But to suggest MacKinnon doesn't pay attention to the world around him would be inaccurate -- because he does. Especially when the conversation turns to what happened at the NHL All-Star Game back in February. More specifically, when he and Crosby posed for a picture with Justin Bieber.
Bieber stood between Crosby and MacKinnon with the pop star leaning closer to Crosby. The running joke on social media was that Bieber was going to crop MacKinnon out of the photo.
And then the joke became reality. Bieber posted several pictures from All-Star Weekend, including one of just him and Crosby, with the only vestige of MacKinnon being his right shoulder and his No. 29.
Others noticed. The most-liked comment on Bieber's feed was about MacKinnon, with someone writing, "damn mackinnon got the crop." It led to several responses ranging from, "what'd he ever do to you justin" to "i'm not even an avs fan and this hurts me lol."
Another person chimed in to say, "but I mean ... It's Crosby ..." followed by someone else stating "but its also mackinnon. Who eventually will be a hall of famer."
So what does MacKinnon think of all this?
"Yeah, I don't blame him," MacKinnon said with a smile. "It's Sidney Crosby! He's an icon! A Canadian icon! I get it. I'm not like a household name. I know that, and that's OK. It's just funny to me. I'm not offended. Justin seemed like a nice guy."
Share one or two sentences (or lines for artists) from your most recent unposted WIP with zero context.
to provide some illicit context, this is a reporter!claude sidclaude au that i've been playing around with for literal years. i will ofc take any excuse to make claude even more tragic
“I’ve got a story sitting in my drafts. Wrote it on a bender – fucking years ago now.” Giroux looks up over his drink, eyes on Sid, smiling so sharp that it hurts to look at. “It’s masquerading as an exposé on You Can Play, but that’s just the cover, the excuse. The real hook is the NHL’s closested players.”
Sid wills himself not to react, not to flinch. He takes another sip of beer, swallowing down the nausea that’s building sick in his chest.
“It’s not explicit; I’m not insane," Giroux continues, levity as fake as his smile. "It’s pretty fucking masterful like that actually: subtle enough that they probably wouldn’t totally blackball me, enough innuendo that it would make your life hell.”
When Sid opens his mouth to respond, he finds his throat is dry. “You didn’t publish it,” he says, voice croaking.
“Not because I didn’t want to. Just cost-benefit analysis.”