Imagine being Connor McDavid in 2015 when the Oilers won the draft lottery and having to be all like, "Damn Edmonton, you're a great franchise with your dynamic management and totally healthy preoccupation with the 80s. I will totally do my best for you, both the team and the city" when all he really wants to do is join an organization that understands that points don't carry over from previous seasons and that goaltending is a somewhat important aspect of the team sport of hockey. Like seriously, imagine having to be Connor and not only sit in that chair at the draft while the Oilers "organization" walks up to the stage, their shaky, washed-up management unable to conceal a shit-eating grin, Gary absolutely seething in the background that the greatest player of the 21st century isn't going to Florida or Dallas or Phoenix, but to frozen Edmonton. Not only having to tolerate yet another mention of "the dynasty years" and "a winning history," things which happened years before you were born (Edmonton city council finally voted to remove the "City of Champions" moniker from their welcome signs when you were twelve). You've been a humble, fit, and disciplined athlete your ENTIRE LIFE. You've never even seen anything as bloated and self-righteous as the Oilers before and now you can almost hear the team president approaching you after a game to remind you that it's polite to ignore the whiskey on Gretzky's breath when he comes to congratulate you on a good game. You snap back to reality as that bald asshole Peter Chiarelli says your name into the microphone and you go up. You know you could kill every single person on this stage faster than Daryl Katz could do a bump of coke, but you don't. You stand there and endure because you're fucking Connor McDavid. You're not going to bitch out because things didn't go your way. You're going to pick a city up on your back and make things go your way.