BRAD MARCHAND LIT A CANDLE, DROPPED A BUCKET, & SENT THE STARS BACK TO TEXAS IN TEARS

SELAH, THIS ONE WAS FOR YOU

The Florida Panthers defeated the Dallas Stars, 4-3 and this was a win, a eulogy and a war at the same time.

Let me cook and paint the scene: Amerant Bank Arena. Saturday night. The air smells like overpriced nachos and playoff flashbacks. Brad Marchand steps onto the ice — a man playing for something way bigger than the box score.

By the time this moment ended, Marchand scored twice (once for real, once for the win), pointed to the sky, and reminded every single one of us that hockey is heartbreak, chaos, and poetry written with bruised ribs and frozen knuckles.

Marchand missed the last game mourning the death of his friend’s daughter, Selah. Tonight, the man opened the scoring with a nasty wrister, looked to the heavens, and then dropped the game-winner in the shootout like the damn moment was scripted by Pixar.

No nerves. No flinching. Just heart.

“It was more a great opportunity to honor Selah.”

This wasn’t a “normal’ hockey game, not at all but instead this was a tribute in the highest honor on skates.

THE PANTHERS PLAYED LIKE MEN POSSESSED & Pissed off

After Marchand did typical Marchand things, and made the score 1–0, Sam Reinhart joined the party, caught Casey DeSmith sleeping, banked one off his pads like it was beer league Tuesday, and notched Goal No. 300 of his career.

Legendary stuff. Dude scores from angles ESPN doesn’t even have camera positions for.

Then… things got stupid.

The refs handed Dallas a 4-minute power play on a high stick that looked like it came from a ghost. The Stars? They did what annoying teams do — they scored twice in 14 seconds and tied it 2–2. Wyatt Johnston. Justin Hryckowian. Both power-play goals. Both vibe-destroyers.

Midway through the third, Bennett decided he’d had enough and trucked his way to the front of the net, slammed home a Forsling dish, and fist-pumped like a guy who’d just canceled his ex’s wedding.

“I couldn’t really find it, so I just kind of whacked away.”

Buddy. That’s life advice.

3–2 Panthers. The barn was bouncing. Marchand was glowing. Bob was locking shit down…

AND THEN DALLAS WENT FULL COCKROACH.

With under 3 minutes left, it was time to cue the dramatic music because Mikko Rantanen decided he hates happiness and made sure to end any semblance of joy for anyone as he redirected one past Bobrovsky to tie it at 3–3. Cue the beer being thrown. Cue every Florida fan texting “WTF” in the group chat.

In overtime, Bob turned into a brick wall with bad intentions — swatting one-timers like he owed child support on every glove save.

He’s now 20–2–2 in his career against Dallas. The man sees a Lone Star jersey and morphs into peak Dominik Hašek with a Russian visa.

MARCHAND WRITES THE FINAL CHAPTER

No one scored in OT. It went to a shootout. Bob kept locking shit down like a customs agent at MIA. And then… the moment.

Marchand entered the zone with speed. One little deke. FIVE-HOLE. GOODNIGHT.

Panthers win 4–3. Dallas goes home sad. Brad goes home a legend.

The Panthers didn’t just win a “normal” hockey game, they handled business and did it to honor the fallen.

They turned grief into greatness, bruises into beauty, and a regular-ass Saturday night into something worth yelling about.

And if Brad Marchand keeps playing like this?

The East better start praying.