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His optimism was contagious, and at that moment I believed he was right.

I was invited back to Superskate the following year, and in keeping with the annual tradition of getting into a fight, I asked Chad Smith, the drummer of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, if he wanted to tussle.

I’d met Chad (who was a dead ringer for Will Ferrell) earlier in the day and he was friendly, funny, and slightly off his rocker. Who can blame him—he was both a drummer and a goalie. I guess if you hit things or get hit with solid objects for a living, you have the right to be a little bit crazy. If you do both, you must be totally insane.

I told Chad my plan during the second intermission and he was totally into it. I would wait until the play was in his end, and when the puck cleared and the play moved up ice, I’d stay behind and challenge him.

About three minutes into the third, the opportunity arose and it was go time. The both of us threw off our gloves and began to circle each other. The crowd was buzzing at the prospect of Pepper vs. Paragon and we had them right where we wanted them.

“Okay, man, I’ll take a swing at you, you duck and throw a swing at me. When I go down you jump on top and start punching.”

I took my swing, he moved then pounced on me and started throwing hands. But instead of the show business punches I was expecting he was walloping me in the face for real. There I was in the middle of the MSG ice getting the shit kicked out of me by a rock star. I felt like Rocky Balboa during his exhibition against Thunderlips.

I threw the funky monk off desperately and skated away as fast as I could, but he chased me down and tackled me again with a desecration smile.

If you see me getting high knock me down, indeed.

The next year I agreed to play again on one condition—my dad had to be invited too. His participation was a no-brainer, as Ted Irvine was one of the most popular Rangers of all time, but I insisted we had to be on opposite teams.

Why did I do that?

Because I wanted to fight him, of course.

I surprised him on Christmas morning with a plane ticket to NYC, and he got tears in his eyes when I explained what it was for. He would be returning to play hockey on the hallowed ice of the Garden for the first time in twenty-five years.

To have him come to MSG to see me work at Royal Rumble a few years earlier was froot, but to fly him there to play hockey was incredible. He got a great response when he came out on the ice from the New York fans, who are among the most loyal in the world. Once you play in the Big Apple, you’ll be remembered for the rest of your life. I can’t tell you how many times people come up to me on the street or in the arena in New York and ask me how “Number 27 Teddy Irvine” is doing.

We lined up on the opposite blue lines for the national anthems (Brad Roberts was nowhere to be found) and I could see my pops had his game face on. He was skating in place with a scowl on his face, and from the distant look in his eye, it seemed like he was having some sort of Vietnamesque flashback to his glory days of 1971. I started having second thoughts about challenging this man (who had once taken down Dave Schultz) to a fight.

We were about four minutes into the game when Teddy whipped down the side of the ice and scored a beautiful goal. After he scored another in the second period, I made my move. I sticked him in the meat in the back of the leg (the part that really hurts) and dared, “Let’s go, Irvine!”

His gloves were on the ice before the words left my mouth.

The crowd went nuts, as MC John Davidson (Hockey Historian Author’s Note: Davidson is the guy my dad was traded from the Rangers to St. Louis for.) yelled electrically, “Here it is folks, what we’ve been waiting for … Irvine vs. Irvine!”

He was looping around me like an uncaged animal as I kept telling him, “Wait for it, Dad. Wait for it.”

When the cheers reached a crescendo I said, “Now!” and we were off. Using the same spot I did with Chad Smith, I threw a punch, he