Sidney Crosby's 1,000th point took a little longer than he'd have liked, but when it finally came for the Penguins' iconic captain, it was in front of his family, it was relished by thousands of his fans with a five-minute standing roar and, above all, it was finished by one of his best friends.
What could possibly have been more perfect?
Maybe adding an overtime winner?
Yeah, that's how it goes for the truly great. Always been that way. Always will.
Roberto Clemente smacks his 3,000th hit in his final regular-season at-bat, perches with one cleat on Three Rivers Stadium's second base and doffs the helmet for all eternity.
Mario Lemieux breaks free in his final game at the Civic Arena, with the crowd breathlessly relishing his every move on every shift, and buries it between Garth Snow's five-hole.
Ben Roethlisberger passes the Steelers to glory but, in his ultimate individual triumph, assures that with a one-handed tackle in Indianapolis.
Nothing that happened on this Thursday night at PPG Paints Arena touches any of those, of course, and I definitely don't intend to infer that. At the same time, it's worth savoring something special, especially when, as we see so often, it's accompanied by that something extra. That flair. That drama. That something which begins expected ... only to transform into the unexpected ... only for all us to realize we should have expected it all along.
"That," Kris Letang would tell me afterward, "is what great players do."
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