38
Let It Soak In
Ottavia
The first period of Game Seven was about as stressful on my heart as a two-mile run. I can say that with confidence because my smart watch alerted me about my elevated heart rate and asked if I was jogging. (Haha!)
I never stopped believing the Sin could win, but that didn’t mean the game was easy to watch. A Game Seven will always be stressful—but when theCupis on the line? Every puck possession feltsupremelyimportant. Every shot the Sin took had me ready to rocket out of my seat in an outburst of ecstasy … but every shot the Brawlers took against us terrified me.
I had so much adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream, I felt sick to my stomach.I don’t know how the players can even manage it.
But that’s Game Seven, baby.
For the first five minutes, we were the better team, and every fan in the building remained on their feet, cheering the boys on. The Sin rode that initial wave of energy, slamming Boston into the boards at every chance, and peppering the Brawlers’ net with shots—but their goalie managed to turn every single shot away.
The funny thing about hockey is, if a team can survive an onslaught without getting scored on, momentum tends to shift the other way.
And that’sexactlywhat happened after the Brawlers goalie made a spectacular, diving glove save on Brett.
For the next ten minutes, the Brawlers became the team that had the Vegas fans so nervous. Theydominatedevery inch of the ice. Our boys couldn’t even get the puck out of the defensive zone as the Brawlers kept pressuring, hitting, and cycling the puck down low.
Butourgoalie stood on his head, doing his part to keep the game knotted at zero.
After an action-packed beginning, the last five minutes of the period were more of a stalemate. It seemed like the teams were playing a game of tug-of-war, with the puck bouncing back and forth in the neutral zone, no progress being made on either side.
With thirty seconds remaining in the first period, it felt like nothing more would happen, that both teams were saving their energy for the second period. In fact, I saw a number of fans leave their seats to beat the intermission rush to the bathrooms and beer lines.
But the period wasn’t over just yet—and Dakota’s line was on the forecheck. Pressuring the puck carrier, Dakota slammed his body into the Brawler, pasting him into the glass and knocking the puck loose. But Dakota didn’t have any time to make a play—he had two Brawlers quickly converging on him—so he flung the puck around the boards into open ice instead.
It didn’t look like much was going to happen from there. Both teams arrived at the same time to contest the loose puck. A board battle ensued, with members of both teams mucking and grinding for possession.
It was the kind of hard-working possession that typified Dakota’s year. It didn’t always result in goals, but the more timeand energy you made the enemy burn up chasing the puck in their own zone, the better.
But a funny thing happened when Dakota swooped by to support his teammates: the puck happened to squirt free and popped right onto his stick. Dakota immediately zipped a pass to defenseman Cale Cotton, and then raced to the front of the net. Cale waited for Dakota to get in front of the net, then flung a low wrist shot at the net. It wasn’t a particularly hard or fast shot for the goalie to stop—which is, strangely, what makes such a shot so dangerous.
Dakota, standing right in front of the goalie, was able to nick his stick blade against the puck as it sailed past him. That onesmalltap wasjustenough to alter the puck’s trajectory so that it climbed a few inches up and to the left.
The Boston goalie was already set for the initial shot, and he couldn’t react to the deflection in time. The puck sailed just over his leg pad and hit the net.
And the roof of the arena nearly blew off as nineteen thousand fans jumped to their feet to celebrate with a guttural,“YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYEAH!!!!!!”
“YES!” I screamed, jumping up and down. I knew how much it’d mean to Dakota to get a goal in Game Seven, especially after the way last year ended.
“That’s your man, O!” Isabelle screamed, hugging me tight.
The rest of the girls all hugged and congratulated me, too. We werestillecstatically jumping up and down when the horn sounded a few moments later, and the first period came to an end.
After one period, it was 1–0, and weknewour boys could dothis.
Thankfully, the rest of the game wasn’t nearly as much of a nail-biter as the first period—because I don’t think my heart could have taken forty more minutes like that!
The Sin scored early in the second period when Brett raced into the slot and ripped a wrist shot into the top of the net.
“WOO HOOOO, SHOWTIME!” McKayla cheered, and we all congratulated her on her man’s goal.
With a two-goal lead, the Sin clamped down defensively, suffocating the Brawlers’ offense—and more importantly, their will to continue. Every denied scoring opportunity, every big save, was a blow to the Brawlers’ faith—you could see it in their body language; the frustrated head shakes, the slumped shoulders, the heavy sighs.
The third period saw goals by Brock and Connor, making Sofia one very proud WAG as the Sin took a 4–0 lead.
