It was a frigid, blustery afternoon in a small Bay State town - so cold, so windy, so frightful that even the hardiest of the Bahstonians stayed huddled in their toasty warm homes.

But what do you know, in the midst of the woods, far from smoky chimneys and weather-stripped houses, there were sounds, sounds of laughter and joy, sounds of excitement and exhilaration. Sounds, sounds and more sounds.

Sounds of hockey, for one and for all, young and old on the ice-frozen pond.

For these were not your run-of-the-mill hockey fanatics, no no no. These special players were unique in their own skin, but together as one, as if they were kin.

This ruckus, it appeared, caught the fancy of a moose, a big moose, a BIG BULL moose, a REALLY BIG BULL moose...

And out of the blizzard, in the blur of the flurries, this moose cut an imposing figure as he inched closer and closer to the skaters on the ice. The players quickly converged and huddled together, wondering if he were friend or foe.

Until it became evident that the moose, this goofy and silly and nutty ole moose, just wanted to join in the fun.

After hours of play and all faces bright red, the players packed up and went to get fed.

Well if that darned moose didn't follow them close, with his long funny nose and his big packing rack!

The players were giddy, so smitten with their new friend, but they know their new buddy needed a name.

So they hemmed and they hawed and called out some names until once it was quiet their goalie did shout - since we met in a blizzard, we should call him Whiteout!