Though Sabres fans are eager to watch the hometown boys tear apart the hated Philadelphia Flyers when the NHL playoffs begin this week, I myself would have enjoyed seeing them face-off against the Carolina Hurricanes at some point during this playoff season, though that isn't going to happen.

I'm not from Carolina, nor am I even more than a casual hockey fan, though I'll be following the Sabres push for the cup. No, my interest in seeing a Sabres 'Canes match up boils down to a single fan. He is inmate No. 53983-054 at the low-risk correctional facility in Butner, North Carolina.

Sabres fans will remember him more as the man who pushed their beloved team into bankruptcy less than a decade ago and left many of them wondering if there would even be a team in Buffalo when the smoke cleared.

Yes, I speak of John Rigas, former cable titan, former NHL owner and current 86-year-old felon. As I thought about the playoffs, the match-ups and the excitement that is building in the city, I couldn't help but wonder if Rigas is following his former team?

I'm not guessing the inmates in Butner are reclining in their cells watching the playoffs in HD on a satellite, but still I thought, surely they must be allowed to watch the home team play? This of course led me to imagining Rigas shuffling down to the prison rec room, his cheap, prison-issued slippers scuffing on the cold cement floors. Man what I wouldn't give to stuff my feet into a couple of endangered animals right about now, he'd think to himself.

The game doesn't start for an hour, but Rigas makes sure he is the first one in the room so he can grab the best seat. At 86, with a handful of years in the federal prison system, something tells me his eyes may not be the best these days.

So there he is, old Johnny Cable, front and center as the Sabres skate out onto the ice for Game 1 against his (adopted) home town 'Canes. As I picture Rigas hunched over, a worn and tattered Sabres jersey from the red, black and white days adorning his frame, I wonder what kind of reception the other inmates give him? Is he treated with reverence, because, after all, he did own that team at one time? Is he dismissed as naive for still following the team that was wrestled away from him following those pesky criminal charges. Or, do his fellow scofflaws sit and quietly wonder, staring at the back of the old man's jersey: Who the heck is Michael Peca?

Had things gone just a bit different for the Rigas family, it could be the elder Rigas living the Terry Pegula dream as the toast of Buffalo, championed for his dedication to the Sabres and his commitment to winning. Instead, here he is, locked away, forced to watch the game on a flickering 19" screen surrounded on one side by a man named Bubba and on the other by fellow thief Bernie Madoff. (OK, to be accurate, Madoff is a Mets fan, not a hockey guy, and he is housed in the same facility as Rigas, albeit a different building, so this meeting is unlikely, but you get the idea).

As the boys in Cell Block D pass a shoe filled with old pretzels around the table, (hey, 12 cents an hour doesn't buy much in the prison commissary these days) and the first puck drops, the rowdy bunch of misfits and ne'er-do-wells begin to shout at the television and squabble over the various prison-yard wagers riding on the outcome.

Six minutes into the opening period Tim Connolly blasts a shot from the point, whistling it past 'Canes goaltender Cam Ward to give the visitors a 1-0 lead.

Several of the inmates erupt in cheers as the prospect of winning a fresh pack of smokes improves for those who bet the (prison) farm on the Sabres. Meanwhile, seated in the front row, his Miracle Ear turned up full blast, Rigas leans forward in his chair and puffs his chest out for all to see.

Connolly, he mutters, though no one is listening. He was mine, I signed that kid.