CONNOR BEDARD IS READY FOR STARDOM — BUT IS HE READY FOR CHICAGO?

As if there isn’t enough pressure on hockey’s next presumptive phenom, he must grow up quickly in a futile sports town that expects him to hoist Stanley Cups, stem crime and plant palm trees in winter

     For now, he looks very much like the pup he is, his blue-tinged eyes wide with verve and promise, his face without a wrinkle or pockmark, his hair combed back and tousle-proof, his teeth whiter than lakefront snow. The “before” photo, at 17 years and 11 months, suggests Connor Bedard is in for a wonderful life.

     Let’s see what the “after” photo looks like in, say, 2041 or so. That’s because hockey’s newest phenom is headed to Chicago, a place that derives community self-esteem from local sports teams in ways that aren’t healthy for the mind and soul. He’ll be expected to do more than resurrect the Blackhawks and lead them to many sojourns with the Stanley Cup, beyond what Patrick Kane and Jonathan Toews did in the last decade. He’s also there to lift the city’s always-wavering happiness quotient, to blow away the choking smoke from his homeland that brought the world’s worst air quality this week, to maybe even curtail gun violence and murder sprees if he can.

     It isn’t enough to party on a yacht by the beach, visit a world-class museum, eat a prime filet and imbibe at a neighborhood tavern. Chicago needs its teams to win like the rest of us need food, water and oxygen. For the longest time now, they’ve only lost — and I mean, rock-bottom failure, the kind that never should happen in America’s No. 3 market and wouldn’t if the media weren’t comprised of locally bred fanboys afraid to apply appropriate pressure on management. This is a town that should regularly contend for titles in every sport, as teams do in Los Angeles and try to in New York, yet the owners are more interested in bottom lines than lines to get into championship parades. The Cubs and White Sox have won two World Series between them in 219 collective seasons of trying. In 57 years of Super Bowls, the Bears have won once and been there only twice. The good people have had to subsist on memories from 25 years ago, when Michael Jordan and the Bulls were winning their sixth title, and the more recent feats of the Hawks, who won three times between 2010 and 2015 and since only have been scandalized. The Cubs finally won in 2016 and might never win again. The Sox finally won in 2005 and might never win again. The Bulls, cursed by Jerry Reinsdorf’s dynasty wreckingball, never will win again.

     The teams suck. The owners grow older and more hateable. And the fans keep coming back for more, as they always were taught growing up, their blind loyalty overwhelming the consumer fraud victimizing them year after painful year. Into that pot of piss and vinegar comes Bedard, who is supposed to be to hockey what Jordan and LeBron James have been to basketball, and what Sidney Crosby and Connor McDavid have been to the NHL. In Chicago, he is supposed to leapfrog into that age-old conversation — who is the city’s all-time greatest sports figure? — that instantly should be answered “Jordan” but sometimes is clouded by a football-town affinity that favors Walter Payton or Mike Ditka, or a traditional baseball tug that never stops clinging to Ernie Banks. In the context of the Indian Head sweater, Bedard must match, if not exceed, the impact of Kane, Toews, Bobby Hull, Stan Mikita and all the Hawks legends. In the context of his sport, he’s supposed to have a rookie season in the vicinity of Alex Ovechkin, who had 52 goals and 54 assists in 2005-06.

     That’s not too much pressure, is it? Is that why he looked nervous Wednesday evening in Nashville while waiting for the rest of his life? Is that why the knot of his tie was bigger than a puck? Did he hear the fans who drove down to chant “Let’s Go Hawks!” with holiday-season fervor? Did he see the Chicago scenes from an event space called the Salt Shed, where thousands were celebrating after work and bartenders were preparing for a long night after the Hawks chose Bedard with the No. 1 pick in the NHL draft?

     The poor kid has no idea what he’s getting into, having grown up in western Canada in a Vancouver suburb. Wisely, he is fully embracing “the history with that organization and that city with sports.” He has heard about the United Center. He has heard about the thunder organ. He has heard about the fans who shout above the national anthem singer. But he won’t actually understand the weight of his burden until he arrives and plays his first home game — which, peculiarly, won’t come until the Hawks have played five road games in a hellish grind through Pittsburgh, Boston, Montreal, Toronto and Colorado.

     What if he’s 0-5? Welcome to Chicago, phenom.

     “It’s incredible. I couldn’t be happier,” he said, thousands of miles from home, heading into a dream that soon will twist into a mean challenge. “I can’t put into words growing up and obviously, that’s when they were going on their runs winning Cups. You watched a lot of them and you see the United Center going crazy and all of Chicago getting behind them and you know so much history is here.”

     If his partner in 2023 summer hype, Victor Wembanyama, already is talking about winning NBA rings, Bedard is the antithesis in outward teen ambition. He just wants to avoid getting cut in training camp, or so he says in what only can be described as refreshing humility. “Right now, I’m focusing on having a good rest of the summer and making the team,” he said. “I want to make the team, that’s the No. 1 goal. I want to have an impact on the ice and in the (dressing) room. To be a teammate and give my all every day. Those are some things I can control.” When asked about facing his idol, Crosby, on opening night, he again refused to look ahead.

     “I’ve got to make it first,” Bedard said. “But that would be unreal. He was my favorite player growing up. If that happens, I couldn’t have scripted it better.”

     It will happen, Connor. Don’t worry. Fortunately, he is characterized by all as a good soul without a noticeable ego. “Living in the moment is a big thing a lot of people have told me,” he said. “That’s huge, with all the outside noise and other stuff going on, to just enjoy things and be where your feet are.”

     The more centerpieces, the better, for a league that drew broadcast ratings crickets for a Cup final between Las Vegas and Florida. Ovechkin is approaching retirement age, after he breaks Wayne Gretzky’s career goals record. Crosby isn’t getting younger. McDavid is just entering his prime. Hockey always needs another star, and it definitely needs him in Chicago, an Original Six franchise that is quiet much too often. The moment Bedard’s name was announced, at 6:16 p.m. Central, the clock started ticking above the Wrigley Building, in the center of a downtown aching for restored vigor. How soon before he takes over the frozen planet?

     “We’ll let him figure that out,” general manager Kyle Davidson said. “He’s a very special player, a very special person. You know what, I have no clue. I wish I had that crystal ball.”

     So do I. His new city has no patience or restraint, you see. Chicago is expecting a hybrid of Gretzky and Lemieux and Kane, mixed with traces of Jesus Christ.

     Should we congratulate him or pray for him?

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     Jay Mariotti, called “without question the most impacting Chicago sportswriter of the past quarter-century,’’ writes general sports columns for Substack while appearing on some of the 1,678,498 podcasts and shows in production today. He is an accomplished columnist, TV panelist and talk/podcast host. Living in Los Angeles, he gravitated by osmosis to film projects.