CRANBERRY TOWNSHIP, Pa. -- Conor Sheary knows clutch. He's lived it.
It was June 1, 2016, inside a pulsating PPG Paints Arena. The Stanley Cup Final. Game 2. Two-and-a-half minutes into overtime. Faceoff deep in the Sharks' zone. Sidney Crosby was buzzing around the circle to whisper a few words into his teammates' ears, like a maestro tapping his wand to catch the orchestra's attention.
And then, the crescendo ...
Funny, but no one checks for clutch credentials after one of those. A goal like that, one of the most momentous in the Penguins' 51-year history, lives forever. The imagery, the impact are as indelible as the very engraving of C. SHEARY later that summer on Lord Stanley's Cup.
I approached C. Sheary at his stall Monday morning at the Lemieux Sports Complex. He was unlacing his skates after the team's first pre-playoff practice, all concerned preparing for Game 1 Wednesday against the Flyers, and I'd hoped to ask him about having the chance to work alongside a freshly returned Derick Brassard and Phil Kessel, two famously clutch postseason performers, and whether that might benefit him.
"Wow, of course," Sheary came right back. "When you're playing with great players, guys who've proven themselves in the playoffs, that can only make you that much better. I've had my struggles at times in the playoffs, like last year, and if I do struggle again, I think those guys will pick me up and ..."
That's when Brassard, seated at the next stall, interrupted.
"You're not going to struggle."
He looked Sheary right in the eye, then repeated it.
"You're not going to struggle. You won't. This is the good time of year. The best time."
For some.
For every Derek Jeter, there's a Barry Bonds. For every Tom Brady, there's a Peyton Manning. And for every Mario Lemieux, Jaromir Jagr, Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin, all of whom exceeded the grand stage for the NHL's greatest franchise of the past four decades, somewhere along the way is a Mike Gartner, Rick Nash, Braden Holtby or Sergei Bobrovsky crumbling before the task when it gets taller.
The current incarnation of the Penguins, meaning the core of the two-time champions and now this group, is beyond blessed in this regard. And I dare say that, setting aside all their skill, speed and smarts, the simple concept of clutch — having been there, having done that — might rank right up there among their strengths heading into this tournament.
I asked Brassard, author of 55 points in 78 playoff games — a .71 per-game career average compared to .60 in the regular season — what's made him tick in this "good time of year:"
I then asked Kessel, author of 66 points in 71 playoff games — a .93 per-game career average compared to .81 in the regular season — the same while also including his strong showings representing the U.S. in the Olympics:
They both come across as matter-of-fact on the topic, right?
Well, that's fair. Both have been asked about it a ton over the years, and deservedly so, but there are only so many ways to answer. Besides, both their histories point toward preferring to let actions do the speaking.
Still, I've wondered forever about clutch. How it originates. If it even exists. Or if it's just a low-hanging narrative for people in professions like mine.
In 2007, when covering the Pirates year-round for the Post-Gazette, I wrote a general analysis entitled "Is there clutch? Or is it the reverse?" that wound up getting a surprising amount of national attention. There was no hard conclusion from the work itself, but I'd eventually come to my own that I believe more in the absence of clutch than clutch itself. In other words, I believe that, as the stage gets grand, the rising tide raises all ships ... except for those that sink.
So I pressed on.
Matt Murray's wearing two rings before most NHL players enter the league. He's got a 1.95 goals-against average and .928 save percentage in the playoffs, 2.18 and .917 in the regular season. He seemed perfect for this.
Which is it, clutch or absence of clutch?
Does he find a new level or does he basically keep his cool and remain the best version of himself?
"Hm. You know, I think it might be somewhere in the middle," Murray would reply. "You want to treat a playoff like a normal game, and I think I'm at my best when I'm thinking the least. I feel like I get lost in the game. For me, I feel like my best games are the ones where, after it's over, I don't really remember what just happened."
This is accurate. Can't tell you how many times I've asked him about a specific save and he's got no clue.
"It's almost hard to describe," he kept on. "I really don't know how to put it into words for somebody who hasn't experienced it. You just kind of get lost."
Like zoning in?
"Well, you zone in, but you also zone out. It's a weird feeling. It's very hard to describe."
Patric Hornqvist's got a couple rings himself, and he's wearing those in large part because, for all his hyper-drive energy, he kept his composure enough to whack that puck out of midair off Pekka Rinne's hindquarters:
Surely, he'd be in the category of rising up. This is someone who tries to outdo himself from shift to shift, never mind regular season to playoffs.
"Oh, for sure," Hornqvist answered. "You can only push yourself so much game after game after game in the regular season. You want to, but it's normal to have nights where you aren't at your best. So when playoffs come, that's when you just take it to another level."
OK, but what about that goal?
If he's the type to shrink or overthink, how does he pull off what's tantamount to a gimmick shot one would ordinarily try only at an optional skate?
"Well, yeah. I see what you mean. I think you have to have that confidence but also to make sure you're not going too far. You can't overdo it with excitement."
Phil Bourque's two rings came a long time ago, in 1991 and 1992, as a member of the Penguins' first championship teams. Like Hornqvist, his engine came with one speed. He hadn't been drafted, he had to change from defense to forward, and he had to — and did — dramatically upgrade his skating to retain NHL work. But he, too, performed in the games that mattered most, totaling nine goals and 20 points over those two playoff runs.
"I can see both sides of this," the Ol' Two-Niner would tell me Monday in that locker room. "I guess coming from my perspective, I could never take anything for granted. I was always doubted. I was always trying to prove people wrong. So the first thing I'd think about with playoffs is to never try to be something you're not. Be the best possible version of yourself that you can possibly be."
He paused.
"But somewhere in a series ... no matter who you are, no matter what your role, you have to do something special. I took that on myself. 'I've got to do something that makes a difference.' That's what I'm thinking. I can't relate to what Mario, Sid or Geno would think. Those guys are at the top of the mountain in the regular season and then, in the playoffs, what, they put a flag on the mountain?"
Ha! That's good!
"I couldn't be that guy. But I could make a difference. I had to make a difference."
And what's he see in this team, after they've twice planted that flag and are now seeking a third?
"It's everywhere in here," he'd reply with his hand motioning to the rest of the room. "This team has people on every line, on every pairing who want to make a difference, who can make a difference. They love this time of year."
MATT SUNDAY GALLERY
Penguins practice, UPMC Lemieux Sports Complex, April 9, 2018. - MATT SUNDAY / DKPS