PHOTO COURTESY PITTSBURGH PENGUINS

A sensational crime struck Pittsburgh last week, as precious cargo was pilfered en route to the Steel City. Somewhere in California, thousands of tiny, be-mulleted heads bobbed in concern as their journey was diverted to an unknown destination.

The news of the Great Jagr Bobblehead Caper, while absolutely a serious case of cargo theft, is also, unquestionably, hilarious. Just consider the fate of the memorabilia thieves: Either they thought they were getting objects of actual value and instead ended up with 18,000 tiny Czechs intended for a PPG Paints Arena giveaway, or they actually intended to steal the Lilliputian wingers and are now realizing they have absolutely no way to profit off of them.

Either option is tremendously silly.

That is, of course, if we take the story as presented. Perhaps this was an ill-fated or ill-advised act of traditional cargo thievery, yes. Or perhaps it’s part of a greater mystery — a tale of jealousy and Zambonis, a story of goals and greed.

Perhaps another party is to blame.

Let us all grow mustaches so that we may twirl them while considering the suspects.

Mario Lemieux. Sure, “Le Magnifique” has the points and the prestige; while the Penguins’ all-time hero is in the conversation for GOAT status, Jaromir Jagr is not. But Jagr has one thing Mario doesn’t: Meme status. Jagr is endlessly entertaining, a charismatic partier more at home on East Carson Street than in a fancy restaurant. Perhaps, after the outpouring of love directed at his old teammate, Mario finally decided to do something a little zany. Maybe Mario wanted to be the devilish one for a change. His wine cellar can probably hold 18,000 bottles, so it can certainly fit 18,000 bobbleheads.

Evgeni Malkin. The Jagr to Sid’s Mario, Malkin knows a thing or two about being one of the best players in the world yet still No. 2 on his own team. Wouldn’t that breed kinship with his heavily accented forebearer? Hardly. Every day, Malkin has to lurch in the shadow of the rapidly aging Kid; now he has to deal with his ’90s self hanging around all the time? Geno may be the quiet type, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of a big heist. He could’ve even called in his old Olympic teammate Alexander Ovechkin for backup! It’s a global incident (almost exclusively involving players from the same general part of the globe)!

Jake Guentzel. Oh, I suppose it’s merely a coincidence that the bobbleheads disappeared mere days after Guentzel was traded? The former Penguin may have the clearest motive of all: Money. No longer able to rely on his sugary side hustle slingin’ milkshakes, Guentzel decided to make up the lost earnings by selling collectibles on the black market. And if the shipment of his stuff leaving PPG Paints Arena were a few thousand bobbleheads too heavy, who’s gonna talk? An equipment manager? Those guys keep secrets.

Sidney Crosby. Never mind, he’s too nice. Not a suspect.

Iceburgh. Thirty years ago, Iceburgh tried to go one-on-one with Jean-Claude Van Damme (who, we must admit, should also be considered a suspect). This went very, very poorly for Iceburgh. Since then, the affable mascot has tossed t-shirts and engaged in mild hijinks, biding their time and waiting for an opportunity to prove they’re more than merely a felt-domed action-movie victim. Iceburgh was determined to climb the local mascot rankings — and what better way than to save the day? Yes: We’re suggesting Iceburgh stole the bobbleheads in order to find them and be hailed a hero. This is like that dog that kicked kids into the lake for treats, only significantly more ridiculous!

Kenny Pickett. Self-explanatory — embittered, the former Pitt star decided on a Grinchian path on the way out of town, stealing Jagr day from the poor yinzers. What’s that smell wafting from the east? It’s 18,000 tiny hockey players being melted down and turned into cheesesteak.

Likely suspects all. (I mean, “likely” is relative here, but nevertheless.) Still, I think that one seems far more likely than the others. It couldn’t be Lemieux; as an owner, he stands to benefit from renewed interest at the end of a sleepy season. The recently traded crop is out; you try to handle the logistics of stealing a shipment in California then getting it to Philadelphia (or the Carolinas) unnoticed. And Geno is just looking for decent borscht, not clandestine capers.

It can only be one man.

Actually, it can only be one bird.

Iceburgh: J’accuse.