THE Florida panthers BANNER WENT UP, & SO DID THE BODY COUNT

Florida Panthers Open Their Three-Peat Campaign Like Only They Can — By Winning Ugly, Loud, and Right on Brand

Sunrise didn’t just raise a banner Tuesday night. It raised hell.

The Florida Panthers went into their home opener doing exactly what every defefindg champion should do, sending a message. The Panthers celebrated their past, for their accomplishment of winning another title. But then, they went directly into punch you in the f**king mouth mode to remind the NHL, they are not close to finished.

The Chicago Blackhawks were the first victim losing the game 3-2 but the score doesn’t tell half of the story. It was loud. It was chippy. It was violent in the most Florida way possible.

Two rings, one banner, zero chill.

The Banner Goes Up — and the Dynasty Keeps Rolling

Amerant Bank Arena turned more into a raucous hockey arena and more like a Catholic cathedral before the first puck drop. The lights were dimmed, the music was on and Aaron Ekblad skated onto the ice, filling in for Aleksander Bakov, to carry out the Stanley Cup one last time.

No Barky. No Tkachuk. No problem.

Ekblad said it best:

“That’s usually Barky’s spot. I was just filling in.”

You could hear the crowd lose it when he hoisted it high — not just because it was shiny, but because this city’s still wrapping its head around being a legit dynasty.

Then, in true Panthers fashion, the emotional moment ended in about five seconds. The puck dropped, and the defending champs immediately went back to acting like a team that drinks espresso shots of chaos for breakfast.

Chicago struck first — 1-0, quick breakaway, crowd gasps. And then? Boom. One minute later. A.J. Greer buries a rebound, drops gloves with Nick Foligno for dessert, and instantly sets the tone for the season: every line hits, every player fights.

That’s Panthers hockey. You score, you bleed, you celebrate. Sometimes in the same shift.

Moments later, Carter Verhaeghe had his fun at the party. During a power play, Verhaeghe went vintage as he went top shelf from the right doorstep and made it a 2-1 contest. The beautiful goal was  assisted by Brad Marchand.

The guy finished with an 82% share of 5-on-5 shot attempts when he was on the ice — which is stat nerd talk for “he owned everyone he skated against.”

Marchand’s on the quest to help the Panthers win anther Stanley Cup and looks like he’s been here for years.

The Panthers Win Ugly (Because Pretty’s for the Offseason)

The middle stretch got weird. Chicago tied it at 2-2 after a wild 2-on-1 that even Bobrovsky couldn’t stop, and the injuries started piling up — Reinhart took a puck to the face, Evan Rodrigues got clipped in the knee.

In classic Florida fashion, both limped off, both came back minutes later.

The penalty kill? Flawless. 3-for-3, minimal shots allowed, and Bob standing tall like a brick wall with an accent.

By the third, the game got sloppy, chippy, grindy — the exact kind of game the Panthers love to make everyone else hate. Jesper Boqvist crashed the crease, batted in a feed from Mackie Samoskevich, and suddenly it was 3-2.

That combo might be the sneakiest subplot of the night — Boqvist and Samoskevich look like the new chaos duo in town.

Mackie had two primary assists and about 40 smiles on the bench. “We’re in a good spot,” he said afterward, which might as well be tattooed on this entire locker room.

The Message: Same Dogs, New Year

There was no time for Chicago as they attempted to pull their goal with a minute left. The problem was the Panthers gave no breathing room. Similar to a cat playing mouse (ironically enough) they pinned Chicago in their own zone.

No miracle comeback. No panic. Just pressure.

Paul Maurice summed it up perfectly: “Lots of good for our first game… our back end was really good, our gap was really good.”

Translation: it wasn’t pretty, but it was ours.

The Panthers don’t do finesse. They do pain management and parade planning.

A.J. Greer scoring. Boqvist crashing the net. Marchand making enemies. Bob looking ageless. It’s all still there — the bite, the swagger, the “we apologize to no one” DNA that’s turned this franchise into hockey’s most unbothered dynasty.

They raised the banner. They raised their sticks. And they raised the standard again.

It wasn’t perfect — but it was Panthers hockey.

And for the rest of the NHL? That’s the scariest part.