Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanksgiving Hiatus. Schmanksgiving Schmiatus.
Sid came back and dear Lord, what in the hell was that?
Scoring on his first shot since January? What even? Who even does that?! Are we stuck in a Disney movie called Miracle 2? If so, can I play his girlfriend who stands by his side through the toughest of post-injury times even when he pushes me away, and then when he wins the Stanley Cup instead of hoisting the cup in the air, he skates to me and picks me up and skates around the ice and weeping people throw roses and then he trips over the roses and we fall to the ice and I say through my fat bloody lip, “We forgot about the flowers,” and …
If you don’t get that reference you need to leave immediately. I can’t even look at you.
Where were we?
When I heard Sid was coming back, I hoped for the best (Ten goals. Three assists. Fire shooting from his skates and his heart. Maybe at one point, a triple axle/triple toe combo.) but I honestly prepared myself for the worst. (He’s been out for almost a year. He could trip over his own skates or a particularly aggressive chip in the ice. He might have to take oxygen between shifts. He might be slow or scared. Concussion shy. Maybe his concussion symptoms will suddenly flare up again and he’ll realize he can’t ever play hockey again and the entire city of Pittsburgh will fling itself from the roof of the Consol while UPMC and Highmark just stay up there trying to punch each other’s light outs.)
I needn’t have worried. He scored on his first shot. I replayed it at least 20 times, but you can never get back that elation of seeing it for the first time live.
He did skate with fire. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t shy. He wasn’t slow. He was who he was and continues to be.
Suck it, haters.
P.S. Go read what my colleague at Pittsburgh Magazine Sean Conboy wrote about Sidney Crosby. Trust me. It’s a must read.