This was a story that I hadn't thought much about these past few days and weeks.  I've got mixed emotions about AO (both non-hockey related, and his position in NHL history if/when he passes Gretz). 

Then my father unexpectedly passed yesterday at age 84.  Now I'm a bit more sympathetic.

Some personal BS that nobody needs to hear, but I feel like typing to follow.

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Mom and dad separated when I was in third grade.  It was northern Michigan and in the early 80s fathers weren't going to ever be given custody, even if the reason for separation was that the mother wanted to live the early adulthood she never had.  By the time sixth grade rolled around, Dad kidnapped me and it went uncontested.  He and I grew up together in our two-man bachelor pad for about four years before he remarried.  

Thursdays were "stag night" which was golf until the sun went down, then the poker game was on the big butcherblock maple table in our living room.  (Now I've got a basement with three full sized poker tables and my wife and I host about 30 people for cards about once a month.)  Wednesday was league night at the bowling alley the next town over (this one was year around).  That meant I didn't have to go to bed until around 9:55pm as I knew he'd be coming in the door at 10pm.  I could generally catch the end of the Wings game on Wednesday nights.  (Tuesdays were the Science Page in the Free Press, and he always made sure to pull that one out and set it aside for me.  I'm now employed in aerospace, mechanically simulating rocket launches for satellites and satellite components.)  

As I got older, we'd talk about the Wings game after he got back from bowling.

Dad and his brother would take the streetcar from Lincoln Park down to the Olympia where they knew an usher who'd leave a door open for them (even at ages 8 & 12).  They grew up playing baseball, but both lived for the Wings.  I grew up with a healthy love of hockey.  In many ways hockey was the glue behind so many of my Pops and my conversations, from age 8 until age 49.  I went to school at Michigan Tech.  Dad wore a Tech sweatshirt to a game he and a bother of mine attended in San Jose (and yeah, he bumped into an alum and was able to talk MTU hockey with them during an intermission). 

He soured on Blash way before I did.  He liked Babcock's old school attitudes.  He was a fan of where Lalonde is taking things.  I couldn't tell you his favorite players, but man did he ever have opinions about coaches.  (He respected Scotty, but was constantly mystified by so many things he did.  Just like the rest of us I suppose.)

There's no one in my life I'll talk hockey with ever like my Pops.  When they'd January through April in Florida these past few years, he'd pay attention to Tampa and the Panthers, but he'd always be asking about the Wings games.  I'm going to miss that a lot.

If this team does eke its way into the playoffs, it's going to be bittersweet.  I'll be happy for success in the team I follow, but it'd be tough not to be able to share that.

My brother (the same one who eventually moved out to California) took care of every father's day for the rest of his life in 1997.  Game four, Cup finals (June 5th?).  They sat in the row in front of Brett Lindross and his and Eric's father (forget his name).  They were respectful, but by that time it was obvious the Flyers weren't winning that series.  Dad thought the music through the PA system was too loud.  They scooped up some confetti from the floor of the Joe and stuck it in my birthday card.  1955 was the year before my dad graduated high school prime sports years.  It was pretty powerful for him to be there again 42 years later.

Dad passed 42 years and 364 days after another significant hockey date.  No more miracles here.

I love you Dad.