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Based on some oft-heard rumors, the brain trust at LCS -- such as it is -- recently posed the following query: Is Paul Kariya really a jerk? With that on the table, and as your humble Anaheim correspondent, it became incumbent upon me to take a position on the issue.

First, some background which may help explain the source of the rumors that Kariya is as icy as the surface he so effortlessly dominates.

Among the baggage the diminutive sniper carried when he arrived at The Pond in 1994 was the speculation, due in part to his one-year holdout after being drafted in 1993, that he was a "me first" type of player. Whether or not that was true, he didn't help himself much off the ice that first season. His encounters with the press were, clearly, excruciating for both sides.

Kariya met with the media reluctantly, often made them wait long after game's end (seriously annoying the daily beat writers), and even then offered only one or two-word answers spoken so softly, with his head down, that if you weren't at the very front of the crush of reporters, you stood no chance of hearing what he had to say.

Naturally, that led -- as the layers of press peeled away -- to media members asking the same lame questions over and over, to which Kariya did not hide his impatience.

Soon there was open talk that Paul was uncooperative with the media; talk which Disney did its level best to spin out of. But the fact was that Kariya did not like to meet the press, creating a difficult situation for all concerned. He had arrived, after all, tagged not just as the team's shining new star, but as a beacon for the future of the NHL. And so far, he was a PR disaster.

On the ice, of course, he met and exceeded all expectations. And that put him in even greater demand with the media, magnifying the problems his personality -- alternately described as "shy," "intense" or "private" -- caused his image.

But the kid was still brutally soft-spoken and no volunteer to go wave the team flag at non-hockey functions. Bill Robertson and his staff of spinmeisters constantly battled the buzz that Kariya was cold and disinterested in anything but his own role within the team.

HEY, LIGHTEN UP!
On the way to a 50-goal, 108-point season in 1995/96, Kariya did lighten up a bit. And it started the day Teemu Selanne came to town. Paul and Teemu had the common bond of ungodly talent, which forced them into their own superstar clique. Indeed, they were so often joined, "Paul and Teemu" might as well have been one name. They became best friends even though they are, personality-wise, polar opposites.

Like Paul, Teemu gives everything. But unlike Paul, he leaves it on the ice, or at least in the room. When a game is over, Teemu can relax, win or lose, and talk about it without griping too much. Kariya, on the other hand, carries his game with him everywhere. He's always intense, and never really seems relaxed. But if that's the way he is now, he was far worse before Teemu got there.

Teemu took the pressure off Kariya, not just on the ice, but -- more importantly -- off it. By just being himself -- always willing to talk to reporters, meet with people, kids, sign autographs until the last outstretched hand was gone, answer the same moronic media questions over and over again; always happy and smiling, striving to leave the pressures of the game at the rink -- Teemu showed Paul that he, too, could lighten up. And he did.

A NEW PAUL?
Today (at least when he's in good health), Kariya is more forthright with the media. He doesn't have to be dragged kicking and screaming into the media crush and he can approach his obligations with a sense of humor that was not clearly evident during those first two seasons. He's still no Brett Hull, but then who is?

It's ironic that the Selanne quality which (rumor has it, anyway) annoyed Winnipeg management, that being his perceived "European" nonchalance, is the best thing Anaheim could have introduced into their all-too-serious star. Because Kariya knows that Teemu wants to win as badly as anyone. And that just because he doesn't toss fire extinguishers out the window after a tough loss, doesn't mean he isn't dedicated to doing what it takes to win the Stanley Cup.

All things considered, I wasn't prepared to endorse the theory that Kariya is a jerk. But just in case I was getting it wrong, I asked around. I looked under local rocks for stories of Kariya flipping fans the bird, spitting beer on the heads of barflies or destroying public property. I found none.

I did find plenty of media members who griped that he wasn't "easy" to deal with, but so what? That doesn't make him a bad guy, just a tough interview.

As for the 1997 holdout, which pro-management types still seek to lay the feet of Kariya and agent Don Baizley, it could probably have been handled better. But it was also in large part a function of Disney's inability to cede the negotiating hammer to their star. Remember, these were uncharted waters for Eisner & Co.: no one had ever stared Disney down before and had the ammo -- in this case, raw gate-attracting talent -- to win.

Paul Kariya is a perfectionist. He is a 24-hour player. He is extremely introspective. And he definitely isn't as laid back, or as interested in talking about himself, as are a lot of other athletes.

Who's to say that's all bad?

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