By Franklin — SoFlo Sports Buzz
June 10, 2025
Okay. Deep breath. This… THIS was the kind of game where you just look around the arena, mouth full of popcorn, heart full of love, and whisper, “Oh my sweet beautiful Cats… what have you done?”
We didn’t just win Game 3. We owned it. We lit it up like Ocean Drive on New Year’s. 6 to 1. That’s not a game. That’s a family BBQ where someone accidentally invited the Oilers and forgot to tell them it was full-contact.
Let me walk you through my emotional spiral:
- 0:54 – Brad Marchand scores. I miss the goal because I was arguing with a guy two rows down about the best pastelito flavor. (It’s guava. Don’t @ me.)
- First Period – FOUR power plays. Panthers finally cash in on the fourth. Verhaeghe rings it in like church bells on Sunday.
- Second Period – Corey Perry scores for the Oilers and I groan. My buddy Manny throws his hat like it’s a protest. But then Sam Reinhart – who’s basically been MIA for two rounds – blasts one top shelf, then drops a no-look assist on Ekblad later like he’s showboating at Kendall Ice Arena.
Reinhart’s been quiet, recovering from that Aho cheap shot a few weeks ago, and now he’s skating like he’s got somewhere to be. Turns out, he did — the score sheet.
Sam Bennett? My playoff king. Lands a massive hit, steals the puck, breakaway, GOAL. That’s 14 for him. Fourteen! This guy is a mix between a bulldozer and a magic trick.
Then there’s Bob. BOBBY. He looked like a monk. Calm. Focused. Centered. Stopping 32 shots like he was swatting flies at a cookout. I don’t know what’s colder — Bobrovsky’s glove hand or the arena AC when I spilled beer on myself during the third. What in the world was I talking about.
Oh yeah. The Oilers. Y’all… they came unglued. 85 penalty minutes. There were more gloves on the ice than in my aunt’s closet. Fights. Water squirts. Misconducts. It looked like the end of a telenovela.
And that’s the thing — the Panthers didn’t just win. They broke Edmonton. Made McDavid look like a confused tourist. Draisaitl had fewer shot attempts than my grandma playing air hockey.
Game 4’s next. Sunrise better be LOUD. I want cowbells, flags, traffic cones, whatever. If we win again, it’s 3–1 and we can smell the Cup.
I’ll be there. Probably crying. Definitely screaming.
— Franklin