Kid Prodigy Sidney Crosby

By Eric Rosenhek

I’m having a recurring dream about Sidney Crosby.

For some unknown reason, Sid the Kid has decided to perform a cover of Beyonce’s Single Ladies, complete with black leotards, high heels, shaved legs and two backup dancers.

The dancers vary with each dream. Sometimes, it’s Jordan Staal and Evgeni Malkin. Last week, it was Mario Lemieux and Jaromir Jagr.

However, this piece isn’t about my dreams.

But lately, I have been fascinated by Sidney Crosby. I would love to walk a mile in his shoes... or skate a mile in his… skates. I want to know what it’s like to be viewed as a child prodigy, the second coming of Wayne Gretzky, the face of Canadian hockey and the NHL’s meal ticket.

I was just a toddler when Gretzky was at the height of his popularity. By the time I was old enough to understand who he was and why so many people loved him, number 99 was already a member of the Los Angeles Kings.

I missed the glory years with the Edmonton Oilers. I missed the Andy Warhol portrait. I missed the Canadian Royal Wedding. I missed the trade and the tears that were shed. I missed the birth, development and culmination of Gretzky’s legacy.

But I haven’t missed the growth of Crosby’s legacy.

Imagine, for a moment, what your life would be like if you were Sidney Crosby. And don’t deny the opportunity because at one point or another, we’ve all wished to live the life of a celebrity.

Imagine being worshipped by so many people. Imagine having your poster up in thousands of bedrooms. Imagine people buying a jersey with your name and number on it.

That’s the life of Sidney Crosby.

Touted since the age of 15 as the next Gretzky, a child prodigy followed by scouts, agents, sponsorship deals, endorsement contracts and the Canadian hockey media with its gigantic magnifying glass.

Many wanted a piece of the young stud, flocking to his home town in Nova Scotia, salivating at all the dollars he would produce. Suddenly, he wasn’t a boy anymore. He became a brand, an image.

The young Crosby is put on a pedestal. He’s told he has gift. The pressure is immense, but he delivers.

A World Junior gold medal, individual awards, the Stanley Cup and of course, the Golden Goal. Canadians will always remember the Golden Goal and forget how Crosby went pointless for nine periods before that glorious moment; a minor footnote that will be lost over time.

Crosby has become the envy of parents who want their children to achieve the same status as number 87.

“Look at Crosby,” says the proud father to his son.

“You should be like him. He’s highly skilled. He’s always the first person to arrive at the arena. He never wants to leave the ice. Look at all the success he’s had. And he’s so modest and down-to-earth. Sidney plays for the love of game. He even said so in the Tim Horton’s commercial. I want you to be like Sidney.”

“But, Dad,” says the son, “I want to be like Ovechkin.”

“Banish that name from your mind!” scolds the father. “No son of mine will be like that flashy Russian. He’s so cocky and conceited. He’s a bad influence.”

“But he’s really good, Dad. A lot of people think he’s better than Crosby.”

“Oh yeah? How many gold medals and Stanley Cups has Ovechkin won?”

“But…”

“Exactly. You should learn to act and play like Crosby and only like Crosby.”

Yes, life is incredibly sweet for Sidney Crosby. But with the fruits of success comes enormous stress.

Every game must feel like a colossal weight on Crosby. The hot spotlight is constantly fixated on him. Every action is scrutinized and second guessed. There’s no room for error.

Opponents recognize this notion. They pressure Crosby, frustrate him, force his emotions to boil over. The opponents will never part ways for the child prodigy. They don’t see him as a brand, an image, the face of the NHL. To them, Crosby’s a target.

The goal is clear and simple: Make Crosby angry. Get inside his head.

Look at Sid the Kid now.

He’s breaking his stick, picking fights, whining and screaming at the referees for retribution after a minor infraction. The refs can only say the same thing to him:

You may be a prodigy, but the world doesn’t revolve around you, no matter what your fans, agents and image specialists tell you.

This is Sidney Crosby’s life. A gift that’s also a curse. A legacy that’s also a life sentence.

It’s a tempting life, but I doubt I’d want it. You’re hailed a hero when you bring home the Cup. You’re vilified when you lose to the eighth seeded team in the Eastern Conference.

Best of luck to you, Sidney. You’re going to need it.