TAMPA – Game 7.
It’s the game dreams are born from.
It’s the vision formed in a dimly lit backyard rink by two siblings skating around on a patchwork sheet of ice. One suited up in goal, baseball glove on hand, staring down the other who comes in, puck on the blade of a weather-worn stick.
One final shot, one last chance to strike before it’s time to head back in through the basement for the night.
But not before the self-made announcement “He skates in alone, Game 7 on the line . . . He shoots . . . . . HE SCOOOOOOOORES’’ as the puck tickles the twine at the back of the net.
It’s never Game ...
Thank you for your interest in our content. Please either login below or purchase asubscriptionto read the full article.