seaworth sauvignon blanc

Once upon a time, in a small village, there lived a magician named Arthur. He was renowned for his incredible tricks and illusions, which left everyone in awe. One day, as he was strolling through the village, he stumbled upon a magical peach lying on the ground. Intrigued by its shimmering golden hue, Arthur picked it up and examined it closely. Little did he know that this simple peach would change his life forever. As the magician held the peach in his hands, he could feel a surge of energy pulsating through his veins.

This, more accurately, is the most compelling chapter to a life story long rife with challenges, challenges that first arose when he arrived in Pittsburgh at the start of the '84-'85 season. Lemieux then was heralded as that franchise's savior, and from the start he was expected to resurrect a team that a year earlier had won only 16 of its 80 games.

He would lead them, in his fifth season, to the division finals, and in 1990 they again were headed toward the playoffs until Lemieux was forced to miss 21 of their final 22 games with a back injury. He would lead them, in his fifth season, to the division finals, and in 1990 they again were headed toward the playoffs until Lemieux was forced to miss 21 of their final 22 games with a back injury.

As the magician held the peach in his hands, he could feel a surge of energy pulsating through his veins. Suddenly, the peach began to glow, emitting a radiant light that enveloped Arthur in its dazzling embrace. In that instant, he knew that this fruit held extraordinary powers.

MARIO LEMIEUX AND THE MAGIC OF WILLPOWER

PITTSBURGH — He cried uncontrollably that first afternoon. It was a Monday, the 11th of January, and as he drove alone from Allegheny General Hospital toward his home in a Pittsburgh suburb, Mario Lemieux cried so uncontrollably he struggled to see through his tears. The world's greatest hockey player, the sport's brightest star, could hide from his mortality no longer. He had just learned he had a form of Hodgkin's disease. He had just learned, more brutally, he had cancer.

When his ride finally ended, when he finally arrived home 20 minutes later, his emotions still were roiling unchecked, and he went off by himself for another hour. Then, his composure once more in place, he shared the news with his fiance and turned stubbornly toward the future. Never again would he flirt with self-pity, never again would he indulge himself with a look back. His return is all that mattered to him now, and that is all he would think about after this brief flood of feeling.

"He's quiet, and you have to be around him a while to know him," explains Penguins General Manager Craig Patrick. "That's when you find out about him, about his great inner strength and his great inner drive."

"That's just the way I am," says Lemieux. "I have a strong will to be the best in the world. I drew a lot of strength from that. To be No. 1 in the world. To play on a championship team. That's very important to me. To be the best in the world."

Lemieux is back, and again weaving his special kind of magic while leading the Penguins in their quest of a third straight Stanley Cup championship.

Once more he is performing as the best hockey player in the world and reaffirming he is every bit as dominant, as radiant in his game as Michael Jordan is in basketball.

Lemieux is back, but now another, even more alluring aura surrounds him as well. For he is authoring a story that transcends hockey, is acting out a surrealistic drama that spills over the narrow confines of sport.

"I never really get surprised by what he does anymore," his teammate, Kevin Stevens, says.

"But this is the most amazing story in sports. What he's done in the last two months is just amazing. I knew he'd be back. But I didn't know he'd be this good this fast. This is more than a hockey story. This is more than a sport story. This is a life story."

This, more accurately, is the most compelling chapter to a life story long rife with challenges, challenges that first arose when he arrived in Pittsburgh at the start of the '84-'85 season. Lemieux then was heralded as that franchise's savior, and from the start he was expected to resurrect a team that a year earlier had won only 16 of its 80 games.

He shone early, scoring 100 points and being named the NHL's Rookie of the Year, and at the end of only his fourth season, he was the league's scoring champ and its nascent star. But his Penguins were still merely average, not even a playoff team, and so he-as Jordan once had-faced another challenge. He faced the challenge of those whisperers who claimed he could not be certified for greatness until he led those around him to a championship.

He would lead them, in his fifth season, to the division finals, and in 1990 they again were headed toward the playoffs until Lemieux was forced to miss 21 of their final 22 games with a back injury. He underwent surgery that July for a herniated disc, but then a post-operative infection set in and seriously endangered his still-blossoming career.

It would force him to miss the first 50 games of the next season, yet he returned and catalyzed the Penguins to their 1991 title. Last year he drove them to another, picking up his second playoff MVP award along the way. And when he scored 104 points in this season's first 41 games, it looked as if he at last had left challenges far behind him.

He had saved a franchise. He had overcome a career-threatening injury. He had taken his team to a pair of consecutive championships. He had a lovely fiance (Nathalie Asselin) who was pregnant, a June wedding to anticipate, a seven-year contract worth about $42 million to savor. Lemieux had reached his goal. He was, at 27, firmly atop the world.

He had first noticed the lump on the right side of his neck sometime in the summer of 1991, yet Mario Lemieux ignored it for nearly a year. But then it started to grow, and he thought of his three relatives who had died of cancer. He considered all he had learned during the five years he had done public-service work for the Pittsburgh Cancer Institute.

That knowledge rattled through his brainpan, and when his back acted up and forced him to sit out the Penguins' 42nd game, he decided to act on it. The next day, Jan. 8, he had the lump removed, and 72 hours later he received the news that so shook his considerable composure.

"Certainly that first day, it was tough to adjust, tough to realize what I'd been told was very serious," he recalls. "But the more I learned about the disease, the better I felt about the outcome."

What he learned, most significantly, was that the nodular lymphocytic form disease had been caught early, that it was not life-threatening, that 95 percent of those patients treated for it at this stage recover from it fully. That news buoyed him, made his immutable will even stronger, and now he set off to write his most implausible script.

On Wednesday, just two days after being driven low, he visited his teammates and assured them he would return before season's end.

"That definitely helped us," remembers Stevens.

On that Friday, in a crowded hotel ballroom, he held a press conference that was attended by 150 reporters and telecast live by all three of Pittsburgh's commercial stations, by a Montreal station and by a Canadian sports channel. There, poised and in control, he assured all he would return before season's end and then took time to chat with those fans who had come to see him.

On Feb. 1, after a lung infection had cleared up, he underwent the first of his scheduled 22 radiation treatments. There would now be one-a-day, five-a-week, a series of blasts that typically induced nausea and robbed a patient of all strength. But there Lemieux was, on Feb. 12, back skating with his team, and by the end of his third week of treatment, he was telling friends he felt good enough to play right then.

"I felt great during the first three weeks," he says now. But his doctors forbade his return, warned him he might have to start his treatment over again if he played and got cut.

"But that fourth week was the tough week. That's when the radiation took its toll," Lemieux continues. But there he was on March 2, shortly after receiving his 22nd blast of the stuff, climbing on a private plane, flying to Philadelphia and dressing for the Penguins' game that night with the Flyers. He was introduced in the starting lineup, was welcomed back by the traditionally hostile Philly fans with a standing ovation, and then it was 1:54 of the second period and there was Lemieux sending a wrist shot from the left circle past Flyer goalie Dominic Roussel.

"I'm beyond being surprised by anything he does," says Penguins wing Rick Tocchet. "Each goal gets better. Each game gets better. Nothing surprises me anymore."

Were you surprised? Lemieux is asked.

"Not really," he says. "When I went through the cancer and radiation, it was just something I had to deal with in my life. I knew when I came back, I had to get on top of my game as quickly as possible."

He got back there with astounding speed, putting up points in 18 of the Penguins' final 20 regular-season games, putting up points in 16 straight of those games, putting up enough points (56 on 30 goals and 26 assists) to win his fourth scoring title. There were, less than three weeks into his return, back-to-back four-goal games against Washington and Philadelphia, and then-early this month-a five-goal game against the Rangers in Madison Square Garden.

The Penguins, in turn, were catalyzed by his return, and on March 9 they set off on a record 16-game winning streak that ended when the Devils tied them in their regular-season finale. This streak only added luster to the legend of Lemieux, only served to highlight that singular virtue but a blessed few can deliver their team.

"He," says Stevens, "gives everyone else a lot more confidence.

"We have a lot of great players on this team. We have a lot of confident players. But to see him over there getting dressed strengthens everyone. It's the Michael Jordan factor. The Larry Bird factor. You know Jordan's going to give you 30 points each night. You know Mario's going to give you three, four points, which is huge in hockey."

"He's a presence," says Tocchet. "When he walks into a room, it's like Michael Jordan just walked into the room. There's a calmness about him. You can be in a panic, but when he walks in, he settles you down. Not many athletes can do that."

Mario Lemieux, always, is as calm as a soft, spring day. He is quiet, intensely private, uninterested in self-promotion, yet he is now an abiding symbol, a story that stirs the imagination. The networks want him to appear on their morning shows, the scribblers want him to fill their empty notebooks, the National Hockey League wants him to help it grab off a greater piece of the nation's sporting conscience.

He is the story of this sporting year, no matter that eight months yet remain in it, but still he is unaffected, a sequoia unbent by all the commotion swirling about him. Here, in his team's locker room, discussing a disease that raises the grim specter of death, he speaks placidly, phlegmatically, without traces of any emotion.

"I've always been pretty successful with whatever has to be done down on the ice," is all he will say when asked to consider his remarkable return.

His elan is equally remarkable, and finally recalls Ted Williams' adieu to baseball. Williams exited with a home run, and he then-as always-ran the bases with head down, did not acknowledge the cheers and ignored the thundering wails that pleaded with him to pop out of the dugout and offer one tip of the hat.

"Gods do not answer letters," John Updike wrote when describing that moment.

Mario Lemieux, in the same way, refuses to embellish his own achievement. Not that he has any need to. For it is an achievement that alone speaks eloquently enough and defines for all the true meaning of greatness.

If sphere rank is too low for your preferences you could use Willpower, or even Willpower + Sphere (since in WoD the mechanic for combining ability and effort is addition of the dice pools).

Eager to uncover the secrets of the magical peach, Arthur took it home with him and embarked on a series of experiments. He discovered that whenever he held the peach and uttered an incantation, it would grant him the ability to perform unbelievable feats of magic. From levitating objects to making them vanish into thin air, there was no limit to what Arthur could do with this newfound power. News of Arthur's incredible tricks spread like wildfire, attracting crowds from near and far. He became the talk of the town, with people eagerly lining up to witness his jaw-dropping performances. Adults and children alike were captivated by his mastery of magic, their eyes filled with wonder and amazement. However, as time went on, Arthur began to realize that the true magic did not lie in the peach itself, but within him. The peach was merely a conduit, enhancing his natural abilities and allowing him to unleash his full potential. It was a reminder that true power comes from within, and that anyone can be a magician with the right mindset. With this newfound wisdom, Arthur decided to use his magical talents to inspire and bring joy to others. He traveled to different villages and performed for the less fortunate, using his tricks to bring smiles to their faces. The peach became a symbol of hope and magic, reminding people that even in the darkest of times, there is always a spark of enchantment waiting to be discovered. As the years went by, Arthur's legacy as the magician with the magical peach grew. He was revered not only for his incredible tricks but also for his kind heart and charitable acts. His story served as a reminder that magic is not just about tricks and illusions, but about using one's gifts to bring happiness and positivity into the world. And so, the magician with the magical peach continued to inspire generations to come, reminding them that the true magic lies within their own hearts and minds. His story serves as a timeless reminder that anyone can be a magician, as long as they believe in themselves and harness their unique abilities..

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