Standing at his stall, Jarome Iginla piled gear into his equipment bag. Used to being the centre of attention he was, for a moment at least, blissfully alone. No cameras. No microphones. No wave upon wave of repetitive interrogation. Down the way a piece, a swarm of media had rushed to encircle Sven Baertschi, virtually hiding the kid du jour from view. Iginla glanced over, smiled at the scene. "Nope,'' he murmured. "Don't mind. Don't mind at all.''