Sidney Crosby is famous for many things, one of which is his availability and patience with the sometimes-obnoxious media.
For years and years, I’d see Crosby patiently sit at his locker and absorb questions. One flavor of these questions was more predictable and consistent than the rest. Whenever the Penguins faced a player who had been drafted No. 1, just as Crosby had been in 2005, Crosby would be asked about comparisons to and opinions of the latest hotshot to enter the league.
Patrick Kane. Steven Stamkos. John Tavares. Taylor Hall. Ryan Nugent-Hopkins. Nail Yakupov (remember him?).
Crosby was unanimously the best player in the world at the time but would still be gracious and glowing about the draft picks. He wouldn’t bristle — that wouldn’t be his way. But there was a slight sense that Crosby didn’t really like the questions. He’s one of the least egotistical superstars in the history of the sport, but to be that great, you still need an ego. He knew he was better than those players, even though he respected them greatly. He knew he wore the crown.
In the fall of 2012, Crosby knew full well who his successor would be.
That year, the NHL was embroiled in one of its periodic work stoppages, this one a lockout.
Players were allowed at practice facilities, but team officials were not. Crosby took on the role of media relations director. A day in advance, he’d tell the media what time Penguins players — usually around a dozen — would be working out. One time, in a particularly endearing moment, players canceled the next day’s workout. So, Crosby called me and asked me to tell the rest of the media not to show up. It was a very strange time for hockey and especially for Crosby, who had just lost 100 games in his prime due to a concussion. Now, he was missing more time in his prime because of a lockout.
Also because of the lockout, Crosby had plenty of time for introspection along with his hockey player and media relations duties. He had time to pay close attention to the rest of the hockey world, too, a privilege he typically isn’t afforded in October.
Two hours north of Pittsburgh, a 15-year-old sensation had arrived in Erie, Pa. — Connor McDavid was taking the Ontario Hockey League by storm. I had decided to travel to Erie with Penguins broadcaster Paul Steigerwald on Saturday, the night of McDavid’s second home game, when the Erie Otters were taking on the London Knights.
On the game’s first shift, McDavid split defensemen Olli Määttä and Scott Harrington and then scored to finish off a highlight reel goal.
Dan Bylsma, then coaching the Penguins, was there. Following the game, he chewed out Määttä and Harrington, a couple of Penguins draft picks, for allowing that goal on the game’s first shift. After seeing the interaction, I joked to Bylsma, something along the lines of, “I don’t know, that McDavid kid is kinda good.”
Bylsma looked at me and said: “He’s 15. They shouldn’t be getting split like that.”
I relayed this story to Crosby, who asked if Bylsma really said that. Then he took my side.
“Doesn’t matter how old he is. He’s different,” Crosby said.
Oh?
Crosby always politely answers questions about players, but he doesn’t typically go out of his way like that.
Then it occurred to me that Erie Otters games aren’t televised in Pittsburgh. I had assumed that Crosby had never seen McDavid play.
“Got some time on my hands these days,” Crosby said with a smile. “I’ve seen him. I’ve seen highlights of him.”
The greatest player in the world is checking out YouTube highlights of a 15-year-old hockey player?
“Yep,” Crosby said.
Then he said something I’ll never forget. Sensing that he saw something in McDavid that was different, I asked him if McDavid reminded him of anyone. In a non-arrogant way, Crosby quietly said, “He reminds me of me.”
Make no mistake, he admired all of the players who were compared to him. He once told me that, if he could shoot the puck like Alex Ovechkin, he wouldn’t pass as much as he does. I once saw him shake his head when he watched Patrick Kane stickhandle around an opponent on TV.
But he never anointed other players, even if he would marvel.
With McDavid, stylistically, Crosby saw himself. And he saw talent that was out of this world.
Crosby didn’t feel threatened. He understood that someone else always comes along.
I imagine Wayne Gretzky felt the same when he traveled to Laval, Quebec, to see Mario Lemieux play a junior game in 1984. Lemieux, knowing Gretzky was in the building, scored four goals in the first period. At that very moment, months before even winning the Stanley Cup for the first time, Gretzky knew the identity of his successor.
During the 2012 lockout, McDavid couldn’t have known that Crosby was watching him from afar, but he was. There is an understanding, I think, between the all-time greats. They recognize traits that only they can recognize because only they can understand the genius required to be historically good.
We are seeing McDavid take the Stanley Cup playoffs by storm, becoming the first player in history to post consecutive four-point games in the Stanley Cup Final. It’s remarkable. It’s great for the game. A superstar is the center of attention in his very prime, which the NHL badly needs.
So much of Crosby’s prime was robbed by the concussion and the lockout. But his hockey sense and vision were spot on, even when he wasn’t on the ice that autumn.
He always knew McDavid was the successor, that he played the same way, that perhaps his physical gifts even exceeded his own.
He was right. McDavid is in a class with Gretzky, Lemieux, Crosby and Bobby Orr. And now, we wait to see if McDavid can pull off this seismic comeback and win a championship.
Crosby surely will be watching. He always has been.
(Photo: Codie McLachlan / Getty Images)