Among players with 50+ playoff games played since Mitch Marner entered the league, there were only 18 players with more points-per-game than Marner before this year's playoffs.
Now there are only 11.
Those players are McDavid, Draisaitl, MacKinnon, Rantanen, Kucherov, Crosby, Eichel, Bouchard, Marchand, Makar, and Guentzel.
Decent company.
Marner now has 84 points in 85 playoff games - almost a point-per-game playoff guy. There are less than 40 point-per-game players with 50+ playoff games in NHL history.
I won't list them, but trust me - he'll be in decent company again if he gets there.
It. Did. Not. Happen. Overnight.
There's no question Marner's playing the best playoff hockey of his career right now.
But the biggest reason why everyone's struggling to wrap their heads around Marner's success this year is because they start with the premise that he was an absolute zero in the playoffs as a Maple Leaf.
It's a complete fallacy.
I’ve just watched ‘Remarkably Bright Creatures’ (2026) on @NetflixUK . If you watch one film, make sure it’s this one.
Sally Field and Lewis Pullman are outstanding in this adaptation.
Make sure you have tissues as I’ve sobbed uncontrollably.
#RemarkablyBrightCreatures#Netflix
It must be said: the CBC coverage of the 2026 Olympics has been fantastic. The streaming @cbcgem app on iOS and Apple TV is outstanding. Better than what other countries have on offer by far.
Olympic Hockey:
- the games start on time
- no animated fake ads on the boards
- no ads superimposed on the ice or glass
- no gambling ads shoved in your face
- no live betting odds
- no broadcast sponsored parlays
- no ads on jerseys or helmets
fix your game @NHL
Four Old Men. Two Wheelchairs. One Beach. Alan Alda’s 90th Birthday
January 28, 2026.
Alan Alda turned 90.
His family planned a safe celebration at home.
Cake. Balloons. Grandkids.
Alan said no.
“I don’t want a party,” he said.
His daughter frowned.
“Dad… you’re turning ninety. This is a big deal.”
“I know,” Alan said.
“But I don’t want to celebrate here.”
“Then where?”
Alan didn’t hesitate.
“I want to go to the beach.”
The room went still.
“The beach?”
“Dad, you’re in a wheelchair.”
“You can barely stand.”
Alan smiled.
That smile.
The Hawkeye Pierce smile — the one that always meant something stubborn was coming.
“So?”
By that afternoon, he had already decided who was coming.
“The four of us,” he said.
“The last four.”
Gary Burghoff.
Jamie Farr.
Mike Farrell.
And himself.
The final survivors of the 4077th.
“No cameras. No interviews. No speeches,” Alan said.
“Just us.”
The phone calls began.
Gary answered first.
“Happy birthday, old man! Ninety!”
“Thanks. I need you to drive.”
“Drive where?”
“To the beach.”
A pause.
“Alan… you’re in a wheelchair.”
“So are facts. They don’t stop me either.”
Gary laughed.
That Radar laugh Alan had known for over fifty years.
“Fine. But I’m not pushing you through sand.”
“I’ll crawl if I have to.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m Hawkeye. Same thing.”
Jamie Farr was next.
“The beach?” Jamie said.
“I’m ninety-one and in a wheelchair.”
“Then we’ll have two wheelchairs at the beach.”
“Like a parade?”
“Like a victory lap.”
Jamie laughed until his voice cracked.
“You haven’t changed since 1972.”
“And you’re still Klinger.”
“Fine. I’m in.”
Mike Farrell sighed the moment he answered.
“Let me guess,” he said.
“You want me to push your wheelchair.”
“Yes.”
“I’m eighty-six. I use a cane.”
“BJ Hunnicutt once saved a man with dental floss,” Alan said.
“You’ll manage.”
Long pause.
“…Fine.”
January 28. 6:00 a.m.
Gary arrived in a rented van.
Two wheelchair spaces.
He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt.
At Alan’s house, his daughter hovered.
“Dad, are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
“What if something happens?”
“Something is always about to happen at ninety,” Alan said.
“Might as well happen at the beach.”
Jamie was waiting outside his house.
Wheelchair. Sunglasses.
Hawaiian shirt.
“You coordinated outfits?” Gary asked.
“It’s tradition,” Jamie said.
“The 4077th always matched.”
Mike showed up next.
Also in a Hawaiian shirt.
Four old men.
One van.
Heading west.
On the drive, memories filled the air.
Harry driving too fast.
Larry bringing his own wine.
Radar making everyone cry.
Klinger never sleeping.
When the MASH* theme song came on, no one spoke.
After it ended, Alan said quietly,
“That song used to annoy me.”
“Now?”
“Now it just reminds me how lucky we were.”
At Malibu, reality hit.
Wheelchairs don’t work on sand.
Jamie grumbled.
Mike rubbed his back.
Alan stared at the ocean.
Gary disappeared.
Fifteen minutes later, he returned with two lifeguards and two beach wheelchairs.
One lifeguard whispered,
“My grandmother watched MASH* every night.”
It took time.
Transfers were slow.
Hands trembled.
Bones protested.
But they made it.
To the water.
Alan closed his eyes.
The sound of waves.
Salt in the air.
Sun on his face.
“I forgot what this felt like,” he said.
They talked about the ones who weren’t there.
McLean.
Wayne.
Larry.
Harry.
Bill.
David.
Loretta.
Jamie finally broke the silence.
“Let’s race.”
Two wheelchairs.
Two pushers.
One rock.
They raced.
They tied.
People on the beach stared.
A teenager asked, “What are those old guys doing?”
His mother said, “Living.”
As the sun set, Alan spoke.
“This might be the last time.”
No one argued.
“That’s why it matters,” he said.
“Because we know.”
He made a wish.
“One more year.”
“One more adventure.”
“Korea. Together.”
They promised.
Oops, merry Christmas. Everybody merry Christmas. Have a great time. Have a great life. Have a great evening peace and love peace and love so this is Christmas.😎✌️🌟❤️🌈🥦🍒🎶🌈🌻☮️
"When you're 20 you care what everyone thinks, when you're 40 you stop caring what everyone thinks, when you're 60 you realize no one was ever thinking about you in the first place."
Winston Churchill