FEATURE: Kane's resolve to rest after surgery has brought out his playoff best

EDMONTON, AB – When September hits New York City, and the city exhales.

Feel it in your bones? That atmospheric vise gripping the Big Apple all summer? Gone. That soupy, oppressive blanket – the one making every breath a gulp of hot, wet air? Poof. Lifted. Crispness descends, buffing summer's grit to a hopeful gleam. It's a city-wide sigh of relief, never more real than in September. NYC catches its second wind, bracing for autumn's technicolour punch.

And Evander Kane? He was there. Not to battle the urban hustle – his career's been one long pressure cooker already – but to soak in New York's calmer, healing side. In the city that never sleeps, Kane had one mission: rest. Recovery. A full-system reboot.

Even for a warrior in recovery mode, September's New York dangles a buffet of glorious distractions. Out in Queens? Arthur Ashe Stadium, under lights so bright they practically sizzle, hummed with the U.S. Open's electric fever pitch. A full-blown opera of muscle and grit, human drama exploding live on those iconic blue courts. Imagine: 24,000 souls, riding every thwack, every roar, every gut-punch miss.

You could see Kane there, right? A warrior carved from granite and sheer will, legendary for his on-ice tenacity. A spirit like his, anyone hooked on human limits being shattered – who wouldn't crave a ringside seat as gods and goddesses made history with racquet and heart? The thought alone? Pure adrenaline – the kind Kane usually dished out, not just watched.

But a heavy anchor tugged at Kane: the primal scream of his body, an instrument pushed past redline, demanding rest. A quiet room, far from any roar, even the Open's.

Or how about Little Italy's fragrant chaos during the Feast of San Gennaro? The air itself? A thick, glorious, greasy tapestry: sizzling sausage and peppers stinging your nostrils, sweet zeppole sugar-dusting the breeze like confetti, and garlic – oh, the garlic – a full-blown symphony. All of it hanging heavy under festive red, white, and green lights. Since 1926, this slice of the old world has stubbornly dished out pasta and memories, refusing to be bulldozed by the new. Pure tradition, community, and joy, served hot.

Nope. Not for Kane. That gravitational pull to rest was a quiet, non-negotiable command. The feast, even that garlic-laced siren song, would have to wait. Healing could not.

Then came the approach of the eleventh. New York's beauty shifted, painted in somber, reflective hues. As daylight reluctantly surrendered to a hushed dusk, eyes involuntarily drifted south. To them. The Tribute in Light: two ethereal beams stabbing the night where the towers once soared. Imagine being there, in that heavy quiet, absorbing September 11th's soul-shaking gravity – the day the world fractured. Witnessing the quiet, almost shy strength of a city rebuilding not just towers, but hope itself.

But rest, a gentle yet firm hand on Kane's shoulder, outmuscled even that solemn call. Its whisper – mend – was louder than any ghost. Rest. Simple word. For an athlete like Kane? Often the hardest, most counter-intuitive order.

Back in Edmonton, his Oilers teammates were deep into training camp, sharpening skates and chemistry for the NHL grind ahead. Kane? He woke up in a New York hospital. Sterile smells, muted beeps – a galaxy away from crisp September air or the bite of rink ice. He was surfacing from anesthetic fog, post-op from a surgeon's lengthy to-do list: two torn hip adductors, two hernias, two torn lower abs. Not one big bang, but the price of battling through a sports hernia – that sneaky saboteur of core muscles. He'd pushed until his body screamed ‘uncle!’

He bucked initial medical advice – the part about getting up and at 'em, anyway. Instead, he listened to his body's deeper wisdom: stay put. "Doctors came in that morning," Kane said later, his voice a blend of directness and intensity, back in the playoff glare at Rogers Place – a universe from that hospital bed. "Okay, they said, we want you standing up. And I'm like, I can't move.

"You know? Medical theory versus patient reality. I was living it."

He hammered home a crucial, often-ignored recovery key: "Rest after major surgery like that? It's huge," he stressed. "Everyone wants to hit the gym, jumpstart rehab. No. Hold on. Let the body actually heal. Let inflammation die down. Then start. That rehab rockets along if you let the body truly mend first."

His patience – or maybe stubborn faith in his body – paid off big time. "They said I wouldn’t walk upstairs for two weeks. Three days after surgery in New York, I flew home, walked up and down my stairs. No problem."

A small win? Sure. But a massive nod to his resilience and the power of smart rest.

Already on LTIR from September's operation, Kane's medical drama had an encore. January: back under the knife for a knee scope. Another gremlin in the athletic machinery. Result? Zero regular season games for the big winger. The price tag? An entire season traded for healing.

But the playoffs? That was always the beacon, the bullseye.

"Playoffs? Lights are brighter, obviously," Kane said, that familiar gleam in his eye. "More cameras. Everyone's watching. Great chance to rise up. I'm mindful of that. Wanna embrace it." A pure performer, knowing the theatre of playoff hockey.

Inside the pro sports 'what have you done lately?' meat-grinder – especially the Stanley Cup Playoffs' unforgiving crucible – Kane's answer was a roar. He exploded back: 10 points in 14 games. Five massive goals (one a series-winner) and six assists. A solid plus-4, eating 15-19 ferocious minutes a night. Trademark Kane.

Oilers bench boss Kris Knoblauch, tasked with slotting a zero-mileage Kane into playoff warp speed, was beaming after Game 2 against the Kings. "Evander's play certainly helps. Gives us options. I'm pleasantly surprised how well he's played so quickly," Knoblauch confessed. "Even the best take time after 10 months. Evander's done an exceptional job finding his game – key goals, an assist, a ton of physicality."

That signature Kane physicality? An instant shot of sandpaper and intimidation for the Oilers.

Game 3? He didn’t just contribute; he owned it with a Gordie Howe Hat-Trick – a goal, an assist and a fight. Vintage Kane. Superstar teammate Leon Draisaitl knew it. "He feeds off intensity," Draisaitl said with respect in his voice. "Enjoys the physicality, the simplicity of playoff goals. He's really good at it. First three games? Fantastic." Draisaitl nailed it: "It's just his type of game, right?" Fearless, forceful, and always in the fight when it counts.

“Yeah,” Kane reflected on his explosive comeback. “No set expectations. But I had a lot of confidence just from feeling good, not skating through pain. Not fighting your body every shift? That's huge." He continued, "Production-wise, I was confident I could contribute. Happy I did, and want to keep it rolling as games get bigger. It's understanding the process, any injury. The work to get healthy, then back to NHL speed. Looking back at last year versus finally feeling healthy now... It's having that strong belief in what I can do, and getting the chance to do it."

This bounce-back ability? It's classic Kane. He cut his teeth with the WHL's Vancouver Giants, a Memorial Cup winner in 2007. By 2009, he was a major junior force: WHL All-Star, Top Prospects Game captain. Ready for the show.

Atlanta nabbed him fourth overall in the 2009 NHL Draft. Kane, brimming with confidence, jumped straight to the Show – pure drive and skill. His road map? Atlanta to Winnipeg (hello, brighter lights!), then Buffalo, San Jose (more grit, more goals), and now Edmonton, where the Oilers crave his unique skill-and-sandpaper cocktail.

Named after boxer Evander Holyfield. Foreshadowing? Maybe. Kane's career has been a fight – in the corners, sure, but mostly through brutal rehabs. Remember Tampa, November 8, 2022? Not your average limp-off-the-ice injury. This was critical. A tangle of skates, and Pat Maroon's blade – a total, horrifying accident – sliced Kane's wrist. The blood? Instant, alarming. A code red.

The arena went silent. The team held its breath. This was beyond hockey tough; it was a raw glimpse of fragility under the fearless veneer. Months on the shelf, intricate tendon surgery. Maroon, shaken, meant no harm; just a stark reminder of the razor's edge these gladiators skate on.

Family. That’s the fuel. Having his kids watch him. Game 3's matinee against Dallas was a first for them. You bet they'll be there for the Stanley Cup Final. And if the confetti flies? Kane, a car guy, loves his Rolls Royce. "Cool interior," he says. "And you can get more than two people in it."

That family drive home in June, Stanley Cup in tow? Could be pretty special.