"He's back. In all his glorious, maddening imperfection. Who knows what on earth he'll be up to Thursday night?

Dion Phaneuf could clock a mid-ice loiterer or two and launch them into the Calgary Flames' owners' box or end the night minus-4. He might score the overtime winner with an absolute screamer from the point or be on the ice for every goal, both sides, in a 6-5 win. Or a 6-5 loss.

And therein lies the fun.

Utter unpredictability has always been his quirky entertainment value.

At age 25, Phaneuf remains the embryonic star-in-the-making, no closer really to that Norris Trophy that once seemed his predestination than when he left here Jan. 31. Plying his trade in Canada's Big Smoke, the self-anointed hockey epicentre of the galaxy, hasn't made those head-swelling early Scott Stevens comparisons magically bloom to fruition like daisies in springtime sun.

Oh, there's a C stitched onto the left side of his jersey now, the heaviest single letter a fella can wear outside la belle province. Right where Teeder Kennedy, Syl Apps, Army, Davey Keon, Darryl Sittler, Wendel Clark and Doug Gilmour wore theirs.

But there, like here, he's intermittently endured catcalls from the people in the pews for erratic play, for failing to deliver the considerable goods his overflowing natural abilities insistent lie largely dormant inside. And make no mistake, long-suffering Torontonians desperately yearn for a Leaf to transform into a deity, a local folk hero, of Clark or Gilmour proportions.

Tuesday up north at Rexall Place, prior to the Leafs' game against Edmonton, Phaneuf wasn't quite ready to delve into his return to Calgary.

"I definitely know that's where we're going next, but right now my focus is here.

"I'll talk about Thursday tomorrow."

This game has no right to carry the same emotional resonance as when, say, Joe Nieuwendyk or Theo Fleury or Al MacInnis or Mike Vernon or Gary Roberts marked their first appearances to the (Olympic/Pengrowth) Scotiabank Saddledome outfitted in enemy togs."