Last year, when Crosby compared himself and McDavid, McDavid thought it was pretty crazy. And when Wayne Gretzky called to say he was rooting for McDavid, that was crazy, too.

“If my kid can grow up to be as well-rounded as this kid is, I mean, with all the pressure he has,” Catalde said, adding: “He’s good with everybody, but he’s clearly uncomfortable. He doesn’t like the attention. He doesn’t like being the big shot.”

That Thursday night, after dinner with Orr, McDavid played table tennis with Catalde. McDavid was unmerciful, curling shots down the line, smashing winners over Catalde’s head. He was quiet, except to call out the score.

Not since that first time had McDavid let Catalde win.

“Uh-uh, no way,” Catalde said, shaking his head. “He hates losing more than he likes winning.”

Out of a Circle

The next day, snow was falling outside as some Otters gathered in a back corridor of the arena to play sewer ball before a game against the Niagara IceDogs. The object was to juggle a soccer ball as a group, without using hands, and keep it from dropping.

They formed a circle, and it was obvious which one had just turned 16. His limbs hung under a loose T-shirt and shorts, his face appeared blotchy, and his brown hair stuck up in the back of his head, as if he had just gotten out of bed.

The others sarcastically call McDavid “exceptional.” They rag on him for every bad pass because, of course, they say, he can do no wrong — which is not so far from the truth.