Back in the late-night men’s league at Ridgeview Arena, there was a winger named Lyle “Midnight” Morano. Not because he scored at midnight — because that’s when he finally showed up. Every game. Every season. Never early, never warm-ups. The guy lived on Red Bull, pizza slices, and pure chaos.

Midnight wasn’t a goal scorer. He was a disturber of peace. A professional nuisance. The kind of player who chirped the Zamboni and once got a minor for “being himself,” according to the ref.

One night, he laid a hit so loud it set off the soda machine in the lobby. His stick cracked clean in half. Most guys replace the stick. Midnight taped the broken blade to the boards like a crime scene.

We snagged it later.

That shattered stick became The Midnight Bruiser — forged from pure rink gremlin energy. A bottle opener that hits harder than Lyle ever did, minus the two-minute minor.