Damn you, Mario

Two days ago I got a call from a kid who wanted biographies of Mario Lemieux. The catalog said we did, but I like to check the shelf and pull the books and place the hold just so everybody knows that the books will be on the holds shelf and not at some desk someplace. I told him I would make sure they were actually on the shelf before he came all the way in. He said he'd wait. So I went over and got them and by the time I got back, the kid had dropped the call. So I reshelved the books. Of course, an hour later, the kid with dad in tow were in, looking for books about the man known, apparently, as "The Magnificent One," "The Great One" having been taken already by Gretzky, and "The Greatest" kinda owned by Ali. So back to the shelf I took them and handed off the books. (Evidently, Mario's parents brought snow into their Montreal home and packed it down on the carpet to turn it into ice when Mario was a baby and stood him up on skates on it. And I think he kilt him a bar when he was only three.) This should have been the end of it, only this evening I was helping a youngster look for the Catwings books by Ursula LeGuin and there were the Mario biographies jammed in the midst of the Madeleine L'Engle books. Cretinous hockey fans!