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Gino Odjick sat in the bowels of Rogers Arena and was about to hear the cheers again.

For the first time in eight years he was wearing the uniform he’d worn as a young man, the uniform he wore when he owned this town. He was surrounded by friends and his brothers from that era, men who’d seen him through his darkest days and were now there to help him celebrate. It all seemed so perfect; the moment, the night.

There was just one problem. Odjick, who was never afraid of anything on the ice, couldn’t stop his knees from shaking.

“I can’t do this,” he confided to longtime friend Peter Leech.

“Try to relax and breathe,” Leech offered as Cliff Ronning was instructed to keep an eye on his former teammate.

Then the spotlight hit the Zamboni entrance. Then Odjick shuffled on the ice and the chant started, filling the arena, filling a heart that has been damaged but not broken.

“He loves that,” said Leech. “It picks him up. It’s like medicine for him. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d be putting on a uniform and being with those guys again.”