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Around 2 one morning last week, my 12-year-old son (the one who never stirs between bedtime and dawn) got out of bed, turned on the lights in the kitchen, slid open the patio doors — and let the dogs out.

When I followed him to the door to ask why, he looked me in the eye and said: “Gurglegarg mutterum guggleschmump.” Then he went back to bed and left me to persuade the dogs that maybe the middle of the night wasn’t the best time for a backyard romp.

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I mention this bit of two o’clock in the morning frivolity only because my son’s sleepwalking jaunt to let the dogs out reminded me a great deal of Carey Price between the pipes at the Bell Centre Saturday evening. (Price, for those with short memories, was pulled in favour of Antti Niemi after allowing four goals, two of the “what was he thinking?” variety.)

Price played, to put it charitably, like a man whose energy drink of choice was a large bottle of extra-strength Nyquil. When he said after that fiasco that “I didn’t wake up this morning hoping to be pulled,” my first thought was: ‘You mean, he woke up this morning?’