I’ve wanted this since I was five years old. I’m now twenty-one and time is running out. Of course, looking back, I realize I had lots of time, but in September 2001, all I knew was that playing the game I loved more than anything in the NHL was the only option. There was no Plan B.

The knock on me was that I was a “bad teammate.” Did this mean that I stole other players’ girlfriends? That I was an arrogant puck hog? That I put Tiger Balm in guys’ jockstraps and thought it was the funniest thing ever when they tried to extinguish the three-alarm burning up the family jewels?

I’m no different. If another player gets under my skin, I want to punch his face in. But if I’m chasing him around, trying to hurt him, I’m not doing my job. Better to get him chasing me and then he’s not doing his job. That makes me an agitator.

You don’t have to be a scout to spot the tough guy. A true tough guy has a kind of aura about him. Watch a bunch of dogs in the park. They all know which one not to mess with, even if he’s just trotting along with his tail in the air.

Why do hockey players fight? Well, partly because you see the pros do it when you’re a kid and partly because sometimes you get hit so hard or a guy says something so foul that you just want to smack him. Your adrenaline is on overdrive and it unleashes its power through your fists.