Ovechkin. Drafted by a long-suffering franchise, a goofy Russian kid who dislodged a pane of glass with a check during his very first shift, proceeds to win the Calder and steal some thunder from Canada's anointed one. Goes on to become arguably the most exciting player in the world at his peak, and put up one of the greatest goal-scoring seasons of all-time. Follow that with years of crushing losses and heartbreak both in the playoffs and Olympics, often to Crosby, while shouldering the burden of a still Cup-less team and being labeled a choker. Finally, aged 32 and best years behind him, I had accepted that I would likely never see him win the Cup. Against the odds he and the other Caps then lived up to years of potential and vanquished both Pittsburgh and Tampa en route to a Cup. Ovechkin wins the Conn Smythe and announces the same evening that he and his wife are expecting their firstborn. Felt like a storybook ending, and I've rarely ever been so happy for a complete stranger. Now assuming good health we get to watch him climb through the goal-scoring ranks over the next half-decade or so, surpassing greats like Sakic, Selanne, Lemieux, Yzerman, Messier, and leave his mark on hockey history.
But actually, Auston Matthews.