Win It In Six For Whit

Lord Stanley will be in the building tonight, and hopefully, he’ll be lifted high in Sunrise, Florida, for the second year in a row. My heart’s pounding. Palms are sweating like a whore in church. You’d think after three straight trips to the Stanley Cup Final I’d be used to this feeling—but nah, it hits the same every time. When Lord Stanley enters the building, all bets are off. Everything changes. The energy shifts. It’s not just a hockey game anymore, it’s war.

And tonight, it will be a war. McDavid and Draisaitl are not going down quietly. If there’s one thing I learned last year, it’s that you can’t count out those pricks from Edmonton. You just can’t. They’re slimey, they’re tough, and they’ve got that annoying habit of staying alive even when they’ve been outplayed. We’ve been the better team this entire series no question. But somehow, they’ve managed to win two games. That’s the sign of a dangerous opponent. So no, this job isn’t done. Not even close. They’re not just going to roll over and hand us the Cup. We’ve got to take it.

In my perfect dream scenario, Marchand scores a hat trick tonight. Not just because it would be electric, but because it would drive Boston fans absolutely insane. I want to see their tears. I want to feel their pain. And if he pulls it off and snags the Conn Smythe, I can cap it all off by trolling all of Canada with the line: “At least the Conn Smythe is staying in Canada.” That one would live rent-free in the entire country for years. Beautiful.

But beyond the memes, the trolling, and the glory, this is personal. If Marchand gets that hat trick, the Cats win in six, and I get to say my prophecy has been fulfilled: Win it for Whit in Six.

If the Panthers go back to back and do it again over Edmonton, Ryan Whitney is my bitch for life. Forever. He’ll always have the better bank account, sure. He’s got more talent in his pinky toe than I have in my entire body but you know what he’ll never have? Bragging rights. He’ll never be able to say he beat me in back to back Cup Finals. And that, my friend, means more to me than air. I’d die happy.

So tonight, boys, go out there and fucking finish it. One more game. One more win. One more moment of glory in Sunrise. One more parade on the beach.

Win it for Whit in Six.