For my new readership in the Great White North this week, I wanted to detail a bit my friendship with Killer. There were two facets I wanted to stress: that our heroes can indeed be very human, and they can, under somewhat miraculous circumstances, become our friends as well; and that this friend named Killer helped save a youth hockey team in Washington well after his career here had ended.
At 11:00 the following morning a mailroom hand in my office wheeled a television-sized box on a dolly to my office, addressed to me, from the office of the Youngstown Steelhounds. Killer had sizably FedEx-ed his help.
I opened the box. Inside were signed color photos of Killer from his playing days with the Caps all right. Along with a Steelhounds’ team jacket, some team shirts, and various other team novelties. There was a note inside the box as well: “I had to rush this out of the office. Let me know what else I can do to help.”
Nearly 200 people attended our fundraiser, and we raised thousands of dollars for the Wilson High hockey team that night. They’re still skating today. I’m not sure they would be were it not for the intervention of an ex-Cap who scored merely a handful of goals during his career in D.C.
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