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LINES.
They are everywhere, in life as in hockey.
Lines.
In the game they are blue and red, straight and bent, all of them telling the players of the National Hockey League where they should be and when they should be there.
In life they are not so easy to discern. Who tells us when we have passed from child to adult? Where is the line that separates public persona from private person? How do we know when brash has become boorish? What is the signal for the moment individualism has morphed into selfishness?
In hockey, as in all pro sports -- in all forms of celebrity, really -- toeing those unseen lines may be the most important skill, the one that allows ordinary mortals to do extraordinary things, to catch lightning in a bottle and hold it there, defying all rational expectations until such feats begin to seem routine. And then, as if in a magician's trick, an athlete comes along who reveals the lines for us, who allows us to watch him flirt with those hazy boundaries, and we wonder anew at the talent required to navigate them.
WHEN PATRICK KANE BOUNDS from his childhood bedroom, the one still cluttered with a boy's treasures, it seems so improbable. Three years ago, swimming in a charcoal suit, Kane rose from his seat at the Nationwide Arena in Columbus after the Chicago Blackhawks made him the first pick of the 2007 NHL draft. He hugged his father, then his mother, then down the row to his grandfather and each of his three younger sisters. Soon enough he became the NHL's top rookie, an All-Star, an Olympic silver medalist, a Stanley Cup hero. But on this August afternoon in South Buffalo, where he has spent every off-season raiding his mom's kitchen, it is clear that no matter how far he has risen, the 21-year-old Kane has never left his family's embrace, has never stopped being Pat and Donna's boy. And why should he? Being Pat and Donna's boy has taken Patrick Kane a very long way in a very short time.
He was nine and looked six when he first took the ice for the Wheatfield Blades and scored, in his words, "somewhere around" 14 goals in each of his first two games. Soon after, the league's director explained to Pat Sr. that other parents had complained because their kids weren't having fun; the director wondered if the tiny boy could play elsewhere, like in the division for 11- and 12-year-olds. That scene repeated itself at each level of amateur play. With his head up to avoid getting shellacked by older, bigger players, Kane could see the entire ice, his eyes rarely glancing down at a puck seemingly taped to his blade.
By the time the 15-year-old Kane joined the National Team Development Program, his game was set. "He had incredible hockey sense," says John Hynes, then the NTDP coach. "But he played differently than most kids. He liked to hold onto the puck." The NTDP wasn't geared to puck-holders, instead teaching players a style that Kane describes as "gritty, dump-and-chase, get-goals-in-front-of-the-net hockey." Coaches suggested he change his game. Kane suggested he not. Holding the puck kept defensemen on the defensive, forcing them to commit and allowing Kane to use his speed to skate past or to use his vision to hit a cutting teammate. So Kane talked with Hynes, explaining that he would continue to play his way. "He wanted the freedom to do what he does," Hynes says. "He was gifted, so we allowed it."
The Blackhawks saw no reason to mess with success either. Still, the undersized Kane (5'10", 160 pounds) was a risk at No. 1. Even today, after muscling up to 178, Kane spots the average NHL foe about 25 pounds. Some hockey insiders said he'd have to change just to survive. "People would say wait until he starts getting checked," says Kane. "But I never worry." Why would he? His game was never about muscle or size, so why change for the NHL? "He's so good and slippery, it's hard to get a good hit on him," says Red Wings blueliner Niklas Kronwall. "To be honest with you, I don't think I've ever seen him get hit."
In each of his three years with the Hawks, Kane has scored more than 70 points. In 2009-10 he was ninth in the league in scoring and the lone American player in the top 15. But it's not gaudy stats that make Kane the first real face of American hockey since Jeremy Roenick was in his prime. Watch from the rafters and Kane moves as if controlled by the invisible joypad of a master gamer. No actual skater could possess such smooth audacity. Back and forth, side to side, Kane plays on the nerves of defenders, who know he'll smoke them if given space. Watch him long enough and you'll catch the moment when Kane lures a D-man into a faceplant on the glass. "His style's good for hockey," says Kings defenseman Matt Greene. "It's exciting. I wish it would catch on with more guys."
Kane, of course, also brings to the ice a swagger to match his electric moves. "He's a little cocky," says Flyers forward Scott Hartnell, who jawed with Kane in the Stanley Cup Finals. "But you have to be if you're going to be one of the best." Plus, the league could use more players with Kane's exposed-nerve sparkle. Sidney Crosby is a model of yawn-inducing humility. Alex Ovechkin is quirky and colorful but also distant and, well, Russian. The Devils' Zach Parise? Talented, but quiet and polite to a fault. Kane, all raw enthusiasm and unrehearsed emotion, shows no sign of even one personality-stripping sitdown with a media coach or marketing adviser. Says longtime ESPN analyst Barry Melrose: "I hope Pat Kane never gets polished."
But there's a fine line -- as there always is -- between unpolished and tarnished. In August of last year, Kane and his cousin James Kane were carousing on the Chip Strip, Buffalo's version of Bourbon Street, when they had an altercation (over 20 cents) with a 62-year-old cabbie. Fists flew and the police arrested the Kanes, who eventually pleaded down to disorderly conduct. Five months later, photos surfaced of Kane and two teammates, all shirtless, in a limo alongside two clothed female fans. That frat-boy joyride had followed a 5-1 loss at Vancouver and earned the star a closed-door chat. Such off-ice antics aren't terribly unusual for a kid his age. But Kane's not a usual kid. He's not staving off adulthood at college. He's one of the world's premier athletes, headed into his fourth year in the NHL, a Stanley Cup winner with a new $31.5 million contract. "He's a great player but he needs to be a better role model for kids, and representative of the game," says one veteran NHL blueliner. "The first step might be choosing his off-ice company more carefully."
Kane's not a bad person, neither troubled nor damaged. But unlike most pros, he hasn't really had to change himself as he climbed his sport's ladder -- not his style of play and, in some ways, not even his familial dynamic. In 2005, Pat Sr. sold his Jeep dealership so he and Donna could focus on Patrick's career, which now means driving nine hours each way to see their son play. Often. Last season, the Kanes hit 35 out of 41 Hawks regular-season home games and all home playoff games. (No one counted the pregame skates and practices they attended.) After games -- win or lose -- they waited at the United Center for Kane to get ready, so the family could go eat. "He doesn't have to worry about anything," says Donna, who seems unaware of any distinction between caring and coddling. "He can focus completely on hockey." Kane takes his share of ribbing about it. "We called his dad the GM," says former teammate Adam Burish. "We'd say, 'Let's have a good practice today, boys. The GM is here.' But sometimes I think it would be nice to have my mom do my laundry too." His teammates joke that Kane asks his road roomies to fill in for Donna on trips. "The guys are always busting my balls about it," says Kane, "but it's a win-win for me."
Kane's relationship with his South Buffalo friends -- Mike and Viv and cousin James -- likewise seems to have changed little over the years. Soon after his Cup-clinching goal, Kane stood on the Flyers home ice, about to be interviewed on national TV. The Game 6 hero wasn't thinking about future endorsements or his legacy. "Hey guys," he yelled, waving them over. "You wanna meet Barry Melrose?" The crew still gets slices at Doctors Pizza on Abbott Road, still swims in the Kane pool, still downs shots with Patrick at Charlie O'Brien's, still eats penne with him at Chef's. They hit up the United Center when they can, but they will not fawn over him or carry his bags because, they are quick to point out, they are friends, not fans.
His buds' omnipresence is both troubling and reassuring; the former when they're abetting potentially career-interrupting fights with old men, the latter when they're all swimming in Pat and Donna's pool or playing the game that Kane never seems to tire of.
In mid-August, 65 days after Kane scored the Stanley Cup-clinching goal, he's brought Lord Stanley's trophy home for an afternoon of floor hockey at Spinner's Family Skate Center in West Seneca, N.Y. The best-of-seven series features Kane and his pals against a crew that includes former Sabres forward Tim Kennedy and Flyers minor leaguer Mike Ratchuk. Kane is in his zone as his team easily takes the first three games. In his view of the world, hockey is hockey and there's no better feeling than putting the puck into the net, surface-be-damned.
His demeanor, though, changes as his team drops the next two games and falls behind 3-0 in Game 6. Kane's body stiffens as his eyes take on a look of detachment, like an assassin sizing up a target. He says nothing as he walks briskly to the center of the floor for a faceoff. The pink plastic ball drops and for 10 minutes he dominates, running coast-to-coast, holding the puck behind his opponents' net until he spies an open teammate. He is huffing and heaving but won't change lines. "I said to myself there's no way I'm leaving the floor," he says. "Until we win."
Finally, Kane feeds Viv in front of the net for the series winner. Sticks drop, teammates leap on one another. The Stanley Cup is brought out and Kane raises it above his head. He beams.
Later, the celebration waning, Kane removes his jersey and begins to pack his gear. In a few hours, he's celebrating with friends at a rooftop bar on the Chip Strip. "I'm having fun," says Kane, who's using the Stanley Cup as a beer stein. "How could I not be having fun?"
He tips the silver chalice and takes a sip.
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