For all its flaws, facebook works.

I’ve apologized to my university sweet heart, I’ve unfriended a stalker, and I’ve caught up with childhood friends I never thought I would talk to again.

Yes, this is a Stand By Me moment.

When I was a pee wee AAA goalie in Brantford (that would have been about 12-years-old, in Ontario, Canada) this other kid appeared.

His name was Mike.

Mike Souliere.

(He’s bottom left, at the Leafs game in Buffalo, with what looks like his son, but how happy is the Sabres fan behind him?)

Mike was a better goalie than I was.

He’s also one of the few who still call me Boog.

I was so traumatized by reduced ice time that I calculated saves per minute for my father, who thought I had lost it.

Of course I had, I was 12.

I am reminded of such silliness when I coach.

Mike has gone on to have what seems to be a successful policing career, although I’m the one with the record.

I write this for nothing other than practice early in the morning – 6 a.m. ice times do that – and to say that facebook can be a useful tool to reach out to those in the weird and confusing times of adolescence.

Oh, and, damn you, Souliere. Damn you.