By John Aloysius Farrell, Thomas Jefferson Street blog
There was less than a minute left in the game against Toronto when one of the other Washington Capitals found Alex Ovechkin, unguarded, with nothing but ice between him and an empty net.
Another score would be gravy. The Caps led 3 to 1, on two goals by Brooks Laich, and a nifty shot by Ovechkin at the close of the second period. Now, as the Capitals superstar turned toward the Toronto net, he could see Laich streaking down the other side of the rink, ready for the feed that would give him a hat trick.
Instead of passing, Ovechkin took the easy goal himself. He said after the game that he saw a blue Toronto jersey closing on Laich. If so, he has remarkable peripheral vision.
Being a superstar has its prerogatives, as well as its demands. The real greats in sports are selfish, driven, greedy. They want to score, and they know they are paid for spectacular performance. And the Laiches of the sporting world recognize that the Ovechkins are the meal tickets—that the fans paying exorbitant ticket prices do so to see Ovi perform.
Allowances are made. Especially since, aside from Ovi and the other remarkable young Capitals (who are in first place in their division and on a hot streak, despite a rash of injuries), the sporting scene in the nation's capital is so terribly, awfully dismal.
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