AMHL Thursday: Going Green

Image courtesy of Fernando at Flickr.com

Thursday, May 1st, 2008

The AMHL Photographer and I share a small SUV. It’s the least we can do to make our planet greener. She drives us to Concord Valley Sports while I contemplate—between conversations—my first round play-off game against the Bruins.

Avalanche teammates, greenhorns Scott Kessler (2g, 1a) and Tom Hargrave (3g, 1a) (Hey rooks, update your profile pages) lead us to the Koffey Cup Finals. A 9–3 victory over the Bruins pits us against next week’s opponent, the Capitals. The Caps have defeated Chris Howell’s Panthers, 5–1.

Howell is my chauffeur this week, but he’s over the loss. Still in the parking lot, Howell tells me it’s Kermit the Frog month.

What?

He reminds me of the calendar my wife designed, produced, and then gave to a select few kindred spirits like me and the AMHL’s original director or donut procurement. May’s picture, which I’ll see again when I get to work, is of a svelte felt bendable amphibian: Kermit is chumming up to a Dunkin’ Donuts Blueberry, his right elbow resting upon the glazed prize (Mike Schneider’s favorite).

Howell says he is afraid to ask why I own a Kermit doll.

Kermie and I are tight, so I sing in a voice that my family has told me sounds exactly like my favorite Muppet. “Piggy, Piggy, Piggy, can’t you see? “Can’t you see the way you hypnotize me?”
Chris is alarmed but still laughs as he exits the parking lot. National Public Radio’s broadcast—Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton are ready to drop the gloves—prompts a change of topic.

Howell and I talk politics. Gas prices and energy conservation efforts: Is going green as simple as supply and demand? We engage in a lively discussion and by drive’s end, we’re ready to tackle, together, our nation’s problems.

“Do you want president or vice president?” I ask him as I exit his pick-up truck.

Chris doesn’t want to work, so he’d take the vice-presidency.

Uh-oh! If there’s a crisis on a Thursday morning, say between 6:00 and 8:30 a.m., I’ll be too busy with hockey. Kermit the Frog may as well be your president.

Short Shifts: Here's to U

Driving home from another trip to CanadAmerica, I hear on WBZ radio that Boston College beat Notre Dame, 4–1 to win the 2008 NCAA Division I Championship. Gerbe and the gang weren’t the only Eagles on ice this week. So in honor of BC (and a few other Boston-based schools, and one in upstate New York), here’s to U.

Tuesday morning, BC alumni Kate Mikkelson, Erin Tullock, and Mike Chase (posing here as a lumberjack) wore not maroon and gold but blue and white—for the AMHL Blues. The trio defeated Mike Evans (another BC alumnus among us) and the Leafs 6–1.

Wednesday, the Sharks’ Andy Hayes and the Sabres’ Jonathon Corke (teammates at Clark University), played against each other. Corke’s teammate, Stephen “Whoa Nellie” Antonelli (alma mater unknown, but you can ask him; he loves fan mail) scored the game-winner. “It was an ugly backhander,” Antonelli would say after the game, “that scooted inside the pipe.”

Thursday, MIT’s Chad Mikkelson scored two goals for the Avalanche. Tied at two in OT with the Caps, fellow Av Tom “Last Train to Clarkson” Hargrave—slapped a shot toward the Capitals’ goal. An Av tipped the puck over the goal line—just after the buzzer (or so said referee and BC alumnus Peter Bagley).

Special Report: Energy on Ice

December 2, 2007

Raymond Bourque, Valeri Kamensky, and Igor Larionov: these names are engraved on the Stanley Cup that greets hockey fans here at The Edge Sports Center in Bedford, Massachusetts.

The talented triumvirate and a host of other prominent players are here tonight at the brand new arena to raise awareness for Hockey Fights Cancer, USA Hockey, Toys for Tots, and Colonel Daniel Marr Boys & Girls Foundation. The contingent of North American and Russian players is here to foster friendship and bolster business relationships, too. And they’re here because they still love to play hard; they still crave competition, especially when a Cup is on the line. Not that cherished chalice in the lobby but rather the AspenTech Cup.

Never heard of it? A little background while the standing-room-only crowd watches the Zamboni work its magic and the players put on their game faces.

Bourque will wear green and gold for Aspen Technology, a company that helps process manufacturers transform the way they design and run their operations. His teammates include former Bruins Don Sweeney, Ted Crowley and Marty McInnis; joining them are Bob Sweeney and Scott Young, who both once called Valley Sports Arena in nearby Concord their home ice. Also eager to play for the AspenTech All-Stars are Harvard’s Hobey Baker winners: Lane MacDonald and the Fusco brothers, Mark (now CEO at Aspen Technology) and Scott (now General Manager of The Edge Sports Arena) are hoping to do Harvard—and North America—proud.

Kamensky will sport a blue sweater with and edgy design for Gazprom Export, the world’s leading exporter of natural gas. His comrades include Sergei Starikov, Ravil Yakubov, and Maxim Mikhaylovskiy. All played in the NHL and/or in the minors as well as in their native Russia. Add to mix former Spartak players, such as head coach and defenseman Sergey Makarov and right wing Evgeny Chizhmin, who averaged just shy of a point per game last season with Team Gazprom.

And Larionov?

Team AspenTech acquired his rights when the stalwart center, born forty-seven years ago tomorrow, decided to work for Aspen Technology.

How does it feel to play for the Green and Gold?

“Feels good, actually,” Larionov says, smiling as he exits the locker room for the pre-game skate.

“At least give us someone who can pass,” jokes a new teammate.

Larionov, who won three Stanley Cups with the Detroit Red Wings and posted 475 career assists, is an adroit passer. But he’s not amused as the first period closes. The scoreboard shows :46.7 when Kamensky scores on former Rensselear Polytechnic Institute goalie Bobby Farrelly. (Yep, flick fans, the director of Dumb and Dumber, Fever Pitch, and The Heartbreak Kid is no ringer, but he’s no slouch either.) Kamensky’s wrist shot from the far circle is the only one to beat Number 00, and it prompts the sound system’s operator to play the Baha Men’s “Who Let the Dogs Out.”

Farrelly’s counterpart, Mikhaylovskiy, meanwhile, has closed the door on would-be scorers.

Referee Paul Stewart assesses the first period, “You can see the level of play, even with some rust. It’s important for kids to see how good these guys are…the prime thing is that they can all skate, shoot quick…the puck never gets tired.”

When Chizhmin scores on a two-on-one two minutes into the second period, Gazprom lengthens the lead to 2–0.

More music, this time a classical piece by John Williams.

“Hey, Star Wars!” a kid recognizes the score from a movie first released three decades ago.

AspenTech continues to battle, scoring at 6:59 to cut the deficit, but Igor Romashin counters for Gazprom. Bobby Carpenter scores on a wrist shot from the point but then Chizhimin scores on a penalty shot with less than two minutes remaining in the second period to stake Gazprom to a 4–2 lead.

“(Those) boys can move,” comments one fan to another between periods.

The third period provides the crowd more fervent action. Gazprom’s empty-net goal secures a 5–3 victory but also may bolster the AspenTech All-Stars’ commitment to practice more often; chances are they’ll face Team Gazprom here again next year.

“We hope that this will be an annual event,” Scott Fusco comments via e-mail. He adds, “I think Gazprom won because they play together three times per week and have an extensive game schedule together whereas we play probably once per week in separate pickup situations. This makes it tough to finish as we should.”

Even so, you can bet your last dollar (or ruble) on this: The next time they play, Bourque, Kamensky, Larionov, and company will provide fans lots of energy on ice.

CAN/AM Hockey, Part III: Happiness Is…

Charles M. Schultz loved hockey as much as he did Snoopy, so much that the prolific Peanuts’ creator named a senior hockey tournament after the beloved beagle; I love that dog—name someone who doesn’t—almost as much as hockey, so this piece, the third of three, is dedicated to happiness and warm puppies.

It’s Sunday morning. While many are dressed in their Sunday best and at church, I’m decked out in a red, white and blue jersey at the shrine called Herb Brooks Arena, so named in 2005 for the mastermind behind the Miracle on Ice. Number 32 on the back of my jersey and the CAN/AM logo on the front, I practice passing and stickhandling with fellow camper Michael Vacanti, who’s sporting a dark blue CAN/AM jersey. We try to master the flip pass Coach “Brody” Broderick, taught us a minute ago. Cradling the puck on our sticks and flinging the ebonite “Frisbee” toward each other less than hour before our grand finale game—before Michael returns to Buffalo, NY and I to Maynard, MA—hoping to repeat the intermittent successes we’ve enjoyed these past few days when it counts.

The hour-long practice session complete, players gather on their benches and wait to be introduced. When my name is announce, I hop, helmet-less, onto the glistening and beckoning glazed surface. My fan club cheers and applauds as I stride along the blue line connecting the bench and far boards. About to join my teammates, I perform my best hockey stop.

Happiness is …not falling down in front of a crowd.

One by one, my teammates are introduced, and then it’s Vacanti and Team Blue’s turn. Lining our respective blue lines, we turn to face the immense drooping flags—American on the left, Canadian on the right—gracing the arena where the Miracle on Ice unfolded more than twenty seven years ago. How lucky I am to be here, I think, knowing my father and my wife are watching me from the stands to my far left.

Happiness is… the horripilation—goose pimples of pride—upon listening to the Star Spangled Banner and then O Canada!

Game on. Team White skating left to right across your imagination against Team Blue. I’m the fifth defenseman behind “Cement Block” Bob McCall, Peter Cooper, Marc “PQ” (Province of Quebec) Perras and Scott “Doc” Hanan. Seated to the far left, I watch Jan “the Man” Slow score to give us an early lead.

Still in the first, I’ve played a shift or two and have been making good decisions and good passes. I skate toward a loose puck near my own blue line—perhaps fifteen feet away from the spot where Mike Eruzione scored his game-winner against the Russians—thinking I’ll try what Brody terms an “escape” move: two quick sharp turns to deke an opponent. In practice, Brody demonstrated the moves flawlessly. I tried to do the same. Brody critiqued my form. At first, my feet were too close together. After practicing again, Coach Uens said they were too far apart. Now was the time to get it right. My back to my pursuer, I control the puck. Instead of playing it safe and blindly banging puck off the boards, I dig my blades into the ice to turn, but I fake only myself. As I auger toward the ice, I wave my stick to bat the puck from harm’s way. I miss. By the time I prop myself up, Team Blue has tied the game.

But back on the bench, I don’t fume at myself. Brody suggested early on in camp that if we weren’t falling down, we weren’t learning. And, last night on Hockey Night in Canada, I watched an unattended Montreal Canadian flop to the ice when he tried to corral a puck.

After one period, the score is still 1–1. But Team Blue has lost two players: one who needs stitches and another whose hamstring is hampering him so much he can’t walk—much less skate—without doubling over in pain. While the trainer attends to the first, the second stays on the bench to open the door for players exiting and entering the ice.

I switch benches and jerseys. I’m paired with a Canadian Peach, Chris Isaacson. On Right D, I’m skating well, making good decisions, and improving without falling down. Chris watches from Left D as I skate forward toward my blue line and an opponent approaching. With my head up, I flip a perfect saucer pass—a tight spin with no wobble—over my opponent’s stick blade an onto a teammate’s as he breaks out of our zone.

Happiness is…when practice has made perfect.

I’m on the ice later that period when Robert Koppel, who’s from New Jersey but whose name I’ve become fond of pronouncing as if he were from Nouveau Quebec (RO-bear co-PELL, sounds cool, ce n’est pas?), puts himself in perfect position—hanging around the crease—for a garbage goal off his skate blade.

Because we’ve played the first period with stop-time and have only been allotted an hour of total ice time, the second period morphs into the third, a hodgepodge format filled with five-on-five, followed by four-on-four, three-on-three, and then two-on-two helter-skelter action. Team White has tied the game as the last minutes bleed from the massive scoreboard above center ice.

At 2–2 and time running out, dog-tired Michael Vacanti, steps onto the ice for a one-on-one against a weary Andrew Arena (his real name). Andrew, skating left to right, zigzags with the puck as Michael retreats. Arena makes some sweet moves but can’t progress into what our CAN/AM coaches have dubbed PSA: Prime Scoring Area—the patch of ice in front of the goal that Jimmy Craig defended in the final frame that famous February. The play goes back the other way. Vacanti has the puck now, deep into White territory. Along the back boards to the goalie’s left, Vacanti and Arena battle for the black treasure. They fall to the ice but continue the fight.

“Is the Miracle on Ice or the Ice Follies?” I joke to Keith Pelletier, whose hamstring has reduced his role from goal scorer to gatekeeper.

Meanwhile, Vacanti and Arena rise. Vacanti gains possession, steps past the weary Arena and over the goal line to the goalie’s right. Vacanti shoots…and the puck finds its way past the magic line separating victory and defeat!

Happiness is…watching my teammate collapse from relief, joy, and exhaustion as our teammates whoop and holler and rush to congratulate the kid who wears a Snoopy T-shirt beneath his CAN/AM jersey.

Update
10/31/07

The reference to the Canadian Peaches was erroneous. Sorry for that. Although one player wore a shirt advertising a collection of Canadians in Atlanta, none of the three campers from Georgia is Canadian (but one's wife is). See comments below for details.

CAN/AM Hockey, Part II: Highs and Lows

Missed Part I? Click here.

Standing with the AMHL Photographer near the top of the Olympic Jumping Complex, the wind howling through the Champlain Valley, I’m—as the Carpenters’ song goes—on “Top of the World.” To our right, the bobsled track winds down Mt. Van Hoevenberg. To the left, Whiteface Mountain is shrouded in a benevolent cloud. Further left, the Saturday sunlight flashes off the Olympic Center’s white roof. And all around Lake Placid, foliage—patches of bright oranges and vibrant reds—flares

About an hour, I’ll listen to the big-time guest speaker the CAN/AM crowd has landed. Life is good, especially since I made the decision to skate with the nagging lower ankle sprain.

“Pain is temporary. Pride is forever. Never give up.” My wife pointed to these words gracing the colored paper signs greeting me at orientation on Thursday afternoon. That evening, I learned I’d have a professional trainer to tape my ankle before each skating session, a spacious locker room to house fifteen skaters and three coaches—and nutritious foodstuffs (no donuts here) to feed us. How could I not skate?

In the locker room before our first session on the USA Rink (not the one where Team USA upset the mighty CCCP), Coach Tom Broderick informed Team Blue, those of us who have ample hockey experience but little talent, told us power skating would be his “own special torture” for us.

“You’re gonna fall,” the short man with the sharp wit said. Brody’s goal was to push us beyond our comfort zone and to make us laugh.

From the basic hockey position to skating forward with more personal strides, I began to grasp how Mike Moore skates so fast with what seems so little effort. (For those unfamiliar with the AMHL, Mike is the teammate I cover for when the long and lean defenseman rushes up ice with the puck).

Of course, skating isn’t all we practiced. In the four two-hour sessions from Thursday night through Saturday morning, Brody and our other coaches, Grant “Goagy” Goegan and Randy Uens covered the finer points of passing, shooting, and stickhandling as well as positioning as we drilled or scrimmaged.

Everyone improved. “Cement Block Bob,” whose pals had bestowed the nickname upon the fifty-five-year-old plodding defenseman, scored in a three-on-three-drill. Jan “the Man” Slow (no foolin’, that’s his real name) scored on a breakaway.

“It may say SLOW on your back, but them was some fast hands,” I told the mental health professional/country & western singer with the crazy hair.

I don’t have enough time or space to tell you about all the characters, but we had plenty of them: Danny (a goalie) and “Doc;” a guy who wore the Snoopy T-shirt beneath his jersey; and what I call the "Canadian Peaches"—three Canadians who live in Georgia.

Two of these Canadian clowns sprouted fake mullets before that famous guest speaker I mentioned, sitting with deadpan faces.

Barry Melrose spotted them. “I guess the rest of you guys didn’t get the memo,” he joked and then spent the next hour telling stories and answering questions.

Barry Melrose twenty feet in front of me, my dad on my left, my wife on my right: I was soaring, sharing these moments with my family and my new hockey friends.

This on-top-of–the-world feeling lasted through the afternoon session, even after botching a breakaway that could have iced a victory for us in the Saturday scrimmage, and into Sunday.

Continue to Part III.

Update
10/31/07

The reference to the Canadian Peaches was erroneous. Sorry for that. Although one player wore a shirt advertising a collection of Canadians in Atlanta, none of the three campers from Georgia is Canadian (but one's wife is). See comments below for details.

CAN/AM Hockey, Part I: Live from New York

I posted this to the AMHL Glory site by accident last night, but it was live then.

The AMHL Photographer (my wife) and Mr. Hockey (my dad) and I are here in the Royal Crowne Plaza in Lake Placid for CAN/AM camp. An hour or two from now, they’ll watch me step onto the ice at USA Rink for my first session.

A recap of today’s activities thus far:

6:00 a.m.: My dad watched me take a few tentative test laps around Rink One at Concord Valley Sports. My left ankle is not in tip-top shape—counter-clockwise crossovers are going to be a problem.

Just before breakfast at McDonalds off the Mass Pike, my wife senses my preoccupation with the problematic phalange and pulls me aside for a pep talk: Pick yourself up pal.

9:00ish: Kenny Tarr calls to say we won this morning. Good job, lads!

11:10: On Route 73 East, the Olympic ski jumps spire into the pale blue sky. My wife asks if I’d climb to the top. “I’ll pass.”

“Should I get you some stones?” she says, pointing to left at the rocks jutting from the rushing river.

11:30: Myoflex. Heavy application at the urging of my father-turned-trainer.

12:00: Lunch at MacKenzie’s Restaurant in the hotel. My dad tells the waitress I’m here for hockey camp. “He’s a slow learner.” The waitress can’t stop laughing. “I don’t know if I’ll be with the Mites or the Squirts,” I reply.

2:00: Registration. I’m on Team Blue, along with about 30 other players. I meet a fellow defenseman who didn’t start playing until he was 40. He’s from Long Island, where I was born, so I introduce him to my dad, who hasn’t lost his New York accent even though he moved from New York more than 30 years ago.

2:45: Orientation: The coaches are cut-ups but immensely qualified for this job. One lives in Cleveland, so he made a crack about tonight’s baseball game. One other camper is from Massachusetts. Most of the rest are from New York, but there are a few Canadians. Ten women. At least one married couple.

The first player to introduce himself owns a wine and spirits shop and distributed rum samples. An IT manager, an EVP for a food distribution company, and two shrinks are here to play hockey, but they didn't bring any props with them. Nor did the few doctors or the nurse that are here to skate. That's okay with me as long as they can help me with my ankle should I need it.

Part II: Highs and Lows

Beyond Borders: Welcome to CanadAmerica!

The “Canadian spy” life is fraught with challenges such as outsmarting a sunglasses-wearing, Buick Roadmaster-driving double agent in Canada. Outmaneuvering federal agents on the other side of the border—in Maine—like the driver of Dodge Caravan with U.S. Government plates, comes with the territory, too.

This inherent danger means that sometimes the reader must wait for me to outwit the authorities so that I can file my reports in a secure area. So with that, I bring you news from what I call CanadAmerica.*

CanadAmerica is that region of North America where Tim Hortons and Dunkin’ Donuts coexist within miles—or if you prefer, kilometers—of each other and where many residents unfurl flags for both great nations. My CanadAmerica is also known as the Passamaquoddy Region and encompasses the entrance to the Bay of Fundy and the Gulf of Maine and includes towns like Eastport and Lubec in Maine and St. Andrews and Blacks Harbour in Canada.

On our most recent foray into this region, my associate (the AMHL photographer) and I were tasked with documenting the state of international relations. On previous visits, nearly everyone seemed at least congenial and cooperative; nobody seemed to mind if that fuzzy realm between black and white is spelled “gray” or “grey.” My superiors weren’t so sure that all was as harmonious as it may have appeared, hence our dispatch from headquarters to investigate.

On Page 2 of the Quoddy Tides' summer publication, the newspaper had listed events to take place on both sides of 45th parallel. Announcements for national celebrations like Canada Day and Independence Day were included along with pronouncements for more local festivals like ChocolateFest in Stephenville (New Brunswick) and the Machias (Maine) Wild Blueberry Festival.

On the publication’s last page, I surveyed the map of the Passamaquoddy Bay area. I spied a triangle, located about an inch—or 2.2 centimeters if you prefer—southeast of Grand Manan: “The Grey Zone.” The newspaper, which is printed in Maine, used the Canadian spelling to denote the sea surrounding Machias Seal Island. Canada and the U.S.A claim this tiny island and its seas, a 77-square mile paradise for bird lovers and lobster fisherman, as their own. Does Grey spell trouble for international relations? I made a note to investigate the matter later.**

Safely transported to Grand Manan, the AMHL photographer and I explored the island enjoying the sights and sounds of the vibrant island: Swallow Tail Head majestically confronting the Atlantic Ocean—the lighthouse’s foghorn blaring at the crashing waves below; the marshes of Castalia splaying out to greet the beach; and the rugged cliffs at Southwest Head challenging anyone to pass that way to gain land or to set sail.

We fled the perilous precipice for the main road, noticing homesteads that greeted passersby with both the Stars and Stripes and the Maple Leaf, for the comforts of our safe house. There, our hosts were gracious and generous, welcoming us to the island and providing us with recommendations for respite from the rigors of espionage.

While many Americans (and CanAmericans, I suspect) celebrated America’s declaration of independence by oohing and aahing at the fireworks display accompanied by the Boston Pops and John Mellencamp, I sat in our Ford Escape, at what locals call “the Whistle,” a point along Whistle Road on the island’s Northeast coast where one can best observe sunsets and perhaps glimpse pyrotechnic celebrations over Eastport—some eight miles west. A thick band of grey clouds obscured the stateside coast, nixing that hope, however.

Disappointed, we returned to our sanctuary. There I sat in a rocking chair outside our room covered in a quilt and reading a book from the safe house’s library. I had selected a collection of short stories and especially enjoyed James Thurber’s The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, which I hadn’t read since high school—long before my career as a “Canadian spy” commenced.

The two-day/two-night stint on Grand Manan proved productive in learning more about CanadAmerica and its inhabitants’ hospitality (someday, I’ll write a piece about the gentlest of gentleman, a man named Jan) but yielded little about budding hostilities in the “Grey Zone.”

“Isn’t that funny,” one islander said, after I pointed out that this disputed area might be spelled “Gray Zone.”

So I conclude that although CanadAmerica may not be Utopia, it may be the ideal semi-retirement spot for a “Canadian spy” and his wife.

* CanadAmerica has no affiliation with the technology consulting firm of the same name, or with any nonsensical references to merging the governments of two great nations.


**Further investigation reveals that tensions are rising, but that information is classified as TOP SECRET unless you have Internet access—in which case you can visit these sites:

http://www.cbc.ca/cp/national/070630/n063055A.html
http://www.sunjournal.com/story/218810-3/Business/Canada_flexes_muscle_at_sea/

USAHockey.com Special: The Road to Riga

The following story was published at USAHockey.com in 2006 and had been archived until the site was redesigned mid-2007. It can no longer be found at USA.Hockey.com

By Jim Dwyer
Jan. 23, 2006
Special to USAHockey.com

The road to Riga is rough, but if you're a backup amputee goalie who might enjoy some fun in Latvia's capital city, the American Amputee Hockey Association (AAHA) may have a spot for you at next year's International Standing Ice Hockey Federation (ISIHF) Championships.

Unless you are, or know, a hockey player born without an arm or a leg—or who lost a limb in an accident—you probably haven't heard of the AAHA's upcoming international competition or the organization's quest to participate in an official Paralympic sport.

International competitions are ambitious milestones on the AAHA road map, but if you believe life is more about the journey than the destination, here's a glimpse of the path one amputee has traveled.

Twenty-five years ago, Dave Chandonnet was driving along Boston's Route 128. Chandonnet kept pace with Pintos, El Caminos, and Gremlins along the popular inner beltway, but stopped to assist a driver who had pulled to the shoulder. A careless motorist then slammed into Chandonnet, severing his leg.

"After I lost my leg," Chandonnet recalled, "I made up my mind I was going to do everything I did before."

He did just that, learning to ski on one leg, play basketball in a wheelchair and skate with a prosthetic leg.

As a result, Chandonnet and the AAHA, which was founded in June 2000, were made for each other.

The AAHA—the brainchild of Tufts School of Medicine's Mark Pitkin, New England Sinai Hospital and Rehabilitation Center's Dr. David Crandall and Dr. David Bennett—began as a vehicle to promote the proliferation of amputee hockey and to recruit a United States team to play hockey in the Paralympics.

In January 2001, Chandonnet played in AAHA's first game, against a Canadian squad. The Americans lost, which just gave the amputees another reason to keep coming back to the rink.

Two years into his AAHA career, Chandonnet realized the amputee game belonged to faster, stronger and younger men and women, so he focused his efforts on helping that crowd. As a result, he switched roles from player to team manager.

In 2004, Team USA's roster boasted Paul Martin, a fierce competitor of whom Chandonnet said, "When he's on the ice, he's 'Mr. Hustle.'" Another acclaimed amputee athlete and tough competitor on that team was goalie Mike Ginal, a 2000 Harvard graduate who became the first amputee to play in a Division I college hockey game.

Chandonnet was hopeful these two players could help the Stars and Stripes defeat Canada in an international competition, a feat the team did accomplish earlier this year when Team USA beat Team Canada in the Alberta Centennial tournament.

Recently, the AAHA held an open selection camp in Hartford, Conn., where, among the 40-plus players attending camp, were 35 with whom Chandonnet was familiar -- including former second-string goalie Mike Ignatowsky -- and five newcomers.

Chandonnet says the group that assembled in Hartford was talented, and added, "You'd want to see [that there were] artificial limbs to believe me." Players can skate backward, cross over and fire shots that surprise able-bodied opponents.

Chandonnet and his coaches will tell you the most difficult part of their job is the selection process.

"It's always tough—take any sport—to cut people. You don't want to squelch their enthusiasm," said Chandonnet.

Coaches encouraged those who didn’t make the cut to return to their teams and to try out for the 2007 team.

Those who made the squad also returned to their hometown teams, but will reconvene in Minnesota in March to train for May's ISIHF Championship in Riga. There, they'll face off against teams from Latvia, Finland, Russia, the Czech Republic, and, of course, Canada.

If Team USA comes home with the gold medal, the AAHA will reach yet another milestone.

International victory is a lofty and admirable goal, but too much focus on results may cloud the benefits the trip itself provides: camaraderie, competition, and self-discovery. The joy of hockey still remains in the journey.