They arrived as hockey nomads, some from faraway lands: a Swedish seaport, a Czech steel city, a Central Asian factory town.
The rest came from across Canada and Europe and from a handful of American towns to wear black and gold for the Bruins.
No one said they had to become Bostonians. Or that they had to care about Bostonians. And because they were hockey players for hire — they come and go like the seasons — no one expected this band of itinerant skaters with missing teeth and crooked noses to comfort the city in its darkest hour.
But after Boston was plunged into crisis when three young spectators and an MIT police officer were killed, dozens permanently disabled, and hundreds wounded by the Marathon bombings, the hockey guys on Causeway Street became part of the city’s communal family.
They became Boston brothers.
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