Some things are trickier than expected when you've had surgery on both wrists.

"You're on Puck Daddy," Taylor said, instead of a greeting. Sidney sank back into the pillows. "So? What's new?" "The headline is 'Best Hockey Player in the World Sidney Crosby Taken Out by Eight Year Old, Breaks Arm in Mite Hockey Game.'"

The Penguins call him in early when it turns out that Evgeni Malkin is coming over from Russia - or maybe ‘fleeing’ is a better word for it. “Metallurg had his passport,” Therrien says over the phone. “And when they had to give it back so he could travel with the team, it’s likely that they took - ah, other precautions.” Magical precautions, he means. They’re practically sanctioned in the Superleague these days, though it’s not like North American hockey has any room to point fingers. Sid grew up a Habs fan; he knows from curses.

Zhenya nudges Gonch with his elbow. "Who is that?" he says in urgent Russian, jabbing his glove at the now retreating zamboni. "Who?" Gonch follows the line of Zhenya's gaze, blinks when it lands on the zamboni. "What, the driver? Him?" Zhenya nods vigorously, his eyes fixed on the zamboni. Gonch stares at him for a few seconds before answering with hesitation, "That's...Sidney."

“Are you?” Taylor asks unexpectedly. “Am I what?” Looking up from the stove, Sid finds her watching him with an odd look on her face. “Happy.” It should be an easy question to answer.

Tkachuk’s trade from Calgary to Edmonton happened midseason, so he just shows up in the locker room on a Tuesday morning in early December with no announcement. He looks greasy and tired and wears a wrinkled suit. Leon can’t help but think that there's something odd about Tkachuk’s arrival in Edmonton. With all the effort that Tkachuk puts into establishing himself as a pest on the ice, he’s remarkably un-pest like on dry land.