The Florida Panthers Are Your Stanley Cup Champs AGAIN & Ryan Whitney Is My Bitch For The Rest Of His Life

I’m still in shock. This feeling never gets old and if you’re a South Florida sports fan, you’d be a fucking idiot not to soak in every second of it.

What the Florida Panthers have accomplished over the last few years is nothing short of legendary. Three straight trips to the Stanley Cup Final. Back-to-back championships. That kind of dominance hasn’t been seen in South Florida since the Big 3 era with the Miami Heat. We’re witnessing greatness in real time and I hope people truly understand that.

Watching this team play hockey actually brings a tear to my eye, and I’m not even some lifelong puckhead. But if you are a diehard hockey fan? You’re probably fighting the urge to rub one out watching these boys buzz around the ice. I mean, my God.

This series was entertaining, but only because the Panthers allowed it to be. They were up 3-0 in game four, and 3-1 in game one, they easily could’ve swept Edmonton out of the building. The scoreboard might’ve made things look close, but in reality? It never was. It was always clear who the better team was. And that’s no disrespect to the Oilers, they’ve got talent, no doubt, but they’re not the Florida Panthers. And that’s okay. Because no one is.

This team is just built different. They’re so deep it’s almost unfair. It’s like walking into a gun shop, doesn’t matter what you grab off the wall, it’s all dangerous. Every line was producing. Our forwards were filling the net all postseason. Even our defensemen were lighting lamps. And of course, The Great Wall of Bob stood tall in net once again. 

But what truly separates this squad? The fuck you attitude. That dawg. That swagger. That punch you in the mouth and smile while doing it attitude that you rarely, rarely, see from South Florida teams. It’s not just that they win. It’s how they win. They walk into every game knowing the other team and their fans are already afraid. They’ve already lost before the puck even drops.

Going back to back doesn’t just make this one of the greatest hockey teams in modern history, it also cements one more truth:

Ryan Whitney is my bitch for life.

He may have more money in his bank account than I’ll ever dream of. He may have more talent in his pinky toe than I’ve got in my whole body. But as long as God gives him the strength to open his eyes each morning, he’ll wake up knowing he my bitch.

He can chirp all he wants. He can call me every name in the book. But deep down, nothing cuts deeper than my Cats beating his Oilers in back to back Stanley Cup Finals. That’s a scar he’ll carry forever.

We did it, Whit. In six. Just for you.

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Now let the boys party. South Florida, this one’s for the ages.