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Lake Placid, New York

After finishing up my blurry tour of the 1932 Olympic Ice Arena I walk through a hallway on my way to the 1980 Olympic Ice Arena and pass by the Kings and Queens of the Lake Placid Winter Festival. Apparently those were dark times in Lake Placid history? Or maybe I should have used a flash? It's hard to say.

Hey, an old plaque announcing the winners from the 1932 Winter Olympics.

Here are some close-ups for your viewing pleasure. Apparently back then they didn't have the luge, skeleton, or decathlon events? I think there are a few more additions as well. Isn't curling an Olympic event? Funny, when I was a kid I thought curling was an event where guys would try to curl the heaviest weight using a barbell. At the time I didn't understand why it was a Winter Olympic sport. I have to admit, curling is a confusing name. They should rename it to something like "Ice Shuffleboard" or better yet, "Silly Sport where Folks Slide Heavy Weights with Funny Handles and Sweep the Ice."

I'm getting close to my destination, the 1980 Olympic Ice Arena. I can feel the excitement growing in me, this is where the "Miracle on Ice" happened! Miracles on ice don't happen all that often ya know. When I was a kid I used to play ice hockey on a little pond at Ben and June's, good friends of the family. Sometimes I would play goalie, my favorite hockey position of all time. Oh yes, those were the days. Sometimes I wish I could relive them.

In the distance I can hear the growing roar of a crowd, it seems to be coming from the arena. Is there a game going on? Suddenly, a guy dressed in red, white, and blue sweats covered with USA emblems bursts through a door down the hallway, the door leading into the ice arena. He's screaming that his goalie has just taken a puck to the face. Behind him on a stretcher, two paramedics are carrying out a player dressed in goalie pads. Come to find out the screaming guy is Herb Brooks, the coach for the USA Olympic Hockey Team.

After passing me by in his moment of despair he stops, turns, then walks right up to me. His quick approach freaks me out more than just a little, what can he possibly want from me? With a gleam in his eye he asks me if I have any goal tending experience. With much excitement I describe to him in detail my childhood goalie escapades on a little pond near the little town of Oakfield, NY.