ABSTRACT
When I was a kid and my mom made a decision I didn’t like, she used to counter my objections by saying to me: “Let it go, Mark. In ten years, it won’t matter.” By and large, she was right-I’ve forgotten most of the things she either didn’t let me do or made me do. With one exception. On February 22, 1980, during the winter Olympics held in Lake Placid, New York, only a three-hour drive from our family farm, the American men’s ice hockey team took to the ice in the semifi nal medal round against the Soviet Union team. I was in eighth grade, and I desperately wanted to see the game. It aired at 9 p.m., and my parents had a strict rule that we kids had to be in bed by nine, no exceptions. I begged and begged, but the answer was still no.
