Takin' a T/O with BT: Our Infatuation with the Average Joe

Alexander Ovechkin, Sidney Crosby, Joe Thornton, Jarome Iginla, Evgeni Malkin, or Martin Brodeur—there is no doubt that everyone loves at least one of these hockey players.

Each of them are superstars in their own right, they each bring an excitement and a love to the game they play, and their immense talent makes each of them endearing and entertaining.

But what about the other guys?

You know, the guys on the list that fans keep laying around or on their computer; a list of players that are less than superstars, but are just as endearing.

The grinders, the eighth or ninth men, the third stringers, and the guys that bat .231 at the bottom of the order may not get as much notoriety amongst the “mainstream media,” but throughout the ranks of the “every day fan,” each has a home.

So what is it about these guys?

Why do I follow the career of Howie Clark so religiously that I just dropped $20.00 on a signed photo of him on eBay?

What convinced me to devote an entire article to the fact that Larry Izzo is an All-Star on special teams?

And why in the name of everything holy, did I add Kevin Millar to my fantasy team for the final two weeks of the season last year?

As strange as it sounds, it's probably the same reasons that we each hang around with our friends—we see flashes of ourselves in them, and they just seem like the kind of guys we want to know.

Don't get me wrong, it's amazing watching Alexander Ovechkin and Sidney Crosby pull off some of those moves each and every night. To watch guys like Martin Brodeur and Roberto Luongo make some of the saves they do—it boggles the mind.

I'm sure they're nice guys, too.

But every time we watch those highlights of the upper echelon of talent in professional sports, it’s like hanging out with your gorgeous ex-girlfriend and her perfect new boyfriend: It’s a painful memory of something that made you happy once, but never exactly panned out for you.

We have no connection to these guys. They’re pretending to be the same superstars we imagined ourselves to be as we played basketball in our driveways or tossed a baseball around in the backyard. In our minds, they’re living our dream—which is why we get excited about them, but don’t feel a connection to them.

Which is why we latch on to the "lesser-lights."

As we watch the third-line guys and the reserves get into the game, we see a guy who was able to defy the odds and make it to the show—sure he's not the best guy on the floor, but (whether he knew that or not) he still stuck with the game, and showed enough heart and guts to get this far—he didn't just get there on talent alone.

In a lot of ways, we're seeing ourselves in these players—guys who go out there and do their jobs, but don't always get the credit.

Sure they'll have their moments in the sun—kind of like Keith Carney did with his OT winner a few nights go—but for the most part, these are the quiet guys in the cubicles, not the bigwigs in the corner offices.

They go out there and do their jobs, not for the notoriety, but because that’s how they make their living; that’s how they support their family, and the average fan respects that more than some of these guys know.

It probably helps that these guys seem more approachable, too.

In my Shannon Stewart article from a few months ago, I asked, "How many times have you heard of the high-profile athlete spouting off at the media or that one unlucky fan?"

With cameras constantly in their faces, where else are these players supposed to spout? It’s unfair how vilified they are for missteps that are bound to be captured on film.

Maybe they aren't as bad as they seem, or maybe some of them are worse—but because of the constant attention, odds are you'll see them at their worst.

The low-key guys?

That doesn't happen to them.

Whether it’s the lack of airtime or because of their personality, we love them because they are how we perceive them: approachable, honest, friendly, hard-working, and all-around stand up guys.

Could they be jerks and deadbeats?

Definitely.

But since they’re overshadowed, we’re not exposed to that.

In a facet of society where other people’s opinions are constantly shoved down your throat, this is the little bit of imagination that fans are still allowed to have.

You're allowed to have your own perception of these guys—no questions asked.

It's this exact reason that I respect Bill Simmons so much. In an interview with Sports Illustrated, Bill went on record saying that he wouldn't want to be in the locker room because he writes from the perspective of a fan:

"If Paul Pierce is a d---, then what do I do? If I'm in the Celtics' locker room and I like the Celtics and my favorite player is Pierce and he's a f------ a------ to me, am I going to like the Celtics as much? Am I going to root for them as much? Probably not. I met Jim Rice and he was a f------ prick. Now I don't care if he's in the Hall of Fame. F--- him."

Because of their "lack of limelight," we don't have to worry about hearing about how much of a jerk guys like Stephane Yelle, while the Woz's love for Manny Lee can remain untainted.

So you know what? Do what I used to do: Look up the address of your favorite players' stadium, and send him a letter telling him how much you appreciate him because it's always nice to know that someone's pulling for you out there.

And who knows? Maybe they're just as nice as you thought they were.

After all, they're just your average Joes, aren't they?