Esposito's memoir is a refreshing whiff of fresh air in the stultifying atmosphere of political correctness that has almost entirely engulfed professional sports. He certainly doesn't aspire to a role model status, for the very simple reason that he can be outspoken about his own flaws without being apologetic; I just don't see him either in anger management counseling or on a shrink's couch. For anyone intimately familiar with the locker room smells and conversation, the spicy vignettes will ring a bell. Esposoto's saga transcends geography and time zones, it is anectodal, evocative and nostalgic as well as unrestrained and occasionally crude. Of particular interest to me was the part of the book dealing with the 1972 Summit Series. Very few people realize that the NHL v USSR was the most dramatic showdown in world sports history. The confrontation had probably more political implications than what the media on both sides presented. For some reason hockey was considered the ultimate stand-off, where else would you see bone-crushing checks, cosmic speed, finesse and imagination fused into a team effort? In the 1972 Summit Series the NHL superstars and the Soviets were evenly matched in all departments of the game except for one - personality. The Soviets simply didn't have a defiant part-loudmouth-part-goon-part-maverick-part-clown individual. And with all of the above a great player, probably the greatest crease player that I have ever seen. Espo provided the essential ingredients that glued the team together, he was the most dominating, almost demonic presence especially when the going got real tough in Moscow. Without him the series would certainly have ended in infamy and that would have had pretty far-reaching repercussions. And so I can understand the hatred Espo had for Scotty Bowman who persisted in believing that he could beat the Russians with just finesse and speed (his record against the Russians is pretty dismal). One of the most hilarious parts of the Moscow adventure is certainly the players' obsession and paranoia with listening devices in their hotel rooms, the ensuing search and the denoument when the huge chandelier crashed on the floor of the banquet hall. There is however one inconsistency, even in the land of attrition, Moscow's best restaraunts offered the best gourme food available anywhere in the world. The a la carte consisting of fried crow is pure fantasy. Other than that, a wonderful read.