Wayne Gretzky.

One of my fondest memories of late childhood was killing Wayne Gretzky.

Let me explain to those of you who just flew in from Mars (and boy are your solar sails tired). Way back in the 90s, there was a console called "Genesis" manufacturered by "Sega." [Yes, I know, Sega doesn't make consoles anymore. They used to.] A company called "Electronic Arts" (who more recently brought you "The Sims" and "Medal of Honor") published a game called "NHL '93," which was the greatest hockey game ever.

I used to play NHL '93 pretty often. With my brother. Who, unlike myself, actually could play video games well.

My one good trick was to charge the opponent during a face off. I would get the puck more often than I would using the alternative method of sweeping the puck toward a wing. Why? I am not very good at video games. Yes, sometimes the ref would put my center in the penalty box for charging. Fucker. But most of the time I would get away with it.

So anyway, when you charge during a face off, sometimes, especially if my center was a big guy and the opposing center was a small guy, the opposing center would fall down on the ice and have blood pour out of his presumably cracked skull. And he would be out for the remainder of the period. Or sometimes he would be out for the remainder of the game.

Wayne Gretsky was at the time the center for the Los Angeles Kings. And while the guy could skate, he wasn't exactly what you'd call "durable" (at least not in the game). And when I would charge with Trevor Linden, Jeremy Roenick, or even (or maybe especially) Craig MacTavish, Gretsky would fold like an accordion. And his head would bleed. Which I took to mean he was dead. Which I thought was awesome.

Understand?