It’s amazing what a little old-time hockey can do for the soul.

I’m an unabashed Flyers fan. I know some people around the halls of NHL.com get a snicker reading that, but such is life. You like who you like. And I like the Flyers. There’s a level of passion, of loyalty, of respect that’s ingrained in the orange and black.

It also helps that over the years I’ve gotten to know some of the players, both present and past, and have a great deal of respect for these people. Not to mention Ed Snider, who if he’s not the most passionate owner in all sports, is certainly on a very, very short list.

I had the opportunity to spend more than an hour sitting with Snider in his office about year ago for a book on the history of the Flyers that will be coming out in October. I think it will be a good read … hopefully you will think so, too.

I also spoke with a number of the Broad Street Bullies-era players, like Bobby Clarke and Bill Barber, but one I didn’t was Dave Schultz.

Working for the NHL provides me with some wonderful gifts, and one of them came Friday, when The Hammer was visiting NHL HQ here in New York. He was a guest on The Hockey Show and NHL Live! But in between those two appearances, I got to take him to lunch at Del Frisco’s, a fabulous steakhouse here in Midtown Manhattan.

There’s nothing like spending time with a hockey legend, and it’s something I desperately needed after the previous 24 hours.

I was riding a high from finding the Amazon.com posting for my book, The Good, The Bad, The Ugly – The Philadelphia Flyers, when I got phone call on my train ride home.

My grandfather had passed away earlier in the day. Not everyone is close with their grandparents, but I was pretty close to mine. I’m going to be 33 on April 15, so that tells you how much time I got to build a relationship with him.

It was hard news to take. I hadn’t spoken to him in about two weeks, and it had been even longer since I had seen him. He only lives about 45 minutes from me, but sometimes life gets in the way of doing the things you should do, and you end up doing the ones you have to do instead. Does that make sense?

So yes, I feel guilty that I didn’t see him enough, or call him enough, and it’s going to be a regret I have. But he did get to spend time with his great-granddaughter, and he did know that he was going to have another great-grandchild in August, and I know knowing those two things made him real, real happy. So I can lean on that.

Last night was hard, but I got through it. And then this morning I hit rock bottom again.

My colleague, Shawn Roarke, generally has the block cornered on connecting music and hockey and life experiences, in his Crashing the Net column.

But I had my own little moment walking to work this morning. Generally the walk from Penn Station to the offices here in Manhattan is one part Olympic sprint, one part live-action Frogger. But somewhere between 40th and 41st streets, the first bitter, acoustic guitar chords from Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here came through my iPod. I’ve never been one for taking symbolism from music and using it to define life moments – I just like the melodies – but as David Gilmour’s haunting voice traveled through my headphones, my shoulders slumped and my pace slowed. All the memories of my grandfather came roaring back. He was a sports fan, but always thought hockey was one evolutionary step up from cage fighting. I used to tell him to at least watch the Flyers games and try to get into it, but he was a baseball guy. He always had a copy of the Philadelphia Inquirer sports section within reach, and we’d talk baseball, how the Phillies were doing, etc. It always was a lot of fun. At least it was for me; I think just having his oldest grandson visit was thrill enough for him.

But as I was walking, and listening, one line in particular from the song struck me:

Would you exchange
a walk-on part in the war,
for a lead role
in the cage?

To me, the question was would I exchange a walk-on part in the war to sell books – my book – for a lead role in bringing back my grandfather, maybe just until August, so he could see his next grand-grandchild. Or longer. I know I’m being selfish here – he would have been 91 this summer, and he had Parkinson’s, and he was getting weaker and not eating. He’s probably more comfortable now, in a better place. With my grandmother. Not sure if I believe in those things, but I believe in them for him.

I was snapped back into reality by the end of the song, as well as the blast from cabbie’s horn, at 44th Street. I walked the rest of the way to work, and about an hour or so after I settled in, that’s when Dave Schultz was touring our office.

I got volunteered to take him to lunch, and it really was a thrill. I tried to not act like an enchanted fan. It was a working lunch, as you’ll see on NHL.com soon enough. Soon you’ll see The Hammer’s thoughts on the playoffs, especially his beloved Flyers. He even wore a Flyers golf shirt into town.

I’m trying to focus on my work, because this time of year, there’s a lot. And one thing my grandfather would want me to do, is keep working, and keep working hard. He did for most of his life. I know he’s proud of me, and I’m going to keep making him proud.

I don’t know if anyone’s going to take the time to read this terribly long blog. I know these things are supposed to be short and punchy or funny. Honestly, I really don’t care if you like it or not. I needed to do this because it’s cathartic for me. Keeping your feelings bottled up isn’t really a good thing. You need to let them out, but in a constructive way. And for me, this seemed to be the most constructive way.

So thanks to Dave Schultz, The Hammer, for taking my mind off some of life’s lesser moments. And for proving that hockey players aren’t barbarians smacking each other with sticks. They’re tough, passionate and loyal.

Just like my grandfather.

Old-time hockey. Good for the soul.