— — Two quick steps and I’m flying through the air, arms outstretched like Superman, on my way to stop Lex Luthor from carrying out his heinous plot.

Then I crashed to the ice.

I wasn’t wearing an “S” on my chest nor did I have a spiffy cape. I was wearing the traditional black and white striped hockey referee sweater with black trousers.

And I had just made the “Wall of Shame” in the referees’ room at Holiday Twin Rinks in Cheektowaga.

“Way to go, John!” shouted my linesman partner from the opposite end of the ice. Our referee had a broad grin on his face as I managed to skate the length of the ice without tumbling again and finally delivered the puck for a faceoff following an icing.

Fortunately most of the players had already skated some 200 feet to the other end so most of the spectators didn’t see my plunge.

I retreated back to the blue line, “feeling shame,” similar to a trip to the penalty box as described by Denis Lemieux, the goalie in “Slap Shot.”

Labor Day weekend ushered in the first big weekend of the hockey season and I’d already wiped out, with an ungraceful belly flop — and it’s a big, Don Koharski-type belly — on a Saturday afternoon.

I felt slightly better Sunday morning when I noted the company I was keeping: There were five other names on the list, which usually calls for each offending party to buy the first round after the game.

Next to each name was a description of the blooper. Mine was “down on all four.” It could have been worse. One of the guys had a terrible weekend, falling four times including one trip into the players’ bench. He fell a fifth time Sunday morning.

Yes, referees are human, after all. We all have our “war stories” our greatest moments and forgettable lapses of balance and judgment.

Perhaps the worst spill I ever took happened at the Hyde Park rink in Niagara Falls in 1993. I was skating backwards and caught a rut. I didn’t even have time to brace for the fall. My upper back and the back of my head hit the ice simultaneously, with a loud WHUMP that even had the spectators wincing.

I didn’t lose consciousness and after about two seconds I scrambled back to my feet. I noticed that the entire building had taken on a yellowish tinge. And I had a headache. I’ve never had a headache like the one I had that day. (Although a salesperson with whom I once worked could, by simply speaking, induce similar pounding headaches.)

Years later, I discovered that the yellow tint is one of the signs of a low-grade concussion.

The first tumble I took as a referee happened in my very first game, back in October 1985 when I was a high school freshman. It happened in the first period as I was getting ready to call the first penalty of my career.

My partner’s name escapes me, but we were working a two-man system, which is common in USA Hockey. In the two-man system, each official is equal parts referee and linesman. Play was in the visiting team’s zone. I was at the blue line and my partner was at the goal line.

Suddenly play shifted and a visiting player had a near-breakaway. As I skated stride-for-stride into the other end with the forward, the defenseman who was right on top of him hooked the attacking player. Both fell to the ice. I raised my arm to signal a penalty and lost my balance. All three of us slid into the boards.

Pride hurt but otherwise unharmed, I blew my whistle. With all of the players now in my zone, I suddenly realized I didn’t know who I was going to send to the penalty box. “Geez, my life as a referee is over and we’re not even through the first period,” I thought. “Now what?”

Without any other choice, I did the only thing I could: I skated to the home team’s bench and told the coach I lost the number of his player as I was careening into the boards.

Fortunately, I knew the coach well. He had coached my brother and I at various times over the years. After he was through pointing at me while covering his mouth to hide the laughter, God bless him, he sent the offending player to the penalty box. Crisis averted. Referee career intact.

So there you have it: Some of my less graceful moments on ice. There will be more, I’m sure. You’ll learn about some of my “war stories” sometime during the season.

When he’s not moonlighting as an amateur hockey referee, John Hopkins is the night city editor of the Tonawanda News. His column appears Thursdays. Contact him at john.hopkins@tonawanda-news.com.