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But not only is that not becoming, it’s playing down to the very level of the people that I’m all worked up about. No, there has to be a better way of getting my point across other than hurling childish insults at people that I don’t know when I’m not in an position to understand. Right?

And that’s when it hit me. Maybe they just don’t understand? Maybe I just need to take the the time to actually explain?

O.K., then. Stage Three:

Dear Mr. Campbell and Mr. O’Sullivan:

We’re from Edmonton. And like you, we’re we’re hockey fans. Big ones.

When we drafted Nail Yakupov as an 18 year old, he was a big part of the hope that most of us shared that he and a handful of other young players would finally help lead us back to the promised land which was the Stanley Cup playoffs. We’ve been there before, many times. And while some may have thought we got smug and sick of it back in the Eighties, actually, no. We remember that feeling, all too vaguely now for some of us, and we’re dying to get it back. And the further separated we are from that dream that so many Canadians share, the harder it is.

And so we pinned some of our hopes, perhaps too much of them, on this young, talented Russian kid. We get that we may have drafted the wrong player, for the wrong reason. We know the story all too well, trust us. Our owner had his heart in the right place, maybe, but that wasn’t the right time to think with it. Nonetheless, we picked him, and to Edmonton he came.

Perhaps if only he had arrived with just his god-given hockey talents, this would not have been so hard. But no, in addition to the big shot, the fast steps, the obvious thirst to score, came this thoroughly likeable kid that so many of us adopted. Nail’s vivid passion for the game captured our hearts. His enthusiasm lifted our hopes and spirits. His irresistible personality became a part of us.