As I was driving from the former seat of all NHL power, Montreal, through the free and independent states of Vermont, New Hampshire, and Massachusetts today, it struck me what an odd thing royalty is.

Royalty in modern times is something that is perpetuated by those who didn’t actually make those great conquering achievements that established their reigns, but rather those who find themselves, because of a certain location in history and an accident of birth, to be in a position to ‘carry on a tradition.’

Yet, those ‘royals’ sit there on their shiny thrones and primp in their hand mirrors and try to dictate morality according to them, about how you can dive, or how you should play, or how you shouldn’t run a player into the center glass.

And the rest of us, those poor filthy masses, are just supposed to take it.

Well, a couple of hundred years ago, a bunch of rowdy radicals charged out of some Boston bars, went down to the dock, and dumped the King’s tea into the salty sea.

And in doing that, it struck a chord that rings true even today, that when confronted when imperious conceit, fighting the good fight is not only the right thing to do, it can be a heck of a lot of fun.

And who has more fun than us?