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Dieses war jedoch nicht genug, zum er für Einbeziehung in den Fotographien mit französischen Kanadiern auf siebziger Jahre Kappen einzuleiten' Mannschaften. Regionalism so was entrenched in the NHL of that era, he explained, that French and English-speaking Canadians posed in segregated fashion for most photographs.

“I was a hockey player without a country,” he joked.

Labre was joined at the game by his son Corey, who’s thriving in his career in the insurance industry. Today both work for New York Life, but last night the Labres wanted to talk hockey, and living life outside of business suits. I asked how often they get back home to Ontario.

“My wife hates the drive, but Corey and me . . . we get in the car at 5:00 and drive through the night and are at my brother’s place by 7:00 the next morning for breakfast.” Hockey brought the Labres to Washington, they put down roots and maintain them here to this day, nearly 30 years after the end of Yvon’s playing days, but it was clear to me last night where home for #7 truly was.

The ex-captain hadn’t caught up with the full details of current Captain Chris Clark’s recent mouth-battering injury, one that his coach described as being accompanied by the most courageous reaction he’d seen in a player in 30 years. I explained to Yvon as best I could the fullest rendering of it as I remembered from the press accounts, expecting him to wince a bit.

“You ever see anything that bad when you played?” I asked.

“Bad? That bad?” he immediately replied dismissively. Then he reached up and removed about a third of the top row of his teeth for me to inspect.

Mike asked Ivon about big-league fights. Labre, as any Caps fan over 30 knows, often was Washington’s designated enforcer on those first, victory-starved ’70s teams.

“Nobody really likes to fight,” he told us. “You couldn’t back down, and you wouldn’t necessarily go looking for trouble . . . but you think working all I did to get there [to the NHL] I was gonna be run out of it?” I thought this just about the most poignant perspective on the game’s tough stuff I’d heard. Then Yvon told us about one specific dance with considerably taller Canadien Larry Robinson.

“I had a hold of his sweater and I wasn’t letting go, and I told him ‘You do what you gotta do, but if it comes to it, I’ll find a way to get up there.’”

Mike and I roared imagining that scene.

The evening closed in a high drama more than any of us would have sanctioned, with the Stars pelting Kolzig’s cage and nearly coming all the way back from a 4-1, third period deficit. For Mike and me it meant something tangible and of a keepsake sort that this special night included a Caps’ victory, over a strong club. And that it was a well-played game. Soon Mike and I will return to eastern Canada for vacation, where we’ll tell the locals of our special hockey night in late November. They’ll think us lottery winners.

So too should the rest of Washington.