Sidney Crosby has become the NHL's meal ticket in recent years. People still don't give a fuck about hockey, but I guess someone has to sign endorsements.
Born in Cole Harbor, Nova Scotia, Canada, Crosby grew up as the son of a hockey netminder. His father, Troy, had been drafted by the Montreal Canadiens of the NHL, but was never able to break through. Wanting nothing more than a life of fame and women for his only son, Troy began forcing young Sidney to the basement for hours at a time to shoot pucks into the family clothes dryer in an effort to hone his skills. Many of these nights would be pieced together later by author Thomas Harris, and be used as foundation for his Buffalo Bill character in The Silence of the Lambs. (citation needed)
It rubs the lotion on it's skin, or else it gets the hose again.
In a move to truly show his father what's what, young Sidney took to hockey more than he did fame or women. Not interested in money or sex, he became totally immersed in the idea of slapping a small rubber disc with a piece of wood, and eventually became a phenom in the sport. He was a news story in Canada from the time he was nine, and not just on slow news days when no igloos had collapsed or were erected. By age eleven, his nightly performances were their own highlight reels and led newscasts ahead of important Canadian stories like 'Donut Shortage '98' and the polar bear attacks in downtown Toronto during July 1999.
"OH JESUS, THEY'RE COMING! PROTECT THE BEER!"
In 2005, Crosby was selected first overall by the Pittsburgh Penguins - an astonishing eleven rounds and 239 places ahead of where father Troy was taken in the 1984 draft. Apparently, Troy was the shits.
Unrelated semi-gay Sidney Crosby picture.
Since joining the league, Crosby has gone on to become one of the fastest players ever to reach 500 career points and has probably spent more time on the air than The Simpsons, giving robotic, monosyllabic answers that come right out of the newest edition of Vanilla Responses for Boring Athletes.
"We gave 110% tonight, all cylinders were firing, and we got contributions from everybody."
One thing remains a certainty in all of this, however. Boring ol' Sidney Crosby, whose robotic demeanor likely stems from his upbringing in a Nova Scotia dungeon and the various suppressed emotions that developed from being forced to shoot pucks into a dryer instead of masturbating and playing Nintendo 64 like the rest of us, is the face of the modern NHL.
Is it any fucking wonder nobody watches the sport?