SHOOTING A SHOT AT THE ICE KING
Thousands of black-and-silver flags fluttered in the crisp spring breeze along Causeway Street, and the chants echoed all the way down into the subterranean parking garage.
I stood near the home tunnel, checking the color balance on my secondary lens as the zambonis made their final pass across the glowing ice.
"You look entirely too comfortable for someone who just dismantled a corporate board, Hopkins," a deep, smooth voice called out.
I turned to see Chase stepping off the carpet runner in his full game gear, minus his helmet. His broad chest filled out the heavy home jersey, the silver "C" gleaming proudly under the arena lights. The small strip of tape over his left eye was gone, leavin