Claude Lemieux was funny, salty and refreshingly honest — and he will be greatly missed

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The phone rang. My editor was not much for small talk. “You’ve been looking forward to covering the Knicks in the playoffs, right?” he asked. 

“Absoutely,” I said. I was 33, just cutting my teeth as a full-time sports columnist at the Newark Star-Ledger. Basketball was my game, my bag. Damn right I was looking forward to covering the Knicks in the 2000 playoffs. 

“You’re on the Devils,” he told me. I started to protest. He cut me off. “Simple geography,” he said. “We’re a Jersey paper. You’re a Jersey columnist. They’re Jersey’s team.” 

And as so often happens, out of the dust of disappointment rose one of my favorite experiences covering a team. Sixty-one days, 59 columns on the Devils, all the way to the Stanley Cup in Dallas. The players were terrific. The access was glorious. The company was superb — it was during those playoffs I first became friends with the great Larry Brooks

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