When we think of hockey’s most notorious trolls, names like Brad Marchand, Matthew Tkachuk, and Corey Perry come to mind—players who chirp, smirk, and stir the pot at every opportunity. But what if the most infuriating player on the ice doesn’t say a word? What if the real menace is the one who never reacts, never retaliates, and never breaks his blank stare?
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Enter John Tavares — now the ex-captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Could he be the NHL’s most effective, low-key psychological disruptor?
Tavares Is the Epitome of the No-Sell Job
Tavares does not react. He doesn’t flinch, chirp back, or give opponents the satisfaction of knowing they got under his skin. He could take a slash to the wrists or a spear to the ribs and still glide away like he’s headed to renew his driver’s license. There’s something uniquely maddening about trying to antagonize a player who refuses to acknowledge you.
If you watch Tavares in front of the opposition’s goalie, you’ll see that he doesn’t just avoid the drama — he denies it oxygen. That’s next-level trolling. His refusal to acknowledge is a part of his arsenal.
The Tavares’ Brick Wall Body Game
Watch Tavares set up shop down low. Whether battling for position in front of the net or digging along the boards, he transforms into an immovable object. He’s far stronger than people think. Defenders slash, shove, and jaw at him, trying to knock him off his physical and mental balance.
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But Tavares stays put, pivoting calmly, unmoved and unfazed. He’s the vending machine that eats your dollar and gives you nothing back in return. You can punch it and kick it all you want; it’s not giving you the Twinkie you want. That Tavares’ stoicism? That’s trolling through stillness.
Tavares, the Captain of the Deadpan
Even when he scores, now bumping up to 40 times this season, Tavares often celebrates with all the excitement of someone submitting a tax return (but that’s another story if you know Tavares’ issues with Canada Revenue). No fist pumps. No yelling. No eye contact.
Tavares just calmly skates back to the bench with the expression of a man thinking about supper after the game. That unshakeable calm drives opponents nuts. Because they know they’re in his pocket. During Game 1 against the Ottawa Senators, Ottawa’s young stars engaged – and they watched from the penalty box as the Maple Leafs scored on three of their six power play opportunities.
Even Senators’ coach Travis Green complained about the Maple Leafs’ embellishment. But that’s just it—Tavares doesn’t need to embellish. Now, the Senators are tasked with throwing off a player (and perhaps a team) who simply isn’t taking the bait.
How Did Tavares Achieve This Elite Skill – Quietness?
You wonder where Tavares learned to be so quiet in the face of chaos. Maybe it started when he returned to New York for the first time after signing with the Maple Leafs — a night that could’ve unravelled most players. The boos, chants, rubber snakes, and full-on hate parade had to hurt. But it didn’t rattle him so that fans could see. He didn’t bite. He didn’t blink. He just played.
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There’s a quality to him that makes him different from almost anyone else on the ice. He stands out (or doesn’t, which is the point) because he’s unlike the chaos surrounding him. He doesn’t need noise to make a statement. Still, Tavares doesn’t shy away from the scrums or the dirty areas of the ice. He plants himself in front of the net where bodies fly, sticks get lifted, and pucks hurt. He takes the hits and absorbs them. He never gives back what opponents are hoping for.
At 34, with over a decade of NHL wars behind him, it’s clear he’s learned that silence is not a lack of fight — it’s control. There’s something elite about Tavares as a player, but there’s also something elite about the person: the one who keeps things to himself, carries the weight, and never lets it show.
Replace me as captain, and I’ll have a season no one will forget. I am not complaining; I am just helping the team win with a stone-cold efficiency that smothers potential issues with silence.
The Classic Tavares Anti-Troll Shift
A classic Tavares trolling shift doesn’t involve chirping or theatrics. It’s pure hockey mind games wrapped in calm execution. He’ll control the puck for 30 seconds like it’s glued to his stick, take cross-checks without blinking, win net-front battles without expression, and draw penalties just by staying composed while opponents unravel. Then, he skates away from the scene and the chaos he just created.
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Tavares doesn’t troll like Marchand or Tkachuk, and that’s precisely the point. His refusal to engage is the engagement. He’s the anti-troll troll: the player who frustrates calmly and turns silence into psychological warfare. There’s nothing flashy about it, but nothing more infuriating.
When an opponent unsuccessfully tries to move Tavares from the chaos he’s created in front of the crease, he stands blank-faced, doing the penalty math in his head. You are watching classic anti-troll trolling. Tavares is an example of how sometimes the loudest message is never spoken.
