The Mystery of Mr. Clutch

I'm feeling constant revulsion and love to one particular individual at the moment. I hear one thing, it makes me love him. I hear something else, it makes me hate him. I'm trying to write or even think about anything else but his face is the only thing that comes into my mind. So, undoubtebly, I have to write about him. There is nothing else for me to do.



Jordan Eberle. Mr. Clutch. Before, to me he was simply an overgrown 6-year-old with some miraculous skills in making us crap our pants in the final seconds of Baby Canada games. He was a simple person, a simple guy, as simple as plain bread or an empty arena. But then came the game against the USA. He scored the goals, just like we knew he would, but this time it was different. This time, his valiant efforts were somehow unprecedented and went unrewarded. We then felt bad for Jordan Eberle. We loved him even more. We knew of his remarkable talent, it was no longer merely a consequent of good luck. Facebook began to overflow with groups dedicated to him, NHL GMs went immediately on alert. All of Edmonton beamed with pride; their unfathomable losing streak seemed to have finally stiked a finish.

But, is that all there is to our young Canadian hero? Is he simply a talented hockey player, an over-exageration of our arrogant, self-absorbed minds? Does he have the nerve, the passion, the bravery, the cheek, the spirit, the bravado to be able to stick it in the big leagues?

He has won our hearts, has claimed his name as a Clutch God. He has proved himself as more than capable of handling the foreign talents of the Junior leagues. But will his talents suffice once he takes the next step? Will he be able to handle the weariness and exhaustion of the upper level? Will he crumble under the pressure of all the hopes and expectations that have been suddenly thrust upon him?



Jordan Eberle was not known before the World Junior tournament of 2009. He was not one of the best players on team Canada, he was not a star. He was simply a fragment of the group, a tiny, insignificant piece of the puzzle. But, no matter how small the piece, if it is missing, the puzzle is incomplete, no?

It turned out he was a larger piece than any of us had ever expected. If it weren't for him, scoring that final goal against the Russians in the semi-finals with less than 6 seconds remaining on the clock, Canada would never have made it to five in a row. We would never have become legendary, if it weren't for him. He was Canada's saviour, so to speak. He gave us hope, he gave our country light again.

Or was he simply in the right place at the right time?

How can we be sure that if it hadn't been him playing on that line, if the coach had subsituted him in the final minute for someone different, we wouldn't have gotten the same result? If, say, Stephan Della Rovere had jumped off that bench for the final shift of the game instead of Jordan Eberle, would he be the one who had recieved all the glory? Was Eberle's miraculous last second goal simply luck of the draw?

No, you say, since this year he proved himself. This year, he confirmed the thoughts that were raging the nation, by scoring two goals against the US in the finals minutes of the game to tie it up when we thought all hope was lost. He confirmed himself as a master in clutch. He demonstrated that his game improved to about double his standard whenever it was absolutely needed. He proved to us that under pressure, he could do anything. Under pressure, he could be the greatest hockey player in the world.

Or did he? Again, was he simply situated in the right part of the ice when he got the pass? Was his perfect shot just...lucky? Maybe it was just a fluky coincidence that he happened to score both of the goals that tied up the game. I mean, any one player on that team could have scored those goals. It didn't take a particular amount of skill. Anyone in that tournament could've done it. Maybe it wasn't him at all. Maybe it was the opposition. Maybe both USA and Russia in those games became too cocky, maybe they thought they had already won. Maybe they figured there was no way to come back from the loss that was already eminent in the faces of all those Canadians. Maybe they dropped their game. Maybe, just maybe, they lowered their intensity just a tad, just enough to let one shot through. Just enough to give one goal, and give the Canadians an incredible boost of energy and adrenaline. Maybe that energy is what won them their fifth gold medal in 2009. That adrenaline, perhaps, is what also gave them the strengh and power to catch up from a two-goal deficit in 2010 and bring the game into over-time.

Maybe it was never Jordan Eberle at all.




Even if it wasn't him who had scored all those clutch goals, I have a feeling that we, all North America, would still love him somehow. So, what is it about him that makes us adore him? He isn't the most attractive man in the world. If it were based on that, we would all be swooning over Nikita Filatov right now. So then what? His personality? The fact that he gets overly excited about every little thing, that he has the heart of an over-grown child? His humour? If it were about that, we would be laughing at Adam Burish, not him. So what is it? What is it about Jordan Eberle that makes us holler until our throats are dry, that makes us giggle until our sides hurt, that makes our eyes well up with unexpected tears?

Could it be a mix? Perhaps all of his features, inside and out, add up to a perfect combination of a male. The perfect combination of lovelyness, that make us throw our pillows at the TV. Maybe Jordan Eberle, Captain Clutch, is simply...perfect.


We'll never know. We'll never truly know what makes him tick. Never know how he stays so calm under immense pressure, or how he manages to keep that unfathoming charm on constant reflex. I can't help but wonder if we've over-estimated him. They say love is blind. They say that if you're looking for something in someone, chances are, you'll find it. Maybe we were just looking for someone new, someone exciting. Maybe we were just trying to find someone to fill the void of hockey Canada that has been continuously gowing and growing over the past few years. Maybe we were looking for it, and, just maybe, since we were so carefully and constantly looking, we found it.

Is Jordan Eberle really as great as we've put him up to be? Or is he simply no more than an extended hope of our overactive imaginations?

That is the question.