There are times when the captain of a team must demonstrate authority, and Nick Suzuki did not understand the essence of this responsibility.
By asserting, in a nonchalant tone in front of journalists, that he had a “big voice” in the locker room, Suzuki created an unprecedented moment of unease.
“I have a big voice in the locker room, but I don’t feel like I’m playing as well as I usually do. »
The reporters, disconcerted, avoided meeting his gaze, visibly unconvinced by his statement.
In all honesty, when a captain has to point out that he has authority, perhaps that authority is already in doubt.
It’s no secret: Suzuki is going through a personal lethargy and, under his supposed “big voice”, the Canadian continues to sink in the rankings.
The team is now on its fourth five-game losing streak since he wore the “C.” Yet, with each difficult sequence, Suzuki seems to adopt the role of spectator more than leader.
In this context, his attempt to reassure with words rings false:
“I try to say and do the right things”he explained. But where are the actions to back up these words?
Meanwhile, Brendan Gallagher, who sets an example in every match with his intensity and determination, would perhaps have more legitimacy to inspire his teammates.
Gallagher doesn’t need to be reminded that he “has a big voice”: he makes it heard through his actions.
But for Suzuki, the uneasiness persists. And when we learn that Shea Weber, a respected former captain, made a surprise visit, we imagine that Weber’s advice on leadership must certainly have piqued our reigning captain.
Perhaps even, without saying it openly, Weber wondered how his legacy as captain could have landed in the hands of a player who, by all accounts, struggles to impose any authority.
For a team in free fall, having a captain who inspires, who shows the way with his play and his attitude, is essential.
At this point, Suzuki’s role seems to become more of an extra in a play that demands a guy who is going to take the leading role.
Nick Suzuki, visibly uncomfortable, tried to play captain in front of the media, but it had the opposite effect.
The atmosphere became heavy, and the journalists present exchanged embarrassed glances, some even lowering their eyes, as if to avoid betraying their discomfort.
Suzuki’s nonchalant tone only amplified the impression of a captain who does not seem to live up to his own words.
Saying that he has “a big voice” was not enough to convince journalists, used to hearing leaders impose themselves through their actions much more than through declarations.
Reporters, accustomed to press conferences of former captains like Shea Weber, visibly had difficulty believing in the authority of the young captain.
As he tried to defend his role, a slight nervous smile appeared on his face, betraying a lack of confidence that reinforced the general unease.
At this point, several journalists discreetly exchanged glances, some barely containing themselves from rolling their eyes.
He’s not a captain, he’s an extra.
The reporters, visibly annoyed, seemed to want something else from Suzuki – a more inspiring speech, a call for resilience, something that would show he is willing to stand up for his team even in the darkest of times.
But instead they were treated to an assertion of authority that rang false and an attempt at justification that convinced no one.
This scene spoke volumes about the unease around Suzuki and his role as captain.
Suzuki could soon lose all credibility, not only in the locker room, but also among Montreal fans.
