Jan 31, 2016; Nashville, TN, USA; Pacific Division forward John Scott (28) of the Montreal Canadiens is picked up by his teammates after beating the Atlantic Division during the championship game of the 2016 NHL All Star Game at Bridgestone Arena. Mandatory Credit: Christopher Hanewinckel-USA TODAY SportsChristopher Hanewinckel
It started out as a joke, but it ended up revealing a truth. The NHL brain trust, a gang of suits who never met a buzz they didn't want to kill, couldn't see it. But the fans did. It turns out that John Scott, a 6-foot-8, misfit enforcer with an engineering degree and a life-long dream of playing hockey, who has spent his career riding the far end of the bench, every day an inch from being pink-slipped, was there to represent them.
In the rarefied world of pro sports, Mr. Scott is as close to an Everyman as you can get. When the people voted him into the All-Star game, the NHL reacted the way the Chinese government responds to dissidents: He was disappeared to the minor leagues, and declared ineligible to play.
The NHL eventually bowed to popular opinion (what organization this side of Beijing thinks of its public as something to be endured?), allowing Mr. Scott to play last weekend in Nashville.
In the end, he captained his team to victory – yes, we know, an All-Star game is a light-hearted affair, not a fight to the death – scored two goals and was named the MVP, after a fan uprising demanded that, too.
Mr. Scott is not, of course, Everyman. But he's close enough. Born in Edmonton, he went undrafted as a teenager. In his best season at Michigan Tech, he tallied six points. He kept trying, and eventually made it to the big show, where he has hung on for the better part of eight years.
He was the lowest-paid player in the All-Star game, by far; Patrick Kane, from whom he stole the puck with a (soft, friendly) open-ice hit, earns nearly 20 times his salary. But Mr. Scott last year out-earned the average Canadian by nearly 20 times. The NHL's Joe Lunchbucket does not bring a thermos of soup to work.
But in the world of the NHL, he's the man at the bottom of the totem pole, the guy who can't sleep at night because his next shift may be his last. Like so many laid-off workers, his is an archaic job – enforcer – that every day needs less doing. It's not even the job he wanted; it's just the job life gives you when you're 6-foot-8, want to play and have feet of stone.
Last weekend, however, he was one more kid on the pond, and he and all the other aging kids never stopped smiling. They call hockey a game for a reason. It's supposed to be fun.