You couldn’t trust your ears. Because you heard it all before. And no one is that good. No kid turns his peers into traffic cones, playfully and effortlessly weaving his way to freedom, like a motorcyclist in gridlock. No person can see the future, knowing where a player and puck will be before they begin moving.
You couldn’t trust your eyes. Because the kid was built like a slice of bread, like he needed a layer of bubble wrap beneath his gear. Because he was too small to survive the bruising hits that close any talent gap.
You had to trust your gut. Because hype is nearly halfway to hyperbole. Because the inconceivable is inherently unreliable.
But he was Patrick Kane. America had no such precedent.
