On my first day of minor hockey, the coach dumped a box of team jerseys on the floor and told us to pick one.
The number 14 was the jersey that fell right in front of my hockey bag.
And I froze. I couldn’t, wouldn’t grab it. It didn’t seem right.
I knew I wasn’t a 14. Dave Keon was 14. I was just another kid who couldn’t skate.
I searched the pile for another number. I wanted something innocuous like a 2 or a 3. I could have grabbed 7, but that was Tim Horton.