as much hockey as my talent and dedication permitted