Sometime this past fall, in an otherwise nondescript early season hockey game against the Vancouver Canucks, Sidney Crosby exited the penalty box and caught a break-out pass in perfect stride. In all alone against arguably the best goaltender in the game, Roberto Luongo, he made a few deeks before flicking home a wrister for the first goal of the game.
It’s highly doubtful, if not impossible that they play would crack even the top 50 in a list of Crosby’s best in his short, but already decorated career. But something about that particular sequence made me particularly introspective. “How lucky am I,” I thought, “that I get to watch this guy play for my favorite team every night. It really...
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