Here's what I love about hockey players--they understand that the name on the front of the jersey always means a helluva lot more than the one on the back. It doesn't matter if you're going into the corners against your own mother. If she's wearing a different sweater than you, then you owe it to your team to bury her. Plain and simple. You put her through the boards and you don't look back. Sure, the drive home from the rink might be a little awkward but until you hear those 60 minutes are over, she's the enemy.
You gotta love the motor on this beast. He plays every shift as if it's going to be his last. Bundles the whole family, goes top corn on the finish and then a quick trip to the AT&T store for a celly. You play to win the game, and this beauty ain't never lost.
Sidenote: Sundin was an absolute horse.