Top o’ the morning to you, Evander Kane.
You sure know how to stir the stew, don’t you? I mean, there hasn’t been this much ado about a wardrobe malfunction since Justin Timberlake showed the world Janet Jackson’s right boob. Or was it that other Jackson girl’s boob we saw? You know, the one nobody remembers. What’s her name? LaSomethingorother Jackson?
Doesn’t matter. One of Wacko Jacko’s sisters flashed skin during the halftime show at the Super Bowl one year, and now everyone’s calling you a boob, Evander, because of your wardrobe malfunction earlier this week in Vancouver.
So now what’s the adornment du jour? Something off the rack at Moores? Maybe a Signature Suit from the Joseph Abboud Collection. Got the finest Italian fabrics, built by the finest craftsmen in the world. I think you’d look boffo—really cutting edge—in a Signature Suit.
But, hey, this isn’t game day, so I figure you’ll opt for something simple. Like sweat pants, a hoodie and a ball cap. You know, the same kit you wore to a team meeting on Tuesday, the one that got you scratched from the Winnipeg Jets lineup for a date with the Canucks. Shame, that. I mean, Van City is your old ‘hood. It’s where you do your best late-night street scuffling.
Your throw-down with a nightclub employee at 2 o’clock in the a.m. a year and a half ago is still before the courts in B.C., isn’t it, Evander? I don’t imagine that’s something you want to discuss right about now, though.
So let’s stay on topic, shall we.
It’s a shame you didn’t play on Tuesday night, Evander, what with all your friends and family in the pews at Rogers Arena. The Jets surely could have used you. You might have been the difference. Instead of a 3-2 loss in overtime, it might have been a 3-2 win in OT. You might have scored the winning goal. Who knows? Instead, you spent the night munching on popcorn in head coach Paul Maurice’s bow-wow bungalow, which isn’t exactly uncharted territory for you, is it?
Seems to me you spent a night in coach PoMo’s pooch palace last April for a breach of team conduct. Still don’t know what that was all about. You never said. Neither did Coach PoMo. All we know is you missed a Hockey Night in Canada gig because of it.
We’ve got the goods on you this time, though. Dude, it’s about the duds. If club policy dictates that players wear a suit to a meeting on game day, you wear a suit. It need not be a Joseph Abboud Signature Suit. Cripes, it could be a cheap knock-off from a liquidation sale at a Target outlet near you. If there are any of them left. You just can’t wear sweat pants, a hoodie and a ball cap, or a reasonable facsimile.
What were you thinking, man?
It could only be one of two things: 1) You weren’t thinking, or 2) you’re looking to land in another National Hockey League locale.
I don’t think it’s the former. I think you’re a clever lad, with gusts up to conniving. I think you know exactly whose chain you’re yanking and why you’re tugging on it. Lord knows, you do it to the media whenever you get bored. Which seems to be often. This isn’t you playing cat to the media’s mouse, though.
You’re a different head of lettuce, Evander. That’s why I like you. Oh, yes, I’m a fan. Big fan. Love the way you play the game, ears pinned back, nostrils aflare, both balls to the breeze. That’s why I’d hate to see you force the Jets’ hand and the team give you a new postal code. If that’s what this is all about—providing general manager Kevin (The Possum) Cheveldayoff no option but to move you—you’re being about as subtle as Winnipeg’s wind chill factor.
Personally, Evander, I’ve always found the Kane Side Show somewhat amusing, especially when you use the media for your foil. But I’m guessing that Kevin the Possum and team co-bankroll Mark Chipman don’t share that sentiment. Chipman, in particular, doesn’t need your hijinks, because he has more urgent matters on his to-do list. Like dealing with a new mayor who’s biting the hand that feeds.
So, please tell me that the timing of your latest trespass is coincidence. That your wardrobe malfunction was not a pre-emptive strike, knowing the NHL trade deadline is less than a month away.
If so, thanks for stopping by.
If not, do yourself a favor—hire a wardrobe consultant. At $6 mill per annum, you can afford it.
Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for more than 40 years, longer than any living being. Do not, however, assume that to mean she harbors a wealth of sports knowledge or that she’s a jock journalist of award-winning loft. It simply means she is old and comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she apparently doesn’t know when to quit. Or she can’t quit.
She is most proud of her Q Award, presented to her in 2012 for her scribblings about the LGBT community in Victoria, B.C., and her induction into the Manitoba Sportswriters & Sportscasters Association Media Roll of Honour.