Every 365 days Jordan Leslie Eberle celebrates another birthday. Every 365 days we write him a nice little article celebrating his perpetual greatness. This year King Jordan turns 23 years young and we can’t help but think this article is going to be immediately added to a special file the police are preparing. 

Let’s get to it.

Ah fair Jordan. Fair, sweet prince in the prime of your life. It has been a hell of a year for you hasn’t it? First a lockout robbed you of NHL life and you were forced to thrash the entire AHL within an inch of it’s life.

Then you had a half season of Oilers Hockey where you secretly injured your hand and then suffered slings and arrows from a tiny misguided segment of Oilers fans for the first and presumably last time in your storied career.

THEN late in the season some had the unmitigated gall to go so far as to suggest you should be traded for players that "would plug holes in the lineup and get the Oilers to the next level." You may have heard screaming and gunfire from the River Valley when this was happening. That was me Jordan. Getting ready to defend your honour.

Seriously though 14 –

Seriously Jordan. Who needs these kinds of fair weather fans?

You certainly don’t. I certainly don’t.

Let’s run away together and start a new life. Seriously. We could go somewhere far far away where no one knows about Corsi numbers, where the boo birds don’t fly. Somewhere where people can leave us alone to enjoy the remainder of our lives together.

Maybe Italy Jordan. We could start a two man gelato stand. Or what about Madagascar? We could work with local orphans, teaching them the value of hard work and morality. Think about it – you are only 23 and we have your whole life ahead of you.

It’s a crying shame that you have to celebrate your birthday at the World Championships every year. Last year you rang in 22 in Helsinki, Finland. This year it’s in Stockholm. We can only imagine how boring it must be for you to be in Northern Europe, ballin out of control and playing hockey that is somewhere between "inconsequential" and "unimportant."

Pockets full of cash, tee shirt full of muscles. Front teeth set at a jaunty 15 degree angle sure to make the ladies swoon. Yep it must surely be a bore-a-thon over there for the second year in a row.

Perhaps one day your North American employers will see fit to get you into a playoff series or two before you are celebrating your 79th birthday.

Until then you have some thinking to do Sir. Italy. Madagascar. The South of France perhaps.

Think about it.

And Happy Birthday.