Connor McDavid, right, of the Edmonton Oilers celebrates with Leon Draisaitl after scoring a goal on Stars goaltender Jake Oettinger during the second period in Game Three of the Western Conference Final at Rogers Place on May 25, in Edmonton.Codie McLachlan/Getty Images
The story of these NHL playoffs was Mikko Rantanen. Past tense.
Part of it was his performance, particularly a three-goal burst in the third period of a Game 7 against Colorado.
The other part was schadenfreude. Rantanen was involved in a rarely seen hot-stove trifecta over the last several weeks. The Avalanche traded him in the first place, and then lost. Carolina got him, gave him away again, and is losing. Toronto tried to get him, couldn’t, and imploded.
All three teams would probably be in a different place if they’d hooked Rantanen. What fun it was to imagine their collective distress.
But like the Finns say, “Joka kuuseen kurkottaa, se katajaan kapsahtaa.” (Whoever reaches for the spruce, will stumble upon the juniper.)
Rantanen’s final destination, the Dallas Stars, are reaching for that spruce right now, and where’s Rantanen? Rolling in juniper. He has two assists in the first three games.
Over on the Oilers bench, their stars are doing what no other team’s stars seem able to do on a consistent basis in the postseason – be stars.
Up until a few nights ago, people were a little down on Connor McDavid, again. This was despite the fact that his team was winning and he was up near the league lead in playoff points.
This is mostly McDavid’s fault. It’s not that he’s better than everyone else on the ice. It’s that he’s so obviously better.
You could take a bunch of people who’ve never seen hockey played before, sit them in the stands for 10 minutes of an Oilers game, and ask them who was best. A hundred per cent of them are picking McDavid. The same is not true for the NHL’s other bright lights.
So when McDavid isn’t crushing every period of every game, people perceive him as being average.
On Sunday, he was in crusher mode. His first of two goals was one of those McDavid specials that remind you how good he is.
It started out with the manhandling 4 Nations teammate Thomas Harley at the Edmonton blue line. Harley has two inches and 20 pounds on McDavid, but he was the one who ended up on all fours.
Then McDavid did one of those things where he comes up the ice at half-speed, which is 1.2x full speed for everyone else. It seems to take forever. As it happens, you wonder why everyone else in hockey doesn’t play on this much larger rink McDavid uses.
Harley might have caught up with him as McDavid lingered near the corner of the Dallas goal, doing a dainty give-and-go, but why try? You already look stupid. Don’t make it stupid squared.
Not that he was ever gone, but McDavid is back.
It’s early, but it looks like we’re getting a reprise of last year’s Stanley Cup final. And with due deference to the Florida Panthers’ ‘nice nose you got there, mind if I rip it off?’ style of play, fortune seems to favour Edmonton this time around.
It’s at this point every year that people discuss the special sauce that makes a team playoff compatible. The final four is, broadly speaking, the dividing line between the good teams and the rest of them. Everybody’s looking for the tactical or roster trick that separates them.
How about this? Hiring people who come as advertised.
Hockey spent half the season fawning over Alex Ovechkin’s late in life burst of quality. What’d he do against Carolina? One goal in five games. The Capitals lost.
All year, the story in Winnipeg was Connor Hellebuyck. Then the postseason hit and he ended up packing the pads he’d shrunk in the dryer or something. It’s fair to say that if Winnipeg had had another starting goalie – any other one – they’d probably still be playing.
Jack Eichel is the best player on Vegas, and was invisible during their series loss to Edmonton. We won’t even get into the Leafs. Too many people to choose from.
NHL teams have fallen in love with the idea that, come the postseason, some guy who’s used to getting 12 minutes a game on the third line will transform into Bryan Trottier. This persistent myth serves the team (which is spared the hassle of finding the best players) as well as the best players (who are spared the hassle of being good).
It’s great that Florida is getting a Conn Smythe-type performance out of Brad Marchand on the third line, but that’s not the goal. The goal is that the people you have made your biggest investments in will have the decency to justify them.
For two years, Edmonton has gotten that. Two guys are paid a ton more than everyone else (McDavid and Leon Draisatl) and, as of Monday, they are one-two in playoff scoring.
Imagine how it must feel to be a role guy on a team where guys are making $10-million-plus, and the coach is going to press conferences talking about alternative offence.
Sorry, what? You want to pay me like a scrub, but I’m supposed to cover for these rich muppets over here when it matters?
You don’t need the playbook to understand why the Leafs are always collapsing. A basic understanding of human relations will get you there.
But in Edmonton, the hierarchy is pristine. The biggest guys get the biggest results, bringing glory to everyone else, who in turn raise their game in an attempt to match them. The best teams are virtuous circles.
Winners aren’t built in a computer. They happen when everyone understands their role and – here’s the hard part – goes out on opening night and performs it.