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The oral history of the glory days of Matignon hockey: Fire trucks, mohawks and titles

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On a humid July day, I approached a home at the end of a cul-de-sac in West Roxbury, Mass., and rang the doorbell. After a few moments, an older gentleman with the trademark million-dollar smile appeared. Marty Pierce. We had never met before, only corresponding by text and phone call, but he graciously welcomed me...

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