About Kevin Cheveldayoff’s panic pick…the Andrew Ladd trade…this Finn’s not the Flash…and the building of a Stanley Cup champion

I cannot survive in a 140-character world, so here are more tweets that grew up to be too big for Twitter…

Logan Stanley
Logan Stanley

I’m not sure what we are to make of Kevin Cheveldayoff this morning.

I mean, he who sits at the right hand of Grand Master Chipper got his man at the top of the National Hockey League entry draft on Friday night, selecting Finnish phenom Patrik Laine with his first shout, but that was a gimme. A blind squirrel could have dug up that acorn.

It’s what Chevy did for his second act that lends itself to head scratching.

Going in, Cheveldayoff owned three of the first 36 picks (Nos. 2, 22, 36) in the NHL’s annual auction of freshly scrubbed teenage talent. By the end of Day One, he owned only two of the first 78 (Nos. 2, 18). Say again? Chevy went from three of the first 36 picks to two of the first 78, not getting his third call until No. 79.

I’m no Einstein, but it occurs to me that this is a peculiar bit of mathematical gymnastics. Perhaps it’s the Jets’ version of new hockey analytics—four steps forward and 43 steps back.

Whatever, in trading up four spots to secure a long, tall drink of water named Logan Stanley, Chevy either performed some serious sleight-of-hand that no one saw coming (save for the pack of bird dogs he hires to ferret out le creme de la frozen pond) or he is guilty of a Sergei Bautin-type miscalculation.

Puck pundits who are paid to know such things had Stanley ranked anywhere from 22nd to 42nd, which means there can be just one logical explanation for Cheveldayoff flip-flopping first-round picks with the Philadelphia Flyers and, at the same time, frittering away the Jets’ second-round selection—his knee jerked. Badly.

Yes, the Jets need left-handed-shooting defencemen like Don Cherry needs a fashion consultant, but is the Windsor Spitfires rearguard a prospect of such loft that you surrender the No. 36 pick?

In time, of course, we will discover if the 6-feet-7 Stanley becomes a bookend for the 6-feet-7 Tyler Myers—stand those two side-by-side and stretch out their arms and they’ll reach from Portage and Main to Portage la Prairie—or a bust.

For now, though, it smells like a panic pick.

Patrik Laine
Patrik Laine

We can close the book on the Andrew Ladd trade. For those of you keeping score at home, the Jets packaged their former captain along with Matt Fraser and Jay Harrison to Chicago in barter for Marko Dano and the Blackhawks’ first-round draft pick. So, officially, it’s Ladd, Fraser and Harrison for Dano and Logan Stanley, but realistically it’s Ladd for Dano and Stanley.

Little-known facts about some of the Jets’ draft picks: If he could be another person for one day, Patrik Laine would be Roger Federer; Logan Stanley is afraid of snakes; Luke Green once raced motocross; Jacob Cederholm is afraid of spiders and the coolest person he’s ever met is Tie Domi (which would indicate the young Swede needs to get out more often and meet more people).

As Howie (Squeaker) Meeker was wont to say, “Stop it there! Stop it right there!” No more calling Patrik Laine the Finnish Flash, the Finnish Flash 2.0 or anything else that includes the word Flash. There’s only one Finnish Flash. You can see him in the Heritage Classic oldtimers game in October.

Speaking of Teemu Selanne, I’m not sure why so many knickers are in a knot because Artemi Panarin of the Chicago Blackhawks was named the NHL’s top freshman at age 24. I don’t recall any such gnashing of the teeth when Selanne took home the Calder Trophy at age 22.

Jesse Puljujarvi
Jesse Puljujarvi

Hard to figure the Edmonton Oilers. No NHL outfit is in greater need of an upgrade on the blueline, but what does GM Peter Chiarelli do at the entry draft? He uses his first two shouts to take forwards, Jesse Puljujarvi and Tyler Benson. Will they ever learn?

In the final reckoning, the Oilers might have plucked the better of the two fab Finns at the top of the entry draft, but I’m glad the Jets landed Laine. Why? His name is easier to spell. I mean, it took me a year to get Byfuglien and Scheifele right, and Hellebuyck is still giving me fits. So I didn’t want to deal with Puljujarvi.

Food for thought: As much as Cheveldayoff likes to chirp about his draft-and-develop strategy, someone ought to tell Mark Chipman’s right-hand man that there’s more to building a champion than calling out names on the draft floor every June. For evidence, look no further than the Pittsburgh Penguins. The outfit that won the Stanley Cup tournament earlier this month was equal parts draftee (12) and castoff (13). You don’t get the job done on home-grown talent alone.

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for 45 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 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 in 2015.

 

Winnipeg Jets: Hope for a future without Chris Thorburn or Anthony Peluso

Time for a reality check, kids.

I realize you’re all giddy about the package of prospects Grand Master Kevin Cheveldayoff and his bird dogs collected this weekend in the sunshine of Sunrise, Fla., but I have this real nasty (some call it annoying) habit of providing a pinch of perspective to all things Winnipeg Jets. Thus, I feel obligated to remind you that, come October when the local lads commence their 2015-16 crusade, no player in the opening-night lineup will be named Kyle Connor or Jack Roslovic.

There will, however, be a winger named Chris Thorburn. And most likely another named Anthony Peluso.

Sigh.

I don’t know about you, but I tend to use Thorburn and Peluso (the former more than the latter) as measuring sticks vis-a-vis the growth of the National Hockey League franchise, on-ice division. The way I have it figured, as long as either is wearing Jets linen, he is clogging the club’s developmental arteries.

I mean, Grand Master Chevy has been working this gig since the Atlanta caravan rolled into River City in 2011. He’s been the overseer of five NHL entry drafts. He has laid claim to 38 freshly scrubbed wannabe Jets, including the aforementioned Connor and Roslovic this weekend. Each year he leaves the annual garage sale to a hail of hosannas (mainly from his lap dogs in the local media) for his handiwork in adding another set of trinkets to his collection of teenage talent.

And yet we are left with Chris Thorburn and Anthony Peluso. Still.

Double sigh.

The fact that not one of the Grand Master’s recruits has been capable of kicking Thorburn or Peluso to the curb leaves me to wonder if the scouting staff is found to be wanting, or if the coaching crew requires a session with Dr. Phil.

Feel free to discuss among yourselves.

A Gift from Sweeney Odd: Don’t run off with the notion that I’m sour on Grand Master Chevy’s fancy footwork in Florida.

I realize this June crap shoot is all about stocking the organizational Hope Chest and not meant to address present-day needs. And, by most reckoning, Chevy and his bird dogs did boffo business.

Let’s be honest, though. Because the Jets GM tried and failed to move up in the entry draft pecking order, he was at the mercy of the 14 outfits handing out jerseys and ball caps before his first call. The selection of Kyle Connor with the 17th shoutout was not a stroke of genius. It was Christmas morning.

Seriously. The only thing Don (D’oh!) Sweeney didn’t do for the Jets was wrap a ribbon around the American schoolboy. The Boston Bruins newly minted GM, hereafter known as Sweeney Odd, had a shot at Connor with No. 13. He passed. He had a shot with No. 14. He passed. He had a shot at No. 15. He passed. We can only assume that Sweeney Odd’s mind had fogged over after dealing away Dougie Hamilton and the Looch, Milan Lucic, and he awoke the morning after the draft asking, “I did what?”

Whatever the case, Kyle Connor was an unexpected gift from Beantown, which is why this thing is a crap shoot.

Stars ‘n’ Gripes: Some patriotic noses might be out of joint in Jets Nation because the club is beginning to look as American as John Wayne movies and apple pie.

Well, just chill.

I mean, adding four U.S.-born draftees (Connor, Roslovic, Erik Foley and Mason Appleton) doesn’t convince me that Grand Master Chevy has hatched some sort of diabolical plot to satisfy a fetish for Uncle Sam’s lads. This isn’t like Mikhail Smith’s make-work-for-Russians project in the 1980s, whereby the GM of the day attempted to transform the roster into the Central Red Jets (where have you gone, Sergei Bautin?).

There’s substantial supporting evidence that suggests Americans play the game at a rather lofty level (hello, Patrick Kane). To ignore them would be folly.

Draft Day Notable Quotable: “The No. 1 characteristic of a Toronto Maple Leaf is a good human being. Period. So if you don’t fit that, you’re not going to be here,” says bench boss Mike Babcock.

What are we to make of that when Phil Kessel is given his marching orders?

Typing-Before-Thinking Tweets: This from Steve Simmons of Sun Media on possible NHL expansion—“Just what no real hockey fan asked for: Expansion.”

Really? I’m sure the good people in Quebec City who have been involved in an ongoing crusade to bring the NHL back to Le Ville will be disappointed to discover that they aren’t “real” hockey fans.

This from Damien Cox of Sportsnet after the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup—“Best era of Chicago hockey I’ve seen, even the best Hull years.”

Unless he was watching the Blackhawks from his mother’s womb, his crib or during nap time at day care, it’s a serious stretch for Cox to pass himself off as an eye witness to the “best” of anything re Chicago and Bobby Hull. Cox, you see, wasn’t even on his mother’s breast when the Hawks won the Stanley Cup in the spring of 1961. He was born in August that year, four months after the fact. The Blackhawks also visited the Stanley Cup final in ’62 and ’65, at which time Cox would have been eight months and three years old, respectively.

rooftop riting biz card back sidePatti 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.