Whose Minding the Net? Goalies, like catchers and sometimes punters, enjoy a special relationship with the Gods of Mojo. Maybe it's the fact that they have to blissfully stare down one wicked slap shot after another. Maybe it's the fact that they don't get to let off a little frustration by building up to some good G-force speeds out in the wide-open part of the ice. Maybe it's because they spend hours throwing themselves onto sticks and frozen water. Whatever it is, guys like Pelle Lindbergh, the late, great goalie from the Philadelphia Flyers™, only added onto the mythology. Lindbergh had to wear an ancient orange T-shirt that came from, yes, Ingvar Eriksson's sporting-goods emporium in Stockholm. Each time it threatened to fall apart, he had someone sew it back together. Meantime, between periods, Lindbergh only allowed one thing to reach his lips - a Swedish beverage called Pripps. It didn't stop there: he wouldn't even taste it if there weren't exactly two ice cubes in the cup - a cup that had to, must, be delivered to him by a particular team trainer. Ron Hextall, another Flyers' goalie, was known as a mighty slave to Mojo. The most noticeable moment was on the ice during timeouts. Fans and players would stop and stare as Hextall seemed to be beating up his goal post - once, twice, three times ...eight times he would smack the post with his stick. Always eight times. Not one more or less. Lindbergh and Hextall were not alone in goalie Mojo Heaven. Patrick Roy has amused and amazed his faithful followers by insisting that when he speaks to the goal posts they will actually engage him in conversation. Roy has an easy explanation for why he can hear the goal posts and no one else seems to: "They are my friends.'' ©1999 Middlefork Press << BACK TO EXCERPTS