This used to be little more than a basketball backwater, a frozen wasteland of puckheads that once every decade or so would produce a hoopster of some renown by little more than happenstance or a quirk of breeding.

But as we evolve from a society where young Frank Mahovlich-wannabes would nestle on to the couch next to dear, old dad each Saturday night to await the dulcet tones of Ward Cornell or Foster Hewitt to thrill them, so too has changed our dependence on hockey as our sole winter sports pursuit.

We may still want to be more like Mario than Mike and The Big O is more recognizable as a decrepit stadium in Montreal or an overweight ex-Raptor than one of basketball's greatest players of all time, but times are indeed changing.