Stantastic Voyage

I feel the need to clear up a nasty rumor that could cause serious harm to my reputation in today’s toe-the-line politically-correct universe. Recently I was accused of having an obsession with big breasts. Allegedly, according to the anonymous source, I was overheard going on about “D Cups.”

For the record, what I was really saying was “The Cup.” As in the one-and-only Stanley Cup, the oldest and most recognized trophy in professional sport. Lord Stanley’s Mug, as it is often affectionately referred to, was donated in 1892 by Sir Frederick Arthur Stanley, Lord Stanley of Preston, who was Canada’s Governor General at the time. Actually, it was Lord Stanley’s kids, who had been turned on to hockey by their Canuck friends, who pestered their dad into commissioning the prize. Originally presented to “the championship hockey club of the Dominion of Canada,” since 1926, it’s been the prize trophy of the National Hockey League.

Since my firm starting doing work for the Hockey Hall of Fame in 1992, the Stanley Cup and I have, well, I like to think grown close. Oh, sure, you may see photos in the paper (never mind the hundreds I’ve posted to the Hockey Hall of Fame website) of sweaty, buff young guys planting their kissers all over Stan, but I know they’re just passing affairs, albeit passionate ones.

And although I’m not family, and not one of his official white-glove-wearing keepers, nevertheless Stan and I have something special — a deep-seated, long-term bond that comes from working closely together for almost 20 years. Hell, I even know how to tell Stan apart from his stand-in doppelganger.

To quote the other Gump (the one who never drank from the Stanley Cup): “And that’s all I have to say about that.”