Jonathan finds the boy along the outskirts of a town market, chained to a post. There's a bronze armband clasped tightly on his forearm, winding around it like a snake, and he stares sullenly at the ground, heedless of Jonathan's gaze, while his toe traces patterns in the dust. "I want him," Jonathan says to the vendor, pointing. That's a lie.

"Looks like you boys had a very affectionate celebration this year, eh?" Wiedeman says as the video ends. Jonathan lifts his head from its protective refuge, spreads his arms out wide. This, at least, he can deal with. "What can I say? I love my team."

Or, Jonathan Toews' neck is a slut.