It's a 35-pound cup without handles but it has been lifted in jubilation countless times.

It turns grown men into little boys, makes the toughest of the tough weep unabashedly and puts smiles on the faces of the terminally ill.

It has been in the White House, the Kremlin and Canada's Parliament.

Its permanent home is a museum, but it hangs out at lots of parties. It has seen the bottom of swimming pools and the tippy-top of mountains. It has been aboard the space shuttle -- but not during a liftoff -- and has ridden on the back of a Harley and a jet ski.

It has been used as a baptismal font, an ash tray for chewed cigars, a seafood dispenser and an ornament in dance clubs, which means that hockey's holy grail has experienced holy water, holy smokes, holy mackerel and holy hell in its dual role as revered icon and giddy plaything.

It raises money for charity and the hairs on the back of the neck. It belongs to no one but is shared by everyone.

And one day this week, the Dominion Challenge Cup, better known as the Stanley Cup, will be raised in triumph by a franchise from either Pittsburgh or Detroit while the loser looks on forlornly and thinks how near the prize had been. Athletes in other sports may play for a ring or the rewards of taking home a title, but National Hockey League players sweat, bleed, sacrifice and ignore pain to fulfill the dream of hoisting The Cup.

"We don't play for a bunch of flags like they do in baseball, and you can't drink out of the Lombardi Trophy," says Mike Bolt, 39, the Keeper of the Cup, also known as the "cup cop."

"It's dry until it's won, and then it goes off the wagon in a hurry."

The Stanley Cup is the only trophy in all of sport that is passed along from player to player -- each for a 24-hour period -- and it's the only trophy in all of sport that has 24-hour supervision and is accompanied by a full-time bodyguard.

A chalice made of silver and nickel alloy, it travels 300 days a year and in the past eight years, it has logged more than 750,000 miles in trips to Russia, the Czech Republic, Sweden, Finland, Japan, Austria, Germany, England, the Bahamas and the deserts of Afghanistan.

"The Cup opens a lot of doors, and I get to ride its coattails," said Mr. Bolt, who is carrying the trophy with him as he shuttles between Pittsburgh and Detroit during the finals. All of this hoopla dates back to 1892 when Britain's governor general of Canada, upon seeing hockey for the first time, hit upon the idea of presenting an annual trophy to the best team in Canada.

His name and full title was the Right Honourable Sir Frederick Arthur Stanley, Baron Stanley of Preston, in the County of Lancaster, in the Peerage of Great Britain, Knight Grand Cross of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, and later the 16th Earl of Derby.

Stan The Man authorized the payment of 10 guineas, or $48.67 at the time, and an aide bought a gold-lined silver punch bowl from London silversmith G.R. Collins & Co. in 1893. Lord Stanley had gone back to England by the time the cup was awarded for the first time, to the Montreal Amateur Athletic Association in 1894, which means the man responsible for the trophy never saw a Stanley Cup game or presented The Cup to a winning team.

The tradition of engraving the names of winning players, coaches, a management and club staff was first done in 1907, but it didn't become a continuous practice until 1924. Silver bands were added to the bottom of the bowl to accommodate the growing list of names.

(For the record, the original punch bowl was retired and sits in a locked vault at the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto, and a second version of the Stanley Cup also resides there for display purposes. The official Stanley Cup, authenticated by the seal of the Hockey Hall of Fame, is the one that will be presented this week. To keep the thing from becoming the Stanley Skyscraper, silver bands have been removed twice as the trophy filled up and are also on display.)

Checkered history

The Penguins have carved out their own niche of Cup history.

During a team party after the Penguins won a second title, The Cup ended up at the bottom of Mario Lemieux's swimming pool. When the players went in the pool to retrieve it, the cup portion broke off. Duct tape was used as a temporary remedy so the trophy could ride on a flatbed truck during the celebratory parade at Three Rivers Stadium.

In addition, Phil Bourque was fiddling with the trophy on the floor of his Upper St. Clair home when he noticed the names of three Frenchmen who had made repairs and signed their names on the inside of The Cup. So he hit upon an idea.

Using a screwdriver from his tool box, he painstakingly carved his own name on the inside of the Cup along with the phrase "Enjoy It." For a time, Mr. Bourque was the only NHL player to have his name engraved on both the outside and inside. Not for long. All of the inside names have now been removed.

As for the tradition of lifting The Cup, he said: "You think it's going to weigh 100 pounds, but I had so much adrenaline, I almost threw my shoulder out because it went up so easy. Every hockey player has lifted The Cup mentally hundreds if not thousands of times after every pickup game or street hockey game. It's the stuff of dreams."

The Cup has seen its share of wild adventures, starting with being kicked onto a frozen canal or being left behind in a snow bank when a flat tire was being fixed. Not only has it been kissed, it has been used to serve libations of beer and champagne. Players have eaten the "Breakfast of Champions" out of it, enjoyed an ice cream sundae out of it or used it to hold popcorn at the movie theater. Clark Gillies of the New York Islanders let his dog eat from it, Sylvain Lefebvre of the Colorado Avalanche christened his daughter, Alexzandra, with water from The Cup. And legend has it, the 1940 New York Rangers used it as a urinal. Silver polish is not the only thing that has sterilized the inner bowl.

"Alcohol kills all germs," Mr. Bolt said with a wink.

The Cup got a rigorous workout after the Rangers won it in 1994. Mark Messier took it to a Manhattan strip club, and he and Brian Leetch took it on David Letterman's show for Stupid Cup Tricks. Eddie Olczyk, who went on to coach the Penguins, took it to Belmont Park and let Kentucky Derby winner Go For Gin use it as a feed bag.

To prevent The Cup from being dented too badly, the NHL hired a full-time bodyguard in 1995. When a player gets his 24 hours with it, Mr. Bolt is right there with it.

"The Cup and the keeper are one and the same," he said.

That means sleeping in the same house, or trailer, with Brian Trottier (a Cup winner with the Islanders and the Penguins) in Saskatchewan. Going along as The Cup went jet skiing with the Detroit Red Wings' Steve Yzerman. Riding in a car behind it as The Cup was harnessed to the back of the Avalanche's Scott Parker's Harley. Going along in the helicopter Scott Niedermayer (a Cup winner with the New Jersey Devils and the Anaheim Ducks) hired to fly The Cup to the summit of Fisher Peak in British Columbia, about 9,300 feet above sea level. Or accompanying the Avalanche's Peter Forsberg in 1996 when The Cup flew to Europe for the first time.

The roughhousing has diminished with the bodyguard along. A request to take it sky diving, for example was denied. But reasonable creativity is allowed.

"My job is to make sure The Cup is safe and secure, but we want the players to enjoy their moment with it," Mr. Bolt said.

Incidentally, Mr. Bolt has never raised The Cup over his head. He reserves that right to those who have won it.

The Cup, said to be insured for $75,000, travels in its own case. It can be belted into a seat on a private jet, but it has ridden as baggage ever since the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, and more than one Transportation Safety Administration official has ogled it after asking that the case be opened. Mr. Bolt wears white gloves when he handles it.

Power of The Cup

Over the past seven seasons, The Cup has raised $7.2 million for charity. But it has priceless moments as well.

During its four-day stay in Pittsburgh last week, a little girl from Vancouver, with the help of the Make-A-Wish Foundation, saw a Stanley Cup game. But the NHL also arranged for Mark Messier and the Washington Capitals' Alex Ovechkin, among others, to meet her. And The Cup paid a visit as well.

Recently, the mother of a boy in Portland, Ore., who was receiving chemotherapy, persuaded The Cup's handlers to make a special effort to see him.

"His mother said, 'You don't understand. That's the first time he smiled in three months,' " Mr. Bolt said. "That's the power of The Cup."

As the saying goes, The Cup changes everything.