Sometime in the next week, Colorado's Patrick Roy will raise his arms in exultation and try to stay on his skates as his teammates mob him. It will be a far more fervent celebration than the typical post-win -- and gentle -- helmet-to-mask head-butting.

	The record-breaking postgame celebration will be extra special for Patrick Roy.

Roy will be the NHL's all-time winningest goaltender, with 448, passing the craft's most enigmatic and tragic figure, Terry Sawchuk. Around the United States, at least, the sporting media will be so noticeably wrestling with how to portray the record's significance, hockey fans will be able to shrilly whistle a two-minute minor for obstruction holding.

Even in the hockey world, the rush to place Roy's ascendancy "in perspective" will include continued curmudgeonly grumbling. Ex-players, such as Ted Lindsay, who will continue to maintain that Roy couldn't carry Sawchuk's blocker. And, speaking of equipment, they will add, modern goalies have better pads and gear, and might as well be allowed to put a Shooter Tutor over the net.

We'll continue to hear how the game has softened since the days of road trips on Pullmans and hockey sweaters that really were sweaters, and also that Roy never will approach Sawchuk's 103 shutouts.

Beyond the issue of Original Six vs. Post-Expansion eras, there will be mild debates over whether "wins" should even be considered the crucial criteria for evaluating goaltenders. And it will be pointed out that Roy will be fortunate to finish with over 50 career shutouts, while Sawchuk had 103.

While much of it will involve more entertaining debates than Bush vs. Gore, it also will be largely irrelevant. While every sporting accomplishment deserves to be evaluated within the context of its own era, the record book is in black and white -- literally. Roy's solo residency on the top line will be a prima facie case.

And in a sport that advances the one-for-all, all-for-one mantra as often as any other, Roy has played well enough to win more often than any of his predecessors. Sometimes, the truth that cuts through the fog seems overly simplistic.

Both Roy's obsessive pursuit of the record, and his willingness to acknowledge the obsession instead of downplaying it, have been fascinating to witness. It also again has shown that a single-minded and frequently selfish approach can be a positive motivation for a goaltender, perhaps more so than for any other position in sports.

Above all, Roy wants to look good, to not only win -- but also get much of the credit. Amid so much disingenuousness in sport, that's refreshing.

In his sport, at his position, that selfishness doesn't have to be contaminating to the team concept. Almost inevitably, when the Canadiens or the Avalanche have won with No. 33 in the net, he gets far more than a "W"; he gets an alphabet and paragraphs of credit. And for him, the regular-season record is a testament to consistency. The three Stanley Cup championships are the proof of his money-time proficiency.

Roy's tendency to go into denial over his culpability after losses can be annoying to teammates, but they understand and accept it because of his passion for winning.

Yes, it borders on unacceptable selfishness, but since it primarily is confined to the crease (when he isn't getting carried away with his frequent overhandling of the puck), that selfishness doesn't become a contaminating end-to-end rush. The catch is that it's almost hard to imagine what he would be like with a bad team -- for long.

To this day, it's astounding that that Canadiens traded him five years ago, essentially exiling him to the newest outpost in the Western Conference at the time and reuniting him with his former agent, Colorado general manager Pierre Lacroix. But the more I'm around him, the easier it is to understand how it happened -- and even was semi-reasonably rationalized within the Canadiens' history-drenched corridors.

Roy's obsession and self-centered attitude could be destructive in bad situations. And it was in those final days at Montreal. Even after that "last-game" hiss to Canadiens president Ronald Corey five years ago, the best move for the Canadiens would have been to step back, conciliate and live with Roy's temperament during a rebuilding process. Yet I can also understand now how the Canadiens could so quickly write him off and trade him, because it's clear that they knew Roy wasn't going to change.

That is in no way intended to knock Roy. He's the most prideful, intense and obsessive competitor I've ever been around in sport, and that covers a lot of territory -- turf, hardwood and ice. I've spent time with Jerry Rice in Mississippi in the offseason, watching his notorious regimen. I've covered the NHL over a period of 24 years. I covered the NBA in the Magic-Larry era. I've been at the ballparks and witnessed the hits to all fields, produced by Tony Gwynn's legendary study and work ethic.

Here's the biggest compliment I can give Roy: I've never seen anyone who wants to win as badly. The motives don't matter; the results do. That's why the number 448 is so important to him. The only common denominator in every one of them is Patrick Roy, and in that sense, every one of those 448 will belong to him.

In hockey, that attitude works.

Overtime
During the Energy Crisis in the early 1970s, after summers of long lines at the gas pumps and being told to buy only on days that corresponded to our license plates, the speed limits were lowered across the United States to 55 mph.

In the spirit of the crisis, Americans generally supported -- and obeyed -- the speed limits.

For about three weeks.

Going 55 mph seemed like traveling across country in a tractor, and the limit was a largely ignored joke even before the federal government approved the selective raising of the speed ceiling again.

And it seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Right, chances are that by February or so, we'll be looking back at this early season NHL "crackdown" as another short-lived bluff. During the first week of the NHL season, as the parade to the penalty box continues, as a forward losing his balance or doing a three-and-a-half somersault in the pike position often is drawing a two-minute minor for the closest opposing skater, we're all viewing this with jaundiced perspectives. The problem is that by going too far in the opening weeks to make a point, the real point has been lost in the cacophony of the whistles.

But the more pertinent issue is to what degree the referees' vigilance will slacken. The crackdown was supposed to be focusing on stick fouls. On the lazy slashes, on what has become the instinctive tendency to take a whack as the guy goes by rather than do an honest defensive job. On the disrepectful chops that had taken some of the best players -- and some slugs -- off the ice for significant stretches.

The secondary emphasis was going to be on again attempting to discourage the holding, grabbing and obstructing that was paralyzing the game on most nights. What we have been seeing in the first 10 days of the season seems to have cheapened the nobility of the real goal -- to keep the best players on the ice and to open up the game, to prevent the slugs and the undertalented from ruining the show for the fans who are paying $150 for a so-so seat or watching on television. It's a great game, if it's allowed to be played.

The hope here is that when the inevitable slackening of strictness occurs, it only rolls back to the point of original intent. Penalize the clutching and grabbing and clogging and obstructing and interfering. Whistle the slashes and the cheap shots.

There is a middle ground. The NHL needs to find it, rather than speeding right past it during the inevitable retreat from this early season diligence.

Terry Frei of the Denver Post is a regular contributor to ESPN.com