Mitch Marner and the Myth of the Universally Loved Player
One of the strangest expectations we place on athletes is the idea that they’re supposed to be universally loved. By teammates. By fans. By former cities. By everyone, forever. It’s a nice thought—but it’s not real life. And it’s certainly not how sports work.
This comes up every time a long-tenured player returns to a former city. Suddenly, the conversation isn’t about hockey anymore. It’s about how fans are supposed to feel. Who deserves cheers or boos? What’s respectful behaviour? What’s classy. What’s “right.” That’s where things get sideways.
Tonight, Mitch Marner Returns to Toronto to Play the Maple Leafs.
Take Mitch Marner’s return to Toronto. Some people rushed to compare it to Jonathan Toews returning to Chicago, as if there’s a universal script for these moments. But that comparison misses something basic: no two careers, no two cities, and no two emotional histories are the same. Toews returned with banners already hanging. Marner returned with unfinished business and unresolved feelings. That alone changes everything.
What gets lost is this idea that being “liked” is somehow binary. Either everyone loved you, or something must be wrong. But anyone who’s ever worked in a real workplace knows that’s nonsense. No one is everybody’s cup of tea. Not the star employee. Not the boss. Not even the person everyone points to and says, “Oh yeah, that guy—everyone loves him.” Those people are unicorns.
Liked in the Locker Room Differs from Being Liked by Fans.
In a locker room, being liked doesn’t mean universal adoration. It means respect. It means trust. It means showing up, doing your job, and carrying your share of the weight. A player can be valued, appreciated, even admired—and still rub some people the wrong way. That’s normal and human.
Where it becomes unfair is when “likability” gets weaponized. When it turns into shorthand for blame. When it becomes a way to tell fans how they’re allowed to react. Cheer, but not too loud. Boo, but not too harsh. Feel grateful, but don’t feel disappointed.
But Fans, Especially Maple Leafs Fans, Aren’t Robots.
That’s not how fandom works. Fans aren’t robots. They’re emotional investors. They carry the wins and the losses, the hopes and the what-ifs. Wanting a crowd to be loud, conflicted, passionate—even a little uncomfortable—that’s not disrespect. That’s engagement.
Players understand this more than we give them credit for. On the ice, friendship stops at the boards. You give the video tribute. You tip your cap. And then, friend or not, you try to run each other through the glass.
No one is universally loved. And expecting that from players—or fans—only flattens the truth. The real story is always messier. And that’s what makes it honest.