Does Lord Stanley remember us as much as we remember him?

Oh the thought! The most coveted prize in all of Sports in my possession for 24 hours. This is the stuff dreams are made of. Each year the members on the winning team have to think long and hard as to what they will do with Hockey's Holy Grail and its white gloved attendant.

If the cup could talk, it could tell us how many gallons of champagne have been sipped from it. How many boxes of cereal have been served from it and how many babies have been photographed in it? The number of charity events it has attended and the smiles it has garnered. Each of them is a priceless memory.

Besides wanting to just stare at it for a good 20 minutes marveling at its history, I think I would want to bring it to Borelli's Italian restaurant which sits diagonally across the street from the Nassau Coliseum. This is the restaurant that I have been going to since I was five years-old. It was the Sunday special occasion place that I would look forward to when we could afford to eat out.

Borelli's is a favorite before game destination, so it gets crowded quickly. The staff is very accommodating of Islanders fans as they arrive in their jerseys by taking their order while they are waiting so they won't be late for puck drop.

I'd bring it there, set it in the center of the room and let all the fans enjoy it. As I wouldn't really want to disgrace it, I'd shy away from serving spaghetti and meatballs from it, but it might make a mighty fine large pie stand.

After dinner I would put it in the back of my husband's big blue monster truck and drive it down Hempstead Turnpike. Just to refresh its memory of the place.

"Hello, Lord Stanley? Does this look familiar to you? I know. It's been quite awhile and we've missed you so."

After the slow ride to Southern State Parkway, I'd probably want to bring it to as many Volunteer firehouses as possible. For all the volunteers do for Long Island, they should be able to at least have their photos taken and revel in the memory of years gone by.

Before the guardian puts it back in its molded case, I would quietly make a pact with it so it would return to Uniondale once again for another ride down Hempstead Turnpike.

Okay, maybe I'd spend a fleeting moment driving past my ex-husband's house for a little personal gratification. But only if we had time. Hey! You only get 24 hours.