HULL OF FAME

I first crossed paths with Brett Hull when we were teenagers playing in the BCJHL, Brett for Penticton, me for Cowichan. He was a doughy winger with a wicked shot, a bazzilion goals, and a bad-ass last name. I was - me.

He lit me up that night, no shock there, but it wouldn't be the last time.

Years later, in the season finale between Moncton (Calgary's farm team) and Halifax (Edmonton's), we clashed again. Brett entered the game with 47 goals and I was hell bent on not surrendering his 50th. I had held him to just a pair and we were down by a couple as the game's final minute neared. I was quite proud of my "accomplishment". With only a half minute to play I could see our coach motioning for me to come to the bench for the extra attacker. I was stunned and strongly considered ignoring him. Instead, like a good little prospect I followed orders and wouldn't you know it, just as I arrived at the bench ole Brett just happened to get the puck, pop it into the empty net, hat trick, 50.

Unbelievable.

Sure I didn't allow the 50th, but still - I could have strangled that brainfart of a bench boss as we watched Hull accept a swarm of congratulations with that trademark dimpled grin beaming from ear to ear. (Wanted to strangle him too)

Anyway this Brett Hull guy went on to some notoriety - scored a bushel of NHL goals - chipped home one of the most infamous goals in Stanley Cup history - won a couple Cups - and generally epitomized what a Hall of Fame career should look like.

Good on ya Brett, you deserve this Hockey Hall of Fame honor in spades - but you'll always be that chubby cherry - picker in those unflattering Koho "Cooperall" pants circa 1982 to me. Ya bugger.