He wants to speak their language. He wants to please. He grew up dreaming of performing for these people. Now is his chance to win them over. So Sidney Crosby is going to do it. He’s going to appear before a roomful of Montréal reporters, in his Reebok underwear, and speak French.
He doesn’t have to go through with this. It’s not like Wayne Gretzky or Steve Yzerman ever did. They just played and scored, and won. Even Crosby wonders, minutes before the moment arrives, if he should scrap the whole idea. But as the cameras whir, he gets up there with only a bottle of water to shield him and he fields the first question. How does it feel to play here?
"C’est speciale," he says softly. "Montréal est toujours mon équipe favorite." ("It’s special. Montréal has always been my favorite team.") Nice, but now come the hard questions, like the one about Don Cherry. Crosby is asked if he’s upset that the notoriously acerbic commentator-Canada’s hockey judge, jury and executioner-has continually ripped him for being a showboat, a baby, a diver, a visor-wearer and an undeserving alternate captain.
Gulp. “Je ne pense beaucoup de ca,” Crosby answers. “Je ne change rien. C’est mon style.” (“I don’t think a lot about it. I’m not going to change anything. It’s my style.”)
After a few more thrusts and parries, the French reporters quiet down and the English speakers pipe up. Back to normal- if normal is 75 people at a rookie’s pregame press conference. Near the end of the hour, another writer hurls a question in French. Crosby makes eye contact, starts to talk, then stops to ask, like a cashier at a Tim Hortons, “Would you like that in English or French?”