Dan Gelston

Jay Baruchel left the New York premiere of his latest film when he was called out by NHL discipline czar Brendan Shanahan.

Baruchel laughed as he said he dropped to his knees and apologized to Shanahan for the blood-splattering blows thrown by meathead enforcer Doug Glatt in the hockey comedy, "Goon."

PHILADELPHIA -- Bernard Hopkins never believed in three-headed cows until he saw the two-headed calf.

It's a freak of nature, and when Hopkins looked eye-to-eye, and, well, eye-to-eye again, at the mounted head, it made him contemplate what other kind of absurd animal roamed in the wild. Why couldn't a cow with three heads be alive and mooing?

Hopkins has never been afraid to look at life differently from the rest of the pack.

PHILADELPHIA -- Sidney Crosby and Claude Giroux should have been intertwined this season as two of the NHL's brightest stars, competing for state supremacy, an MVP trophy and a Stanley Cup.

Yet, Crosby and Giroux were linked in back-to-back days this week for all the wrong reasons: Head injuries that have put their careers on hold.

Crosby, once the youthful face of the future of the NHL, is dealing with a recurrence of concussion-like symptoms.

At the start of the month, the Columbus Blue Jackets were among the worst teams in the NHL and had Ken Hitchcock along for the ride.

He had coached the Blue Jackets before, was still with the organization as a consultant and his name swirled in rumors that he'd take over for embattled coach Scott Arniel.

Evander Kane was sky high when he learned how pumped fans were to have the Jets back in Canada. On a commercial flight over the summer to Winnipeg, Kane was recognized as one of the stars of the reborn franchise and became more popular among his fellow passengers than the free peanuts.

Once he landed, about a dozen Jets fans waited outside his gate to greet him.

PHILADELPHIA -- In his bleakest days, confined to four walls and almost no shot of freedom, Dewey Bozella could see the boxing ring.

He could hear real fans, not inmates, chanting his name as he answered the bell for a bout. He pictured the dank and dark surroundings of his prison cell replaced by the bright lights of the marquee, his prison number swapped for his name on the back of a silk robe. Bozella could see himself, the champion of Sing Sing.

Serving time for a murder he did not commit, Bozella dreamed of just one real fight in the outside world.