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In the middle of a quiet Saturday, while most of the east coast braced for a historic blizzard, the Pittsburgh Steelers announced they were hiring Mike McCarthy. A sixty-two-year-old, currently unemployed, and not seriously on any other teams’ radar (despite the Titans interviewing him as well).

Since his father, legendary owner Dan Rooney, passed, current Pittsburgh owner Art Rooney II has made decision after decision with one priority: what increases the likelihood of not losing more games than winning.

The Pittsburgh Steelers have been a beacon of consistency in the NFL, bucking every conceivable trend. Three head coaches in 56 years. Six Super Bowl championships. Chuck Noll won four. Bill Cowher added a fifth. Mike Tomlin, a relatively unknown defensive assistant when hired, delivered a sixth by 2008.

Tomlin went on to become the symbol of modern coaching excellence. Nineteen consecutive seasons without a losing record—a mark that will likely stand untouched. Even after Ben Roethlisberger retired, Tomlin kept the ship above .500, something not even Belichick managed post-Brady.

But excellence and winning championships are not the same thing. Somewhere along the way, the standard shifted. Super Bowl or Bust became “make the playoffs and hope for the best.” Seven consecutive postseason losses. Blowouts at home against Mahomes and Allen. A franchise that never misses an opportunity to trot out its Super Bowl past was becoming defined by January humiliations.

When Tomlin shocked the sports world by resigning the Monday after the latest playoff exit, the reaction was twofold: surprise that one of the longest-tenured coaches walked away on his own terms, and relief that change was finally coming.

Tomlin’s resignation provided an opportunity for a much-needed reset. The operation had grown stale—you could take it to the bank the team would finish slightly above .500 and lose in the playoffs in non-competitive fashion.

Playoff loss after playoff loss built mounting frustration for everyone who cares about the team. So much so that during a home loss to Buffalo late in the season, fans began chanting to fire a coach who had never had a losing season.

Finally it seemed there would be a catalyst for change. A new coaching staff, possibly filled with young and bright minds seemingly elevating teams across the league to new heights. As much as Tomlin was beloved by players, schematic excellence and strong coordinator hires were never highlights on his résumé.

Young schematic geniuses like Sean McVay, Kyle Shanahan, and Mike McDonald were becoming the faces of their franchises and elevating them to elite status. The Mike Vrabel type could create an inspired culture while assembling strong staffs. Steelers fans couldn’t help but get excited about the possibilities.

When the interview candidates started trickling out, the thesis was validated. Chris Shula, the fast-rising Rams defensive coordinator. Nathan Scheelhaase, an elite offensive mind under McVay. Brian Flores, who had rebuilt his reputation as Minnesota’s DC. This was still one of the best jobs in the league—a position that comes open once every twenty years.

Everything was lining up. It legitimately seemed as if the path back to contention would start here.

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Mike McCarthy is not a bad coach. He won a Super Bowl in Green Bay and made the playoffs twelve times. He was also fired by two historic franchises—Green Bay and Dallas—for the same reason: failing to win in the playoffs with MVP-caliber quarterbacks.

McCarthy took last year off. Nine of the ten teams with head coaching openings this offseason passed on him. His only confirmed interview was with the Steelers—apparently because he worked with GM Omar Khan in New Orleans twenty-five years ago, and because he grew up in Pittsburgh.

The official announcement of his hiring sent shockwaves through sports circles, and has almost immediately been met with frustration and anger from Steelers fans.

After a decade without a playoff win—frustration and resentment finally boiling over—the Steelers decided to hire a coach who (checks notes) was fired from his last two jobs at historic franchises for being unable to win in the playoffs.

The Steelers could have hired a young architect—someone to tear down the walls and rebuild from the foundation. Instead, they hired a contractor to patch the drywall.

The Steelers apparently have no interest in doing anything but operation business as usual. McCarthy certainly gives them the highest floor in 2026, but at 62 and with a less than inspiring postseason record, how is this hire supposed to meaningfully inspire any confidence the organization is any closer to a Super Bowl than it was when getting blown out in the wild card playoff round by the Houston Texans?

For some reason, despite initial reports the team was “going to take their time with this search” the Steelers rushed to hire McCarthy before they could even speak with the Rams coordinators in person — when literally no other team was interested in McCarthy.

It’s hard to take this as anything other than organizational malpractice and laziness—opting for a safe retread with ties to the city, as if being from Pittsburgh is a qualification for running a football team.

Maybe this was done to convince forty-two-year-old Aaron Rodgers to return for another season. If so, that’s its own problem. Rodgers elevated the Steelers offense this year, but against elite defenses the former MVP looked like Superman plagued with Kryptonite—his signature escapability and arm strength finally surrendering to Father Time.

In what world does it make sense to let your biggest organizational decision be driven by a player who might play one more season? Because it might help them win two more regular season games.

Setting aside best-case scenarios, Rooney, Khan, and everyone running the team had a unique opportunity to re-engineer the direction of the organization. They were let off the hook not having to fire a Hall of Fame coach. Fans would have been rejuvenated by a new voice and perspective, paving a path for the team to climb back to the top of the NFL, even if there were some short-term pain.

Gone are the days of focusing solely on winning Super Bowls. Rooney II, despite his script in press conferences, is running the Pittsburgh Steelers as if they are a low-margin small business. Keep the bottom line in the green (win more games than you lose, make the playoffs), with the lowest possible costs (the Steelers have had some of the smallest staffs in the league, along with the worst-rated facilities).

Photo: NFL.com

I mean we are talking about a franchise that has won as many Super Bowls as any team in the league, but inexplicably still shares a practice facility with a middling ACC collegiate team.

An opportunity to go from just being invited to the table, to sitting at the head of it.

Instead, they took the same course of action they have for the last decade. A low risk, high floor decision — wasting any optimism and excitement generated with the possibility of change back towards that Super Bowl standard.

It also can’t be ignored: a sixty-two-year-old coming off a year on the couch costs less and demands less change than a thirty-five-year-old with a vision. Shula, Scheelhaase, Flores—they would have wanted to rebuild. McCarthy just needs to keep the lights on.

There was a dream of a new innovative voice coming in to revamp the entire coaching paradigm, installing diverse schemes and bringing in young talent, setting up the Steelers to finally rise from purgatory and get back into Super Bowl contention.

But hey, at least he is from Pittsburgh, and worked with the GM twenty years ago.

“The Standard is The Standard.” One of Tomlin’s favorite sayings, plastered everywhere in the building.

Once again Art Rooney II has shown that Standard doesn’t exist any longer.

“The Standard” is now mediocrity.

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Photo: USA Today

I read something long ago, along the lines of “sports fandom isn’t about shared joy; it’s mostly about shared suffering” - and I’ve never been able to get that out of my head.

Surrounding yourself with the fan bases of the final two teams standing as they prepare to face off in the National Championship (while you’re trying to enjoy a relaxing vacation in Miami) — can leave you bitter and vindictive.

It’s pretty obvious in 2025, Indiana University had the best collegiate football team in the country. Despite having less talent on paper than roughly 70 other teams (with an all time low % of players who were 4-5 star recruits coming out of high school) they became the first team in the modern era to win 16 games, lose none, and beat multiple top 10 teams on the road to the school’s first national title in history. Curt Cignetti told us “I win — google me”, then he literally went out and rattled off a 27-2 record and won a title in two years at one of the historically weakest programs of all-time. It’s one of the most incredible and unfathomable Cinderella stories in the history of sports; a script that would be deemed too cliche for a movie.

There is plenty of media discussing the game, framing Indiana’s incredible journey and turnaround in its proper history. Celebrating the incredible achievement and story for a new program at the mountain top.

This is not that.

I am tired of pretending this is all fine and good and special.

Indiana, and their fans specifically, do not deserve this happiness.

Dante — are you crazy? Indiana literally had more losses than any other program before this season. Shouldn’t that amount of losing mean celebrating that they won a national championship?

No. No, we should not be.

Indiana fundamentally broke the equation of sports fandom: a prolonged period of suffering, followed by an adversity filled journey, where they overcome battles and demons and rise to the top.

The goal is to go from the bottom to the top — eventually.

The team is really bad. They undergo some change, and slowly but surely turn their fortunes around and rise to the top, and finally achieve their championship dreams, battling adversity along the way and forging a legacy.

Fans, players, the community get to revel in the fruits of the journey. Pain, heartbreak making the joy and euphoria of victory all the sweeter.

Indiana skipped all that. They quite literally went from awful to complete juggernaut in the span of two years.

Before Curt Cignetti’s hiring in December 2023, Indiana football was college football’s ultimate doormat: the FBS program with the most all-time losses (717 by 2023), a .427 winning percentage overall (.365 in Big Ten play), only two conference titles (1945, 1967), seven final AP rankings in 125+ seasons, and a 3-9 bowl record with no postseason wins since 1991.

The 2000-2023 era was especially dire—102-172 record, just three winning seasons (peak 8-5 in 2019), multiple 0-win conference campaigns, a 28-game skid vs. ranked foes, and institutional neglect prioritizing basketball over football facilities/recruiting. Indiana football was, without a shadow of a doubt, one of the worst programs in division one college football.

So Indiana was historically terrible - and now they’re GREAT. Don’t their fans deserve this after being awful for nearly a century?

No. No matter what any die hard fan will say, the hardest part of being a fan is not when your team is awful. It’s when your team is good — but not quite good enough.

When a team is legitimately terrible, it’s a chore to watch and wholly unenjoyable. However, it becomes much harder to get emotionally invested when said team is terrible.

You never allow yourself the possibility of dreaming because you know your team isn’t very good and is going to lose.

When your team is awful, you emotionally tune out on disappointment. You check out.

There have to be SOME life long Indiana fans, who watched every game and suffered decades of losing and deserve this? You’re telling me there aren’t fans of awful teams?

Sure, I am sure there is a very small cohort who were absolute die-hard Indiana football fans for decades before Curt Cignetti showed up and turned them into “Georgia North”. And I am happy for all 23 of those people.

Back to reality — it was frequently observed how much Indiana dominated attendance during the playoff run. Kudos to them — but their stadium was legitimately empty for Cignetti’s first game (apparently there were ~45,000 people there but see for yourself).

Photo: From X.com (twitter). Apparently this was during warm-ups. I don’t care.

The absurd ticket prices and travel to multiple playoff games goes down a little easier when you have had nearly a century to save.

Indiana fans do not deserve to be experiencing the joy of winning a national championship because they were able to somehow skip the most traumatic part of being a fan.

The shattering climb where your team endures repeated heartbreak and devastation before finally exorcising demons, conquering foes, and reaching the championship peak.

Ask a Buffalo Bills fan if it’s more painful now with crushing playoff loss after playoff loss — or when they were last place in the AFC East getting dunked on by Tom Brady. Seeing Josh Allen fail to exorcise his playoff demons year after year, either losing to Joe Burrow, Patrick Mahomes, or Lamar Jackson; or turning the ball over in the most crucial moments. Failure to finally deliver the championship moment Buffalo fans have been wishing for.

If the Bills, and Allen, do ever overcome their playoff demons. It will have all been worth it, all the pain and suffering will be forged into tears of joy.

An awful team is a tough watch; a really good, almost great one, rips your heart out from your chest and leaves scars for years to come.

Indiana, somehow, completely avoided being pretty good. They were awful. Then they were an absolute juggernaut.

Hell — even the Georgia Bulldogs had to endure some heartbreak (losing in dramatic fashion in overtime of a national championship game) before their own dynastic run.

So yes — Indiana engineered a storybook rise to incredible highs in rapid succession.

But that’s my whole point — they skipped the very part that makes it all worth it.

The thrill of victory is so strong because of the pain of defeat.

Indiana never lost to Ohio State when leading by double digits in consecutive years, forced to sit with the sting of defeat for 364 days.

They never blew leads at home to rival teams costing them a shot at the playoff, watching rival teams fight it out for immortality and their fanbases celebrating.

They never spent a year believing this was finally the team to get them over the top — only to be crushingly disappointed with a loss to a team they should have beat by double digits. Wondering, how did it all go so wrong when we were so close?

Indiana was simply awful. A school and community who had accepted their position as a basketball powerhouse. Then they increased their investment in football, hired a 62 year old who had never been a Power 4 head coach, signed a bunch of experienced players from smaller schools and then proceeded to absolutely steamroll everyone and win a national championship in 24 months.

Photo: Michael Hickey/Getty Images

So congrats on being the first team in over a century to go 16-0. Heisman quarterback, dream season.

My extremely petty and biased self will always mark it with an asterisk because they (the fandom) didn’t earn it.

The only championships that count are the ones raised with scar tissue.

Epilogue:

It’s absolutely ridiculous to say who “deserves” to win a championship and who doesn’t. However, I stand by my thesis and will embrace being petty and biased as the freaking Indiana Hoosiers celebrate a national championship. At least Cignetti is from Pittsburgh.

He could only watch. After Lamar Jackson hit Isaiah Likely for 26 yards on fourth-and-7 to drag the Baltimore Ravens past midfield, the season—and maybe the franchise’s championship window—came down to the leg of a 24-year-old kicker.

Seconds earlier, it felt over. Jackson kept it alive anyway, the way he has for years: one impossible play, one more chance.

Tyler Loop’s 44-yard attempt sailed wide right. On the other sideline, the Pittsburgh Steelers celebrated a division title. Jackson and the Ravens stood still, watching another season end the same way so many of his have: with the margin thin, the stakes enormous, and the result empty.

It didn’t feel like only a season slipping away. It felt like time—and Lamar’s prime—slipping with it.

The myth, especially in the Tom Brady era, is that quarterbacks can play into their 40s and keep the whole thing going. The reality is simpler: even for elite quarterbacks, the number of truly dominant seasons is finite. In two days, Lamar Jackson turns 29.

He’s already built a generational résumé: Heisman winner, two-time NFL MVP, the youngest quarterback to win a unanimous NFL MVP, and the fastest player to reach 5,000 passing yards and 2,000 rushing yards. Drafted at the end of the first round in 2018, Jackson didn’t just become a franchise quarterback—he redefined what one could be, becoming the first QB in league history to post multiple 1,000-yard rushing seasons.

The regular-season success is unquestionable. But in Jackson’s seven seasons, the Ravens have one AFC Championship Game appearance to show for it. They still haven’t reached a Super Bowl in the Lamar era.

Despite record-breaking regular-season numbers, the playoffs have proved a tougher stage for Jackson.

Lamar’s postseason record sits at 3–5. His efficiency drops in January, and the possession-killers pile up—interceptions, fumbles, the kinds of negative plays that decide playoff games. In his lone AFC Championship appearance, against Kansas City after the 2023 season, he threw for 272 yards with one interception in a 17–10 loss. It wasn’t a total no-show. It was something worse: close enough to make it hurt, not clean enough to win.

The story has repeated in different forms. In the 2019 Titans upset, Derrick Henry ran for 195 yards while Baltimore’s defense caved. Other years, the breakdowns have come from dropped opportunities and mistakes around him. The feeling persists anyway. For all his generational talent, Baltimore hasn’t capitalized when the stakes rise and the field shrinks.

And 2025 stings worse because it feels like the type of season contenders are supposed to cash. The AFC has felt as open as it’s been in years. The Ravens still came up empty. The best shot he’s had ended the same way the season ended—pushed wide right.

The urgency isn’t just narrative. It’s physical. What makes Jackson brilliant also makes the window fragile.

The injuries have added up. An ankle injury cost him the final stretch in 2021. A PCL sprain ended his 2022 season and kept him out of the postseason. This year, he missed four games, including a multi-week absence with a hamstring injury, and late-season back and knee issues have visibly complicated the way he wins. The point isn’t that Lamar is no longer elite. It’s that the margin that separates “elite” from “unstoppable” is getting harder to guarantee year after year.

You can see it in the shape of the season: fewer of the effortless, game-breaking runs; less weekly inevitability; more games where he has to be perfect because the rest of the roster can’t afford a single crack. Every hit matters more. Every small limitation changes the math.

And the precedent is unforgiving. Quarterbacks who rely on mobility don’t usually fall off all at once—they lose a half-step, then a second reaction, then the ability to erase mistakes with one play. Cam Newton is the cautionary tale everyone remembers, but the league is full of versions of this story: dynamic quarterbacks whose prime advantage shrank the moment injuries and mileage started stacking.

The roster math is tightening, too. Jackson’s 2026 cap hit is projected to be massive, and even if Baltimore reshapes it, the pressure doesn’t disappear—it shifts. The Ravens will have to make real decisions on who they can keep, who they can extend, and how deep the supporting cast can stay when the quarterback occupies that much of the budget. In a league where depth wins in January, that matters.

Jackson is only 29, and maybe this was just bad luck. But between the injuries, the cap squeeze, and an AFC that’s getting younger and hungrier every season, this might have been their best shot—or at least one of the last “clean” ones where the Ravens could count on having every advantage at once.

Sunday night, the kick sailed wide right. And Jackson might have watched another year of his prime disappear the same way.

40 seconds left in the game. Tie score. A spot in the national championship on the line—a chance to reach the title game for the first time in nearly forty years. Fifty yards, two timeouts, and a single swing of a kicker’s leg stand between you and glory.

The chosen one. The prophecy foretold. The missing link to elevate a starving program and community to greatness.

These are things kids dream about in their backyards. Drew Allar, the quarterback of the Penn State Nittany Lions, had surely played this exact scenario out a thousand times in his backyard—game on the line, the chance to orchestrate the drive of a lifetime.

Everything that had come before—a high-profile recruitment, the turbulence of his first year as a starter, and the steady climb of a strong junior campaign—led to this.

Of course it would happen this way.

With their backs against the wall, Allar would lead the Lions into field goal range. He would provide the walk-off winner. He would secure a rematch with the hated rival Ohio State Buckeyes in the national championship.

The most hyped recruit in a decade—the quarterback who stayed loyal to Franklin when the world came calling—was about to have his “Tom Brady” moment. He would orchestrate a historical moment, then finally slay the hometown team that had overlooked him and deliver a championship.

Dreams are fragile. In sports, they usually end in the dirt.

Allar drops back to pass and lets fly a desperate, ill-advised ball across the middle of the field. In the glare of the stadium lights, the “missing piece” melts. A Notre Dame defender steps in front of the route, snatches the ball out of the air, and silences the Penn State sideline.

Notre Dame converts a field goal shortly after, leaving Head Coach James Franklin, the Penn State community, and the college football world at large in a state of collective shock.

Allar slowly trots to the sideline, hands clamped to his helmet, as if trying to hold his world together. Tears stream down his face—a raw, public outpouring of emotion that continues into his post-game press conference.

“I should’ve just thrown it away…we didn’t win the game, I wasn’t good enough” Allar delivers the standard leadership cliches, his eyes darting from side to side in the post-game press-conference. The quarterback avoids eye contact, looking toward the floor. The weight and expectation of a decade’s worth of promise and disappointment become too much to hold back.

A haunting image. The quarterback, the coach, and one of the most storied programs in the sport, left to ponder the same agonizing questions: What happens now? How did we get here?

The image of Allar walking off the field that night in the Orange Bowl—head in hands, emotion pouring out of him—serves as the defining portrait of an era.

No team provides a more stark examination of the binary of success and failure than Penn State. This was a team who came into this season with legitimate national championship expectations – and ended a decade journey with a fired coach, a mass of players leaving having failed to live up to expectations, and a fanbase forced to reconcile how a program on the precipice collapsed into the pit in a single year.

How did a seemingly perfect path to a storybook ending turn into despair? How did a team, so close to the championship game a year ago, fall into the abyss? Why did the relationship between a 104-win coach and his fanbase fracture so severely? And why did the quarterback, whose potential seemed limitless, end his career in tears?

The story is ultimately one of unfulfilled promise, the weight of expectation, and two men.

Quarterback Drew Allar and Coach James Franklin, two figures whose careers and fates would ultimately be defined by the other.

A plot that seemed plagiarized from a Hollywood script by the end resembled a Greek tragedy. But to understand how Penn State’s most promising team in generations ended in despair, you have to go back further.

Back to where the hope began.

A Miracle Worker

Turning the clock back over a decade, nestled in the hills of central Pennsylvania, Penn State Football was a program existing in the shadow of its own survival. Former NFL coordinator Bill O’Brien had spent two years stabilizing a program spiraling from scandal and tragedy, keeping it above .500 despite crippling sanctions—a feat that felt miraculous given the circumstances.

In December of 2013, O’Brien was ready to return to the NFL after a taxing two years, accepting the Houston Texans head coaching job on New Year’s Eve. Penn State—located in State College, Pennsylvania, a place known as Happy Valley—found itself searching for a leader for the second time in four years—a jarring reality for a program that had previously employed one man for nearly five decades.

Enter: James Franklin.

Franklin arrived in State College branded a ‘miracle worker’ from Vanderbilt, a label he was more than happy to wear. Employing a borderline delusional optimism, dynamic personality, and ability to identify under the radar recruits, Franklin led a historically weak program to consecutive nine-win seasons in the famed South Eastern Conference.

Young, high energy, from Pennsylvania – Franklin embodied the type of leader Penn State desperately required as it found itself in the midst of the ramifications from the scandal. A postseason ban and a decimated scholarship count threatened the program’s very ability to compete. On paper, the fit seemed perfect from all sides; however, the promotion to a bigger job, with more recent success, came with pressure. It’s great to build a Cinderella, but can you do it at the highest level? Franklin succeeded at Vanderbilt—a program where success itself seemed miraculous—but in the cutthroat world of major college football, past performance was only proof of concept, never proof of permanence. At Penn State, he would need to prove it against the best of the best, again. And again. And again.

O’Brien had provided the foundation; Franklin was hired to build the house. Emulating the blueprints of Alabama and Ohio State—the gold standards of the era—Penn State sought a CEO-style leader who could weaponize recruiting and drag the program out of the shadows and back into the national elite. At the time, college football had entered the era of the CEO coach—men like Nick Saban and Urban Meyer who controlled every facet of their programs, from recruiting to game planning to media strategy. Franklin embraced the model completely.

The first two years of the new regime were defined by mediocrity: back-to-back 7-6 finishes in lower-tier bowls that suggested a program treading water. And midway through the 2016 season, Franklin’s pivotal third year, things seemed to be stuck in neutral.

Then, in the span of one October night, the trajectory shifted.

The football gods finally looked toward Happy Valley. Hosting the 2nd ranked and undefeated Ohio State Buckeyes, the Nittany Lions rallied as massive underdogs when defensive back Grant Haley scooped a blocked field goal and sprinted not just into the endzone, but into Penn State lore.

It wasn’t just a touchdown; it was a program-defining exorcism. Franklin and the community would finally have their program defining win after the darkness of the last four years.

Students and fans flooded the field of Beaver Stadium against the backdrop of Penn State’s famed “White Out” night game, to celebrate a win over a top-five titan—a moment that announced the Nittany Lions were ready to ascend. Parlaying that momentum into a division championship, the Lions would end up winning the Big 10 conference in dramatic fashion. Despite being left out of the four team playoff that year, the Lions played in the famous and storied Rose Bowl. Against the horizon of the famed Pasadena background, sun setting into the mountains, Penn State and the Trojans of Southern California staged one of the most entertaining games of the season. In what would become an ominous sign, Franklin and the Nittany Lions lost to USC that night, but all prognostication was pointing up.

The Ohio State win acted as a propellant for Franklin and his program. A coach who was on the hot seat in early October was holding the Big Ten Championship trophy in December. Young, exciting players like Saquon Barkley (a generational talent) and Trace McSorley (a scrappy, underrecruited quarterback) who committed to the program in the middle of the heaviest impact from the sanctions would lead the Lions back to greatness.

The victory along with a Big10 conference championship provided validation for Franklin’s program. His approach had been methodical, bordering on obsessive. Every detail mattered—from recruiting scripts to practice schedules to media talking points. The 2016 breakthrough felt like vindication: his system worked.

What couldn’t be seen yet was the same control that built consistency would eventually suffocate freedom and growth.

In the aftermath of a turning point season, those “Fire Franklin” chants that echoed in the stadium in mid-October seemed far away now.

They would, in time, return.

Always Bridesmaid, Never a Bride

The 2016 season had been written for a Hollywood screenplay; in the rise from the ashes the program would be lifted by heroes who came in the darkest hour. The man hired after drastically outperforming at a historically weak program would bring a national championship back to a storied program, taking his place among the all-time greats.

As in life, College Football reality is messier and more unpleasant than Hollywood films.

The next three seasons established Penn State as one of the strongest programs in the country. Franklin utilized the 2016 momentum, stacking top-tier recruiting classes and wins—31 victories from 2017 through 2019. But the 2016 Ohio State upset that was supposed to launch a dynasty became an apparition. Penn State lost heartbreaking games to the Buckeyes in both 2017 and 2018 by a combined two points. The annual ritual of falling short against elite opponents became a sword hanging over the Franklin era: questionable coaching decisions, physical failures at critical moments, and gut-wrenching ‘what ifs’ that would linger for years.

The pattern was set: Penn State could beat anyone they had more talent than on paper, but they were paralyzed when facing their equals. When the lights were brightest, facing an elite opponent, Penn State lacked the execution or difference making performances to win.

In 2018, Penn State once again found itself on the precipice of greatness – only to fall victim to a coaching miscue in the biggest moment. Trailing by a single point with two timeouts in hand, gunslinger Trace McSorley orchestrated a drive into Buckeye territory. With less than 90 seconds remaining and a timeout, the Lions offense found itself roughly 15 yards from comfortable field goal range. 45 feet was all that separated Franklin from a second win against a top five Ohio State in three years –a victory likely locking up another Big10 Championship game appearance.

Fourth down, possibly the final play, five yards to go. McSorley unexpectedly handed the ball off to running back Miles Sanders who was stuffed immediately.

Roughly 108,000 people fell silent, utterly shocked by the final play call. Ohio State took over, ran out the clock, and walked off the field with another win over Penn State. A pattern becoming a curse.

After the loss, Franklin, caught up in the emotion and frustration of the moment, delivered a post-game press conference that would define the rest of his tenure.

It was here he laid the ultimatum that would determine his legacy and longevity.

"We’ve gone from an average football team to a good football team to a great football team... but we’re not an elite football team yet. We’ve gotten comfortable being great. We will no longer be comfortable being great. We’re going to find a way to take that next step... because we’ve been knocking at the door long enough."

In the immediate wake of the sanctions, mere survival—just being competitive again—had been a triumph. No longer. Penn State, and the man leading the team, would no longer be content to simply bully inferior opponents. The new standard was narrow and unforgiving: wins against the best of the best. The program, the community, and the man in charge were finished with moral victories. They were tired of being “close”.

Success would be defined not just by number of wins, but wins against Ohio State and Michigan. Franklin, and by proxy the fans, wouldn’t be satisfied with just being a “good” coach – he needed to be “elite”.

Seeds of Discontent

Cracks began to form in the marriage between Franklin and Happy Valley long before the October 2025 collapse. Between 2019 and 2021, the program entered a state of gilded stagnation. While an 11-win season in 2019 kept the critics at bay, Franklin’s name became a permanent fixture in rumors for premier openings at USC and Florida State. To the Penn State community—a fanbase that values loyalty as much as yardage—his silence felt like a leverage play, a way to extract more resources without commitment.

The breaking point wasn’t a loss, but a contract. In 2021, coming off a mediocre 7-6 season, Franklin secured a massive 10-year, $75 million contract extension with a staggering buyout if he was ever to be fired without cause. The massive commitment wasn’t just about money—it was about leverage. Franklin and his agent had negotiated a buyout so massive, and the terms so favorable to the coach, it effectively gave him ironclad job security. He’d built the program his way; now he’d ensured no one could take it from him. But in seizing total control, he’d also accepted total responsibility. There would be no excuses left.

Message boards and social media sites lit up with frustration. Franklin’s flirtation with other jobs, his complaints about lacking resources—it all rang hollow without ‘elite’ results to back it up.

The “Fire Franklin” chants of 2016 were replaced by a cold, transactional resentment. He was now a CEO with a massive salary and a “Great” product, but no “Elite” results. The man and his supporters stayed optimistic and persistent, others felt he would always be asking for more – resources, players, staff, money – without delivering his end of the bargain and shopping for his next gig.

Franklin knew that despite financial security, the seat was getting warm. He had the money, the facilities, and the security—but he still didn’t have a championship.

To save the marriage, he needed a difference maker. He needed divine intervention.

He needed a quarterback.

The Prince Who Was Promised

Just 100 miles from Columbus, shrouded by the overbearing shadow of Ohio State, lies the birthplace of Drew Allar. Initially overlooked by the hometown juggernaut as a mid-tier prospect, Allar spent the COVID pandemic transforming himself into a phenomenon. In less than two years, he charted a meteoric rise from a forgotten three-star recruit to the No. 1 quarterback in the nation.

For Franklin and Penn State, Allar was the missing evolutionary link. The Nittany Lions had won plenty of games with gritty overachievers like Trace McSorley and Sean Clifford, but they had never possessed a true “unicorn”—a prototype field general capable of going blow-for-blow with the NFL talent at Ohio State. Allar was that dream. Standing 6’5” with a rocket arm, he was straight out of central casting. The comparisons to Buffalo Bills QB Josh Allen were immediate and intoxicating; the kid from Medina possessed the physical traits that made scouts salivate and social media accounts explode.

The true victory for Franklin and his staff wasn’t just securing his talent; it was Allar’s loyalty. When Ohio State finally panicked and offered him a scholarship late in the recruiting cycle, the quarterback didn’t flinch. He rejected his childhood dream school to stay with the coach who believed in him before anyone else.

When asked why he turned down Ohio State, Allar was diplomatic but firm:

“’I have a great amount of respect for the Ohio State coaches and their program, but I just didn’t feel like it would be the best fit for me, personally. I feel like Penn State is a better fit for me.’”

Before he ever took a snap, Drew Allar had already delivered Franklin a win over the Buckeyes.

Finally, the Nittany Lions would have the elite quarterback required to be the difference-maker in the biggest games. The 2022 recruiting class, led by Allar, offered the newly extended Franklin the firepower to finally clear the hurdle that had defined his career.

Allar’s commitment was a line of demarcation for Franklin and the Nittany Lions.

The future, for both the program and the man in charge, would be tied to the success of their prized recruit from Central Ohio.

A Glimpse of Potential

Penn State fans wouldn’t have to wait long for a glimpse of their dream. An appetizer arrived on a humid Thursday night in West Lafayette, Indiana, midway through the 2022 season opener against Purdue. When veteran starter Sean Clifford retreated to the locker room with an injury, the “Allar Era” began not with a gradual introduction, but with a sudden, high-stakes thrust into a hostile environment.

Allar navigated the pocket with a surgical, statuesque calm.

On the first meaningful drive of his collegiate career, the eighteen year old avoided the chaos of the Purdue pass rush with the poise of a fifth-year senior. Then came the throw that would provide an allegory for the next three years of Penn State football.

Dropping back in shotgun formation, navigating the collapsing pocket, Allar effortlessly lofted a ball downfield. With a flick of the wrist that looked almost indifferent, he lofted a twenty-five-yard crescent through the Indiana night. The ball tracked a perfect, smooth arc, clearing the fingertips of an outstretched linebacker and splitting a pair of lurking safeties to find tight end Tyler Warren in a window that shouldn’t have existed.

The pass hit Warren’s hands and fell to the turf—an incompletion that was entirely irrelevant. The stadium, and the thousands watching on national television, had seen a unicorn.

It was a pro throw, a physical manifestation of the “Elite” standard Franklin had promised years earlier. The fact that the drive eventually stalled at midfield, and Allar’s next pass was wildly incomplete, mattered less than a glimpse of the potential: if a true freshman could manipulate a defense and make a throw like that, what would the finished product look like?

For a fanbase that had grown weary of game managers like Clifford and McSorley, that single incompletion was more intoxicating than a decade of safe completions. It was the lightning bolt of hope and promise that would sustain James Franklin’s credit with the community for the next thirty-sixth months.

Growing Pains

By 2022, Penn State had become firmly entrenched in the upper-middle class of college football. An eleven-win season capped by a Rose Bowl victory provided a glossy finish, but the sheen was deceptive. Once again, the Nittany Lions had surrendered second-half leads to Ohio State and Michigan. The victories were enjoyable and consistent, but the losses felt defining. Hope remained an intoxicating drug; the optimistic part of the fanbase convinced itself that Allar, after a year of seasoning behind the veteran Clifford, was the missing ingredient required to finally reach the summit.

The following year proved that hope, while intoxicating, is often a cruel mistress.

Allar’s first season as the starter was characterized not by the “pedal to the metal” aggression fans craved, but by a program stuck in neutral. While Allar set records for consecutive passes without an interception, the milestone felt more like a condemnation. On the surface, sure, the offense looked efficient and avoided turnovers. However, those watching closely saw a unit and a quarterback who looked timid, out of sync, and paralyzed in the biggest moments.

The pivot points the community expected never arrived. Against the measuring-stick defenses of Michigan and Ohio State, the unit looked less like a national contender and more like a mid-major program overwhelmed by the moment. Allar finished the year with an astounding 25-to-2 touchdown-to-interception ratio, yet his shallow yards-per-attempt told the real story: a Ferrari being driven like a minivan. A horrific performance in the Peach Bowl against Ole Miss turned whispers of doubt into a roar.

The question that haunted Happy Valley was whether Allar was playing scared, or being coached into submission. Franklin’s offensive coordinators had built a system designed to minimize errors, not maximize explosiveness. For a quarterback with Allar’s arm talent, the scheme felt like a cage. He wasn’t learning to process chaos and make off-script magic; he was checking down to safe, short throws and avoiding mistakes. In big games, when the conservative script was exposed, Allar had no improvisation or aggressive muscle memory to fall back on.

Franklin had protected his quarterback from failure—and in doing so, prevented him from developing the scar tissue elite quarterbacks need.

That pattern ingrained in the program’s reputation; Penn State shrinking in the biggest moments. Multiple blown leads against Ohio State. An offense that went conservative when aggression was needed. Had Franklin’s vice-like grip on every aspect of the program stifled the creativity and freedom required to win championship games? After almost eight years, the Lions were always on the wrong side of the big play.

Franklin’s response to media questions about his tactics rarely satisfied—always some version of (paraphrasing) “Obviously, we will look to evaluate everything and get it fixed." The questions had no easy answers. Was it coaching? Player development? Or was Franklin simply a great builder without the killer instinct to finish?

The flip side over having total control of a program is that when it goes well you can earn a $75mm contract. When it goes badly, there is really no one else to blame. The proverbial monkey on the back of big game failures would follow Franklin until he finally won one.

The season leading up to that Orange Bowl game against Notre Dame, as the Nittany Lions prepared for their first true playoff run—highlighted by a grit-and-grind overtime win at USC and a bruising encounter with Oregon—the old ghosts remained.

Penn State was at the table – thanks to an expanded twelve team playoff field – but the team, and Allar himself, didn’t look like they belonged at the head of it.

By the time Penn State reached the Semifinal Orange Bowl, Franklin and Allar were trapped in a cage of their own making.

Franklin’s need for control and fear of upsetting the consistent standard had created a risk-averse culture. A conservative philosophy had been coded into his quarterbacks’ decision-making. His coordinator choices, and the staff at large, had prevented Allar from developing the improvisational skills and aggressive mindset elite quarterbacks need. And beneath it all, Franklin’s need for validation meant he could never simply coach the game in front of him; he was always coaching against the criticism, the doubt, the ‘not elite’ label.

When the moment arrived—40 seconds, tie game, championship on the line—Allar was asked to do something Franklin’s program had never equipped him for: abandon the script and trust chaos.

The interception wasn’t just a bad throw. It was the inevitable result of a philosophy that had brought them 99% of the way to the summit, but could never carry them to the final step. When the ball left Allar’s hand, ten years of questions were answered.

A Shot at Redemption

It’s easy to look back now and point to the heartbreak in Miami as the moment the dream died—the moment the promise of James Franklin leading Penn State to a championship on the back of a prolific quarterback finally evaporated. That is the portrait history will likely draw; history rarely has time for nuance. But the reality was more complicated. The Nittany Lions actually returned the majority of their starters in 2025, led by Allar, who turned down the NFL Draft for one final run.

The “unfinished business” angle was espoused hard.

Even before the season began, however, something seemed amiss. Franklin’s pre-season comments carried an edge that betrayed something festering beneath the surface. ‘Most programs would be envious of the success we’ve had here,’ he said, repeatedly.

The man who’d once preached 1-0 mentality—focus only on the next game—was now looking backward, cataloging achievements, seemingly exhausted by the burden of never being enough. The community had given him time, resources, and a $75 million contract. But they hadn’t given him what he truly wanted: recognition as an elite coach. And in college football’s binary world, “very good” was just another word for “not good enough”.

Penn State stumbled to a rocky 3-0 start against inferior opponents. Allar did not look like the senior leader or projected top draft pick who was supposed to “take the next step” with a new trio of transfer receivers. Nittany Nation collectively held its breath, but the cracks in the facade were impossible to ignore. The weight of a decade of expectation and promise seemingly formed an anvil over the head of the coach and his quarterback.

Allar had entered his senior season as a projected first-round pick, but failed to look the part. Three years in various systems had made him efficient but not dynamic. The transfer receivers Franklin brought in—supposedly the missing pieces—only highlighted the problem: Allar had the weapons, but couldn’t make the most of them. Perhaps, after three years of being taught to avoid mistakes above all else, he’d internalized the fear so completely that freedom wouldn’t have mattered. The freedom and aggressiveness he showed at Medina High, neutered by the pressure of being labeled a “savior” for not just thousands in a stadium, but an entire fanbase.

A kid who had a thousand watt smile and rosy cheeks when he arrived in State College now looked exasperated; weighed down by the eyes of the college football world expecting a championship run and a Heisman trophy.

The Nittany Lions heartbreak would not have to wait until Ohio State this time.

The End

Everything had built to this: early October, primetime, 107,000 fans packed into Beaver Stadium’s famed White Out to watch two undefeated teams. Penn State versus Oregon—a rematch of last year’s Big Ten Championship loss. A chance at redemption.

For three quarters, doubt crept through the stadium like fog. Allar struggled to find rhythm, frequently sprinting to the sideline in frustration. Franklin battled with officials, unleashing a decade’s worth of pent-up anger. When a fumble return touchdown was overturned—a blade of grass the difference between euphoria and dread—the entire stadium seemed to collectively recognize the moment. They’d been here before.

Then the fourth quarter arrived, and hope returned. Trailing by multiple scores, Allar suddenly came alive. Forced to abandon caution by desperation, he threaded passes through the autumn night, rallying the Lions to tie the game with thirty seconds left. Overtime.

Penn State struck first, a bruising touchdown drive that felt like the entire community willing the ball forward. Up seven, they needed one stop. One play to exorcise a decade of demons. One play to prove they were finally different.

Oregon converted on fourth down to tie it. Double overtime. Penn State’s ball again. Allar had forty seconds in Miami; now the clock was irrelevant. Just get the ball into the endzone.

He dropped back and forced a throw into triple coverage. The Oregon safety stepped in front—the same setup, the same mistake. The interception floated into the opposing safety’s hands. Game over.

Allar collapsed to the turf, staring into nothing. Franklin stood frozen, the thousand-yard stare of a man who’d just watched his fate sealed. There were eight games left on the schedule, but the looks on their faces told the story.

The dream was over. Everything that followed would just be the aftermath.

The Oregon loss resulted in a psychic fracture within the team. The following week, the Lions collapsed against a winless UCLA squad on the road, then followed it up with a loss to a sub-.500 Northwestern team at home.

The football gods are cruel writers, particularly around endings.

Midway through the Northwestern game, Drew Allar fell to the grass with a twisted ankle. The quarterback who had been delivered to Penn State with the pressure of driving a program to new heights, carted off the field with tears once again streaming down his face. After the game, Franklin announced the inevitable: the quarterback’s season, and Drew’s college career, were over.

Frustration erupted down upon the man who had been greeted as a savior ten years prior. The “Fire Franklin” chants that had echoed through Beaver Stadium in October 2016 returned, louder and more certain. They’d been temporarily silenced by hope. Hope that with an elite quarterback, surrounded by more blue chip talent, Franklin’s program would finally reach that “elite” standard he set after the second consecutive loss to Ohio State in 2018. That hope had finally run out.

Franklin was fired less than twenty-four hours after the loss. The $50 million buyout and the remaining term of his contract be damned. There would be no saviors. There would be no happy endings in Happy Valley for the coach or his quarterback.

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New Chapters and Fresh Starts

Time heals all wounds, and history will likely be kind to the legacy of James Franklin and Drew Allar. Allar ends his career as the program’s all-time leader in completion percentage. He won more games in a single season than any other signal-caller in Nittany Lion history. Despite his season-ending injury, the quarterback remained a fixture on the sidelines, helping his backup guide the team to a 4-3 finish. His NFL story has yet to be written.

For Allar, the ending was particularly cruel. Four years of carrying expectations that would have broken most 18-year-olds, and what does he have to show for it? Program records that feel hollow, a college career that ended on a cart, and the knowledge that he’ll forever be the ‘what if’ quarterback in Penn State lore. The kid who rejected Ohio State to stay loyal, who returned for his senior year when he could have left for the NFL, who did everything asked of him—and still couldn’t deliver the moment everyone dreamed of. That’s the weight he’ll carry into the League.

Emotions remain tense—a consequence of Franklin immediately hitting the national television circuit to espouse a desire to coach elsewhere, yet refusing to issue any genuine sentiment of gratitude towards Penn State and the community. It didn’t help matters that a few weeks later, Franklin and his new staff lured the majority of the 2026 signing class with him to Virginia Tech.

Regardless, History will reflect positively on the coach. Franklin took a program that was barely surviving and turned it into a perennial Top 10 mainstay. Penn State won nearly every New Year’s Six bowl game under his watch and won multiple playoff games for the first time in school history. He leaves for Blacksburg with 104 wins—tied for second-most in program history—having won nearly 70% of his games. The fracture between Franklin and the fanbase, the transactional nature and mutual feelings of lack of appreciation, only would have been resolved with a championship.

As Penn State turns the calendar to 2026, it is forced to reckon with what could have been. Before the program can begin a new era with a new coach in Matt Campbell, it needed a final chapter for the coach and quarterback who were supposed to lift the program to the summit.

In the end, it was fitting that Franklin’s tenure ended alongside Allar’s. Both arrived in Happy Valley carrying the weight of immense promise; both accomplished great things. However, since that ‘Great to Elite’ declaration, it would not be enough for either man to simply win more than they lost. They needed to win the biggest battles. Now both start new chapters, a cloud of “how did it all go so wrong” hanging over their legacies.

In 2026, all parties receive a fresh start—Franklin in Blacksburg, Allar in the NFL, and Penn State with Campbell. The marriage had become a cycle of anger, frustration, and disappointment. It had to end.

There is a saying I heard once:

“If you can sell hope, you can usually keep working. When you run out of hope, you get run out of town.”

Ultimately, the story of Franklin and Allar is one of two fates intertwined. They needed each other to reach the mountaintop, and they came agonizingly close to the peak. But despite the achievements along the way, time simply ran out.

Hope had run out.

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After dropping a flurry of articles discussing the 2025 Stanley Cup Finals, life picked up—multiple international weddings, a beach vacation, and far too much time on Twitter (never calling it X, sorry Elon). I got away from the writing cadence, and lost some momentum. It happens, but I want to live by what I preach, and there’s no excuse not to get back into the swing of things and talk about things that interest me. Despite it being roughly a month since the Panthers lifted the 34 lb silver chalice for the second consecutive summer, I’ve still been thinking about the Florida Panthers. Not about their punishing forecheck, nor the heroic efforts of individual players, but something else more relatable.

These Florida Panthers are a really interesting case study in calculated risk-taking, masterful decision-making, and a supercharged environment that extends beyond the sport of hockey. While I enjoyed writing about the Finals live at the moment, it's less interesting to me now to dwell on the specifics of what happened, and more about what made this team special, and allowed them to secure back-to-back titles. The now mini-dynasty in South Florida shows us a roadmap to improve performance, amplify results, and enhance decision making. You don’t have to be a die-hard hockey fan to take something valuable from these lessons. Let’s dive in.

Environment Matters

You can be the best singer in the world, but if the rest of the band is subpar, you are probably not going to sell that many records (this analogy would’ve crushed in the early 2000’s, but the point still holds). You could be an incredible performer, but if your firm or team is struggling, it will likely put a ceiling on how far you go. Sports, entertainment, and the world at large are full of examples of exceptional individual talents that only achieved so much because of the circumstances around them. Would Tom Brady have won six Super Bowls if he was drafted by the Cleveland Browns, or the New York Jets? Unlikely. Would Apple have been as successful if Jobs didn’t meet Wozniak? Maybe, maybe not. On the flip side, what if Dominique Wilkins had been drafted by the Lakers instead of James Worthy? Is he now known as one of the greatest players of all-time? One with multiple championships rather than primarily known for the Dunk Contest spectacle. Where you are matters. Who you're with, matters. The best version of yourself, and your greatest success might lie on the other side of finding the right environment. Whether it's your career, living situation or relationships, ask yourself: Are your surroundings enabling your success? Or are they contributing to the drift of mediocrity? This Florida Panthers team is full of examples of players, who for various reasons, were either not reaching their potential, or needed a new environment to elevate their game. Matthew Tkachuk, Sam Reinhart, and Sam Bennett were all exceptional hockey players (if you make it to the NHL, you are in the top 0.0000001% of anyone who has ever played the sport) - but prior to arriving in Florida, none had truly ascended to superstar status (Tkachuk was definitely the closest, and also the one whose exit had more to do with personal reasons than on-ice results). However, all of them needed to come together in Florida to supercharge their careers - the sum of the whole being greater than the individual parts.

While Tkachuk was a rising star in Calgary, he seemed destined to be a good player on a team that was bound to be mildly competitive at best. The Flames were unable to build the supporting cast and organizational infrastructure necessary to open and sustain a championship window. Bennett and Reinhart were top five draft picks that were floundering on moribund franchises (you could compose a whole all-star team of players the Buffalo Sabres and Calgary Flames have traded, who then went on to win elsewhere). The lesson here is that while every player was “good” in their previous situation, it took them finding the right place, with the right people, to truly realize their full potential.

Matthew Tkachuk, Sam Reinhart, and Sam Bennett at their previous places of employment

This is not a directive to drop everything in your life, quit your job, move to Tibet, and change everything for the sake of change - but it's a worthwhile endeavor for all of us to look at where we are personally and professionally, and ask: “Is this the environment, group, or situation that will allow me to be the best version of myself?” The Panthers are an excellent lesson in the power of finding the right combination of environment and teammates, and never settling until you find your own championship environment. Bonus points if your peak environment also happens to have sunny beaches and no state income tax.

The Road From Good to Great is Built On Risk

At any point, when pursuing something—whether it be a business endeavor, a championship, a career move, a new relationship—there are moments of choice, where one must evaluate risk and reward, and often make tough decisions with lack of clarity or certainty. As the old saying goes: “no risk, no reward.”

When the Florida Panthers started their climb out of the doldrums of the NHL standings in the mid 2010s, just getting the team back to the playoffs seemed like a monumental task. Following a six-year stretch where the team’s best finish was a first-round playoff loss, everything finally seemed to come together in 2021-2022. The core of homegrown stars in Alexander Barkov, Jonathan Huberdeau, and Aaron Ekblad led the Panthers to a Presidents’ Trophy (the award for best record in the regular season) finish. The team then won its first playoff series victory in 26 years, before immediately being swept by the cross-state rivals Tampa Bay Lightning (on their way to their third consecutive Finals appearance). After spending the majority of your franchise’s existence as a laughingstock of the league—this was a tremendous step forward. 99% of teams, people, organizations—whatever you want to use—would have accepted this progress and been thrilled with the direction things were headed. They were still 12 wins away from the ultimate prize, but they had achieved the best record in the organization’s history, won a playoff series for the first time in a quarter century, and still had a core of young stars in their prime. Standing pat, trusting the process, and making small adjustments—would’ve been prudent. General Manager Bill Zito wasn’t interested in being prudent. He wasn’t interested in being “good”; he wanted to be “great”. The Panthers needed to take a swing at greatness.

Zito’s summer 2022 trade for Matthew Tkachuk completely reinvented the Panthers’ identity

When the following summer, a young burgeoning superstar came available (Tkachuk), Zito pounced. He sent two of his best young homegrown players (Huberdeau and defenseman Mackenzie Weegar) in return (big risk, big upside) for the star who wanted out of Alberta. Zito and ownership also fired the coach that had led the team to its record finish while making them one of the highest scoring teams in the league—and chose to replace him with a coach who had been fired or resigned from three other teams. Said coach (Paul Maurice) was also notorious for being hard and demanding on players (big, big risk). It took massive conviction and guts not only from management, but ownership as well, to realize while they were on a “good” path, they were going to need to make some hard choices, and take some calculated risks if they were going to get on the GREAT path.

Author Sahil Bloom often speaks about the importance of finding YOUR path. Paraphrasing the NYT best-selling author: “The worst thing is not being on a bad path, because that is inherently obvious and spurs quick, corrective action, but rather being on a ‘good’ path that isn’t yours, because the pull to stay on it is so strong.” When things are “fine” and “good,” the pull of staying on the set path is so easy. Why risk it getting worse? Why mess with what has worked? But, as the old saying goes, risk and reward: they go hand in hand. The most dangerous trap is being stuck in “good enough”. If you want to find the job of your dreams, it may require the big risk of entering a new field with a lack of experience. If you want to create something, you have to risk feeling dumb or insecure. If you want to build deep and rewarding relationships, you have to take the swing of putting yourself out there. There is probably a reason no great story has ever been told that looks like—“everything was super clear and easy, and no decisions were really that difficult, and everything worked out exactly as planned.” The Panthers are a sports-related example that sometimes to get to great—whatever you define that as—you are going to have to take a large risk at some point, and if you do it in an intelligent way, you can catapult yourself from good to great. The risk of firing your coach (who had also just won the NHL’s Coach of the Year award), and trading two of your best young players (albeit for another great young player), are two of the riskiest things any modern team has done. But Zito knew the trajectory the team had currently been on was one of “good,” and playing it safe would have kept them on that path.

Celebrated now, but at the time the hire of Paul Maurice was met with criticism

Without being comfortable with risk, Zito might have stayed on course, and the hockey landscape looks much different. At some point in your life, personally or professionally—you are going to need to evaluate and get comfortable taking a risk. As clichéd as it might be, the harder that choice, the bigger the risk, usually means the bigger the reward. (Disclaimer: Don’t put all your money on fifteen-leg parlays or crypto.)

Forget Chasing Someone's Example - Create Your Own

Trying to be the best version of someone else is a losing battle. Identifying what makes ourselves unique and valuable, and maximizing our efforts and focus there is the best way to maximize our chances at success. Listen to anyone speak about the NHL playoffs, and it takes all of five seconds to hear: “toughness”, “grit”, and “physicality”. The surface level takeaway of the Panthers journey is that Florida took a chainsaw to its high-scoring, sleek, offensive team and created a tough, defensive minded, mental juggernaut because that is the stereotype of a successful playoff team in hockey. The truth, as it often does, requires a little more nuance.

Yes, they brought in Tkachuk—who was more of an independent play-driver than Jonathan Huberdeau (himself a gifted offensive player, but required more support from linemates), and more physical. However, it took a full-scale commitment from the coaching staff and management to develop a system of play around the players on its roster. Yes Florida is “physical” and “tough to play against” - but the coaches identified the roster’s strengths were around players like Tkachuk, Bennett, and Sasha Barkov who thrived off chances created from forechecking and puck-possession - and less so from the high-flying transition game the team had been playing previously under former coach Andrew Brunette. Had Florida’s reflection from getting swept by the Lightning been—'we need to play like them’, the league probably looks very different right now. Florida looked at what the players on its roster were exceptional at, and built its system around them, rather than what other teams were doing well.

Rather than forcing players to fit a pre-designed system, they designed a system around the strength of its people. How often are we comparing ourselves to others? How much progress has been lost from wasting time and energy looking at co-workers, peers, or strangers on the internet? Driving ourselves crazy with comparison to others. I catch myself often finding pre-determined roles or behaviors, and trying to fit into them rather than doubling down on what I am good at, or what makes me unique. I would be shocked if I’m alone in that feeling. How much better off would we be if we got off of LinkedIn, Instagram, or TikTok and channeled our energy instead into thinking about what our own natural strengths are? The Panthers have shown the results building around and focusing on our strengths and unique identity, instead of chasing a recipe laid out by others. You’ll never be the best version of someone else—but you can be the best version of YOU.

Whose in Your “Front Office”?

While General Manager Bill Zito gets most of the credit for building the Panthers, anyone paying attention realizes the importance of the team alongside him in the front office. Throughout the many post-victory interviews he’s done since winning the Stanley Cup again, Zito’s been quick to deflect focus and credit towards other members of the team’s front office, often citing the importance the group’s input, lack of ego, and different perspectives played in building this team. When there is only a single person making decisions or solving problems—mistakes, bias, and lack of unique perspectives can invite failure. After purchasing the team in 2013, Florida’s owner Vincent Viola made a commitment to invest in the franchise, and not just on player salaries. Viola realized one of my personal favorite insights, that there is no salary cap on what an organization can spend beyond the players on the ice. Viola not only built out a robust infrastructure and new facilities, but supported Zito in making aggressive and unique front office hires to balance out areas that were outside of his expertise. While he had experience as an agent, Zito brought in Shawn Thornton and Roberto Luongo, two former Panthers players who could provide a direct line to the locker room and offer valuable first-hand, on ice experience. Zito made unconventional hires like Sunny Mehta, a former professional poker player and derivatives trader, to be the team’s head of analytics and recently Assistant General Manager. These are just a few of the many, but Zito and others have frequently talked about the extensive discussions this front office consortium had throughout the year and offseason on building this team. Many specifically highlight the group’s ability to check their egos at the door, challenge conventional wisdom, and provide fresh perspectives while having a culture of open dialogue and freedom of debate.

Viola (owner), Thornton, Luongo, and Mehta were just some of front office contributors

While corporate C-suites and boards of directors have ballooned, too often businesses and individuals continue to silo decision making. Either from inability to properly take feedback, or ego inflation keeping us from considering different points of view, anyone would benefit from having a similar supportive and trusted group for advice and feedback. Whether it's friends to bounce ideas off of, or peers to challenge our assumptions—finding fresh perspectives and using others can help sharpen your decision making and check for biases. The key is to make sure that we're considering diverse viewpoints and developing relationships with people who can challenge us to think in different ways while helping prevent us from falling victim to our own blind spots. It’s easy in sports and business to point to the individual’s role in success: the star player, the genius executive. More often than not—as the Panthers have proven—there are frequently a number of key players supporting and auditing the decision making process. The ice level game is the ultimate team game, it only makes sense to view the front office as one as well. Zito and Viola made this a core part of reinventing the franchise, and we’d be wise to consider our own “Front Office” going forward.

The Bigger Picture

Decades from now, this Florida Panthers team will be remembered for their incredible accomplishments on the ice. Qualifying for the playoffs on the final day of the 2023 season, the Panthers went on to three straight Stanley Cup Finals appearances, winning the last two. The memories of strong and unique personalities of the players on the roster will be forged into legend, while many will recount the impressive depth throughout the lineup the team was able to regenerate year after year. For me, the really interesting story of the team has been elsewhere, providing a roadmap anyone would be keen to follow. Beyond punishing body checks and powerful slap shots, a team’s championship DNA is built by a group of people coming together for something bigger than themselves—taking calculated risks, embracing new environments, forging a unique identity, and having a strong and open decision-making group. You don’t have to be an NHL player, front-office representative, athlete, business mogul, or anything special to realize some value from what we’ve learned from the Panthers’ recent run of success. You just need to be open-minded and willing to go further than ice level - you might just find something useful.

Florida’s famous “rat” victory celebration momento - made famous during the ‘96 Finals run

Back when the New England Patriots were in the midst of their near two-decade dominance in the NFL - there was always a feeling of inevitability in high stakes situations. No matter how strong another team started, or how much more skill they had, there was always a feeling that the longer the game went on - the Patriots would find a way, and more times than not it would be by simply not making the critical mistakes other teams would. Why am I talking about the NFL in a post about the Stanley Cup Final? Frankly, a play-by-play of a game that was only competitive for four minutes isn't a good use of anyone's time, or particularly interesting to read about. So I wanted to do something a little different here after Florida’s absolute drubbing of the Oilers 6-1 in Game 3. Like those 2000s Patriots (and now the Kansas City Chiefs), these Florida Panthers have taken on the allure of that “inevitable” juggernaut team that will make you beat yourself. I was being facetious earlier, the game actually was close until a few minutes into the second period, but from then on it was a complete meltdown by Edmonton, who played right into Florida’s hands by taking a parade of senseless and undisciplined penalties that gave Florida a significant amount of time with an extra skater to extend an early lead.

Edmonton took about 3 years worth of penalties throughout the game, and Florida took advantage on the scoreboard and to hijack the momentum the rest of the way. It’s almost impossible for highly skilled teams like the Oilers to establish momentum when constantly shorthanded, and the Oilers ended up taking a combined 85 penalty minutes in Game 3. The first game at Amerant Bank arena was a microcosm of what makes the Panthers so special - enough skill to play high-risk games, enough physicality and grit to beat you in a street fight, and enough mental savy to goad you into taking undisciplined penalties. The whole game was a masterclass by a team that has spent the last three years excelling in making teams beat themselves, and even a team with McDavid and Draisaitl couldn’t overcome the amount of mental errors and lack of discipline the Oilers showed on Monday night. While Edmonton has shown tremendous signs of resiliency this postseason, it feels like Florida has been doing this for so long, against so many different types of opponents, that they are going to be impossible to beat four times in seven games. Additionally, Florida’s incredible depth became a huge factor in the series as Tkachuk and Barkov have been mostly silent, combining for one point through three games. You absolutely need star players to win and carry your team, but eventually those players are going to have games where they do not score, and the rest of your roster needs to balance that out. So far Florida’s has, while Edmonton’s had decidedly not. Edmonton could certainly flush one bad game away, a blowout was likely to happen at least once in the series after two incredibly close games - but Game 3’s mental warfare felt like the schoolyard bully showing the upstarts that even though they learned some lessons, it’s going to take a lot more than a few good punches to knock these heavyweights out.

Game 4 - Edmonton 5 - Florida 4 (OT)

For about 20 minutes on Thursday night, the Game 3 diatribe above looked downright prophetic. I was already turning the wheel in my mind about just expanding the above into one long piece about how special the Florida Panthers are, and how they had staked their claim as one of the most dominant teams of the last thirty years - and took a stranglehold on the series, putting itself one win away from its second consecutive Stanley Cup. The first period might as well have been a fourth period of Game 3 - Edmonton continued to look daunted by the moment, gifting Florida power plays, and star Matthew Tkachuk finally broke through with 2 goals to give Florida what felt like an insurmountable 3-0 lead after one period.

Hockey Twitter was alive with “thanks for coming Edmonton” narratives, and most had turned the page to game 5. Teams were 0-37 in Stanley Cup Finals games when facing a 3 goal deficit after the first period. You were probably justified if you changed the channel to something else. This is what makes Hockey the absolute best though, particularly when two elite teams get together at this stage of the year, and absolutely lay everything on the line in order to hoist that 34-pound silver chalice. Stuart Skinner got pulled (think we clearly can remove him from the goalie battle in our narrative discussion) - and the Oilers came roaring back in the second and took the lead midway through the third period. Edmonton, who had already come back to win 8 games when trailing this playoff run, is showing its resiliency is not far off from Florida’s either, and displayed the kind of grit and fight that may have been imbued in their team culture after clawing back from a 3 game deficit in last year’s Finals. Not relying on its two generational players solely, or a parade of power play opportunities, Edmonton got its own contributions from depth players (defensemen Darnell Nurse and Jake Walman) to take what looked like the final lead late in the third period.

Had the match ended there, it would have already been a historic game - however Florida said “hold my beer”, and Sam Reinhart tied the game with 19.5 seconds left, sending Amerant Bank arena into absolute bedlam and sending the 3rd of 4 games into extra time.

Regardless of what the outcome was going to be here, this had already been one of the best Finals series in sports of the last twenty years. Multiple overtime games, two incredible teams staging comeback wins, star players delivering on the biggest stages - the championship round has been all a fan could've asked for and more from an entertainment perspective. The fact that Leon Draisaitl (Pippen to McDavid’s Jordan) scored ANOTHER OT game winner and sends this series back to Edmonton tied 2-2 makes it even more dramatic (Draisaitl is probably the favorite right now to win the playoff MVP if Edmonton wins), especially after Florida’s Sam Bennett hit the post minutes before, almost handing Florida a 3-1 series win. Florida now has to trek back to Edmonton haunted by a new reality. In two of the last three games, Edmonton has done the impossible against them. They became the first team in 32 tries to beat this Panthers squad after trailing by multiple goals. More historically, they became the first team in 38 attempts in the Stanley Cup Final to win a game they trailed by three goals after the first period.

Can Florida continue to exhibit championship poise and not let being so close to having a commanding lead affect them? Can Edmonton use this momentum from the brink of death to take control of the series and win two more games and deliver the cup to Canada for the first time in 32 years? Can Draisaitl and McDavid ascend to all-time great status with their first championship? Or will Florida’s own core cement itself as one of the legendary teams of the modern era? There are literally so many questions and narratives left to answer in this Stanley Cup Final, I managed to get to the end of this piece without mentioning that Taylor Swift was in the building.

The series started off high energy, as Edmonton having home-ice this time around provided a definite energy boost to the home team early. Edmonton immediately came out flying, with Draisaitl scoring just over a minute into the game. Edmonton’s high energy and clear emphasis on getting pucks to the net resulted in the goal, showing early signs that Edmonton was prioritizing a fast start after falling down 3 games to none last year. Maybe it was just the benefit of starting at home, but Edmonton’s energy was noticeably higher than Florida’s, as they generated far more chances early and overall just seemed much faster in transition than the Panthers. After carrying the play for the majority of the start, the never-say-die Panthers made something out of nothing and immediately got a response goal from Bennett, with some possible goaltender interference controversy. Immediately following an unsuccessful challenge, Florida scored on the ensuing power play - leaving Edmonton reeling after dominating the start.

When the Panthers scored a third goal early in the second period to make it 3-1, Edmonton was suddenly in danger of losing the home opener - a gut-punch after controlling the early play. This was the first instance where Edmonton showed it had learned from the trials of previous playoff failures, doing what it has done all year and climbing out of a multi-goal deficit. Viktor Arvidsson launched a point shot that beat Bobrovsky - a soft goal from Bob, but one that immediately kept the game from being out of reach. 3-2 Panthers.

Previously, Florida had been 31-0 in the playoffs when having a lead under Coach Paul Maurice; however, Connor McDavid can be a great equalizer. Midway through the third period, McDavid drew the attention of every player on the ice before delivering a stunning cross-ice pass to Ekholm, who tied the game 3-3.

If we didn’t know already, this series was going to be a five-star tilt between two elite teams, with almost no margin for error. The game would continue into overtime, where an accidental over-the-glass delay of game penalty gave Edmonton a power play, and Edmonton's OTHER generational talent buried his second goal of the game to give Edmonton a 1-0 advantage to start the series. By showing a dedication to physical play (and not letting Florida dominate them on the boards), displaying resilience, and its generational stars delivering in the biggest moments, the Oilers threw the first punch.

Game 2: Florida 5 - Edmonton 4 (2OT)

Years from now, when both of these teams and the rest of the league look back on the run these teams have put together over the last few years, what might be most remembered about the Florida Panthers is their sheer ability to let nothing faze them mentally. A lot of teams might have been frazzled by losing Game 1 in OT, coming so close to stealing a game on the road, only to come up short. The Florida Panthers are not most teams. Almost immediately to start Game 2, the Panthers came to play. The contest was a seesaw battle, with neither team able to dominate for any significant stretch. This series has already been defined by its stars. For Edmonton, McDavid and Draisaitl have been immense, while Florida's core of Bennett, Tkachuk, and Barkov have all made huge impacts. When Edmonton seemed poised to take the game over, getting a power play late in the second period with the game tied 3-3, playoff veteran and trade deadline acquisition Brad Marchand sprung on a breakaway and buried a short-handed goal for a 4-3 Florida lead.

The third period was an absolute back-and-forth affair, with Edmonton throwing absolutely everything it had at Bobrovsky, but it seemed like it was going to be Florida’s night. That was until Edmonton’s own wily playoff veteran who’s won a cup with another team - Corey Perry - scored a goal with under 20 seconds left to send Rogers Place into absolute bedlam.

Edmonton truly was going to do everything in its power to test Florida’s mental resolve. Giving up a goal with 20 seconds left, after losing its first game in 31 tries when having a lead, would destroy most teams' psyches. The Florida Panthers are not most teams. After carrying the play most of the first OT, with Sam Reinhart getting a glorious chance on a breakaway, the Panthers had to be going into the second bonus frame feeling good, and Brad Marchand buried his second breakaway halfway through the frame to send the series back to Florida tied.

After two games, the series has absolutely delivered on the hype. Both games have gone to OT, both teams' star players have been excellent, and there have been multiple lead changes in each game. So far, the 2025 Stanley Cup Final has provided drama, thrills, excitement, and chaos. With two games down, let's check in on some of the key narrative points.

The Rematch - The fact these teams know each other so well and the bad blood of last year has made this series way more intense right from the get-go than a normal series would be, and also probably explains why the games have been so close. Both teams know how the other plays, and there is zero margin for error. Additionally, they clearly don't like each other, as Game 2 especially featured an abundance of post-whistle scrums and intense physical play. So far, the Rematch has delivered on the entertainment value.

McDavid Legacy Watch - Connor has been phenomenal in both games, clearly being the best player on the ice. In time, it may be buried in the loss, but his assist on Edmonton’s third goal in Game 2 was one of the greatest individual displays of skill in the history of the game. With 5 points through 2 games, it's safe to say McDavid is doing his part.

Florida’s Dynasty Bid - Regardless of how the rest of the series goes, Florida’s resilience and ability to bounce back from any swing in momentum and take advantage of the smallest of opportunities will always be remembered. They are clearly showing the mental fortitude and complete identity that comes with three straight Finals runs.

The Goalies - I don’t feel either goalie has been particularly good or has swung momentum in either game so far. Both games have featured goals both would probably prefer to have back, along with some huge momentum-shifting saves. But neither has put together a full game yet or swung the momentum based on their play - i.e., neither goalie has been the main reason their team won or lost. I don't suspect that will be the case through five more games.

Contrasting Philosophies - I have actually been surprised by how physical Edmonton has been. Clearly, they remembered being taken aback by how bright the lights were last year and made sure to send a statement right away that they weren't going to be intimidated or beaten physically by the big bad Panthers. Through two games, these teams have more closely resembled each other than not.

With possibly five more games left, the league and fans could not have asked for a better start to the 2025 Stanley Cup Finals. Both teams have had major swings in momentum, star players have delivered, the dramatics have been of the highest order, and back-to-back OT games send the series to Miami tied at one game apiece.

For the first time since 2009, the championship round of the Stanley Cup playoffs will feature a rematch of the two final teams from the previous year’s finals - such a rematch is rare, having only happened twice over the last 40+ years (2008 and 2009 with the Pittsburgh Penguins and Detroit Red Wings, and then in 1983 and 1984 with the New York Islanders and these same Edmonton Oilers). A rematch alone would be interesting enough given the rarity, but given the dramatics of last year’s finals the stage is even brighter the second time around. Last year featured its own dramatic redemption arc. After losing the 2023 Stanley Cup Finals, the Florida Panthers roared to a 3-0 series lead. They then teetered on the brink of a historic collapse, nearly becoming the first team to blow such a lead in a championship series, before ultimately vanquishing the Oilers in Game 7 on home ice.The almost historic comeback that didn’t happen was thanks to the herculean effort of one man…

The Weight of Greatness: McDavid's Legacy on the Line

Last year Connor McDavid became just the sixth player EVER to win the Conn Smythe Trophy (the NHL’s Playoff MVP award) on the losing team. McDavid was unquestionably the best player across the entire playoffs, using his explosive speed and fast twitch play-making to dominate the game on a physical level not seen since Mario Lemieux. McDavid tallied 42 points with a record-breaking 34 assists in 24 games, and almost led his team to a historic comeback. Echoing Sidney Crosby's journey a decade prior, McDavid has carried the weight of 'generational talent' expectations since his preteen years. He was anointed the next franchise-altering superstar before he could even drive. And remarkably, he HAS mostly lived up to those expectations - winning four MVP awards, five scoring titles, and producing a trove of highlight reel plays over the last 10 years. However, the Stanley Cup is the most coveted prize in the ultimate team sport - and no matter how many awards, points, highlights McDavid racks up - he will never truly be able to enter the pantheon of all-time greats until he hoists the silver chalice himself. Will he finally get his Cup in his second try - having to go through the team that beat him the first time - ala Sidney Crosby and Wayne Gretzky?

The Cats' Kingdom: Florida's Bid for a Dynasty

While that's all well and good for Connor, the Florida Panthers are more concerned about their own legacy on the line. The Panthers became just the tenth team ever to reach three consecutive finals, following their Florida neighbors the Tampa Bay Lightning who did it from 2020 - 2022. They are trying to become repeat champions, joining the same Lightning (albeit who did it during COVID affected seasons) and the Pittsburgh Penguins as the only teams to have achieved the feat of winning two consecutive Stanley Cups in the last quarter-century. Their championship victory last year represented its own dramatic redemption arc, winning it all after a magical 2023 Cinderella run where, as an 8-seed, they reached the Final only to fall three wins short. Can Florida, fully embracing its “Bad Boy” persona through its physical play, aggressive attitude, and willingness to toe the line between physical and dirty - cement itself as one of the all-time great teams by winning two titles back-to-back?

The X-Factors: A Duel in the Crease

Goalies are often considered a unique breed. While superstars like McDavid can dominate games, arguably no single position can swing a series more decisively than the goaltender. Like a Quarterback in football, so much pressure is put on the one player who doesn’t come off the ice the entire game. Both of these goalies represent different paths to the finals, with Bobrovsky finally ascending to elite/franchise status over the last few years, showing himself fully capable of stealing a game or even a series if needed. Stuart Skinner of Edmonton has taken the more journeyman route, not even being the starter earlier in these playoffs, but he has steadied the ship, and shown he can be consistent enough to give Edmonton’s potent offense a chance to dominate. Ultimately, given how close these teams are, and how even the series was last year, it could come down to which Goalie can steal a game and shift the odds in favor of his squad. If Bobrovsky wins a second Cup, he is almost certainly a lock for the Hall of Fame as well.

Oil vs. Water: Contrasting Philosophies and Identities on Ice

Beauty vs Brawn. Speed vs Power. Drafting vs Trades/Signings. Cold Western-Canada vs Sunny Southern Florida. This is a Finals match up of stark contrasts. The clearest being the style of play both teams employ, with Edmonton feeding off rush chances (scoring in transition), while Florida is known for its relentless forecheck and strong even-strength play. Not that Florida hasn’t drafted well (it selected its Captain and best-player Aleksander Barkov near the top of the draft), but undoubtedly it has been shaped by franchise-altering trades: the biggest being acquiring Matthew Tkachuk from Calgary in the 2022 off-season. Edmonton, on the other hand, has primarily built its core through the draft. Franchise cornerstones McDavid and Leon Draisaitl, for instance, were top-three selections in consecutive years (McDavid first overall in 2015, Draisaitl third in 2014). Throughout their playoff journey to the Final, Edmonton has generated slightly more offense and high-danger scoring chances, while Florida’s stout defense has typically exerted greater control over the flow of play in their journey thus far.

Oh, Canada: Will Stanley Finally Come Home?

Beyond the on-ice narratives, an undeniable undercurrent runs through any Finals involving a Canadian team: a Canadian team has not won the Stanley Cup in 32 years, the last being the Montreal Canadiens in 1993. For perspective, imagine if a former Canadian MLB team like the Expos won the World Series, a past NBA team like the Vancouver Grizzlies took the NBA Championship, or a CFL team like the Saskatchewan Roughriders claimed the Super Bowl.For a nation that reveres hockey above all other activities (with due respect to the strides Canadian Basketball has made), the fact that it has been over three decades since a Canadian market team has brought the trophy home is a sore point for fans in the Great White North. Many teams have come close, including Edmonton being one game away last year, but could this finally be the year the Stanley Cup comes home? (Not sure if it will be subject to tariffs though).

Crosby surrounded by teammates after his record-breaking point Thursday, March 27th

From the moment Crosby entered the NHL in 2005 at the age of eighteen, he was saddled with enourmous expectations: be the face of the league, save a franchise. Casual stuff. He was spoken of as the greatest prospect since Gretzky. Wayne was “The Great One”, Sid the Kid was “The Next One”. Crosby almost immediately justified the insane hype, registering over 100 points as a rookie on a team that finished toward the bottom of the standings. His career has become a laundry list of Hall of Fame accomplishments: three Stanley Cup Championships, two Conn Smythe (Final’s MVP) awards, multiple Gold medals in the Olympics for Team Canada, MVP awards, world championships - he has accomplished virtually everything in the sport, and now owns a record of his own that no other player has ever accomplished. When you look at his production compared to other greats, and the relative to the era’s they played in, it is clear Crosby is the most consistently dominant player of his generation and arguably in league history, and remains an elite offensive force at the age of 37 - historically when players are out of the league, let only one of the leading scorers.

To put Crosby’s career scoring in context, the above shows just how remarkably consistent the Nova Scotian native has been throughout this career. While Lemieux and Gretzky had ridicolous highs that will never be touched again in the sport, both of their later career years trailed off significantly (due to injuries in Lemieux’s case, and natural aging in Gretzky’s). What is making Crosby and Ovechkin’s current seasons even more remarkable is how consistently productive both continue to be at ages 37 and 39 years old. Bringing it back to Crosby however, the graph makes it clear how smooth and less volatile Crosby’s production has been when comparing it to other legends careers: Gordie Howe, Gretzky, Lemieux, Bobby Orr, and Ovechkin. Its also worth appreciating just how dominant Crosby and Ovechkin have been for 20 seasons relative to the rest of the league.

I think the final point worth highlighting to put Crosby’s record into historical context, is the era in which he has played vs Gretzky and even Lemieux.

The majority of Gretzky and Lemieux’s careers were spent in an era where NHL scoring hovered around 3.8 goals per game - compared to Crosby and Ovechkin’s whose career average has been roughly around 3.0 goals per game - almost a full goal per game lower relative to the years when Wayne and Mario were at their peak. Another example of this, is just how many players in the league at the time ALSO averaged a point per game (scoring either a goal or an assist during the game = 1 point). In the 1980’s (The Gretzky era) - a whopping 38 other players averaged over a point per game. Yes Wayne’s scoring was prolific - but so was the entire leagues. Meanwhile, during the prime years of Crosby’s career - the 2000s and 2010s - only 15 - 18 other players also averaged a point per game. That is an whopping difference of 20 players who also averaged a point in every single game for an entire season.

Crosby’s sheer consistency and continued longevity have set him apart from some of the other legends of the game. Remarkably, an 18 year old kid who came into the sport with the highest level of expectations has not only lived up to them, but exceed them in almost every way possible (Not even considering how beloved and highly spoken of he is off the ice). His on-ice performance has been sustained at an elite level across six presidential administrations. While the Penguins are heading toward a third consecutive post-season on the outside looking in, Crosby remains one of the best players in the game. Hopefully the organization can bring in a new wave of talent to surround the living legend with while he is still producing at a historic rate, and give the Captain another shot at playing playoff hockey. Even if he never plays another game in the playoffs however, we should never take for granted how ridicolously strong and consistent his career has been. While Ovechkin will have the goals record, no one will ever pass Gretzky’s points record, and Mario will always be the most physically talented player - Crosby’s role on Hockey Mt.Rushmore will be as the king of consistency and longevity.

Crosby and Lemieux during Crosby’s rookie and Mario’s final season: 2005-2006

Charts created and sourced using Anthropic’s Claude Sonnet 3.7 Model; publicly available data.

The above story was not a parable from ancient Roman times, but one of a similarly storied City: Detroit, Michigan. The time was not thousands of years ago; but June 12th, 2009. It is also not a work of historical fiction, but my recollection from attending Game 7 of the 2009 Stanley Cup Final with my Father.

Two days earlier, a simple statement on a radio call of Game 6, had sent chills through my spine. Listening as the team I had fallen in love with four years early staved off a second consecutive elimination in the final round of the NHL playoffs, I knew with every possible part of my being I had to see this story to its final conclusion. Redemption on the grandest stage, against the team that had won the biggest prize on our home ice a year earlier. We HAD to travel to Detroit to see my beloved Pittsburgh Penguins hockey team play for their first chance to win a Stanley Cup Championship in 17 years. I had been a fan for roughly four years, but in that time I went from a quiet kid who preferred to read comic books (before that was cool) and play video games, to an absolute sports obsessive. In 2005 the Pittsburgh Penguins drafted Sidney Crosby. I didn’t know who that was at the time, just that he was described as the next “Great One”, and much to the excitement of my hockey-playing Father, I began a love affair with the sport and team. While Crosby was the player on the ice who made me start following the game, another man bridged the gap from the stories of heroes and villains I followed in comic books, to the narratives and action on the the ice. This man spoke with such fervent energy, crafted such unique phrases, and had such authentic passion for the game: it became impossible to not absorb some of that through the television or radio. All of that made a kid who had previously rejected sports purposefully, fall in love with not just the sport of hockey, but sports in general. That man was legendary Pittsburgh Penguins broadcaster, Mike Lange.

Two nights before Game 7, as the Penguins fought off a repeat elimination at the hands of Detroit’s Red Wings - Lange let at a howling sermon across the local radio waves: “...annnnnddddd I’LL MEEET YOU IN THE SCHOOLYARD FOR ALLLL THE MARBLES, Friday night in Detroit”.

36 hours later my Father and I were in Detroit, where we would witness history, and create a memory I'll have with me for the rest of my life. In a franchise that has employed several first ballot Hall of Fame players (and two of the five greatest players ever), the fact that Lange arguably had just as big of an impact on the franchise’s success as a broadcaster, is a testament to how much he meant to the team and the city of Pittsburgh. I have been thinking about that call in the victorious dying seconds of Game 6, the memory of that trip, and my falling in love with sports in the wake of Lange’s passing on February 19th. Lange was a titanic figure in Pittsburgh sports, a truly “one of one”, and the voice of my growing obsession with the Penguins and the sport of hockey.

A 46-year career, a Hall of Fame enshrinement, and countless other broadcasting awards, Lange’s resume is enough to garner respect. It’s not those accolades that made his passing such a devastating event for Pittsburgh sports’ fans however: it was the relationship he fostered with Penguins fans and the city of Pittsburgh as a whole. Lange build that bond with the town and fans through genuine authenticity, a love of the game and team that came through in his voice, and uniqueness of which he described action and goals on the ice of the Civic Arena. Prior to the arrival of Mario Lemieux in 1984, and years later in the dark days post-Lemieux’s retirement before Crosby, Lange was oftentimes the sole reason to watch or listen to the team. The unique phrasing and vivid detail of which he called the game action, painted a rare audio and visual landscape, all the while the product on the ice was most times abysmal. Countless kids in driveways across Western Pennsylvania playing street hockey, letting out an impression of Lange’s famous “ohhhh he bent ‘em like a rented mule”, or “he doesn’t know whether to cry or wind his watch” as they scored a goal, paying homage to the local sports legend. Lange was a unicorn in sports broadcasting, not only because of his way with words, but because he did something that is sorely missing from “sports entertainment” today: he genuinely cared. Lange cared about the franchise, but more importantly he cared about fan’s investment in the team. For Lange, it wasn’t just acceptable to describe the action on the ice, he had to craft a narrative, paint a picture of struggle and growth, and explain and educate the nuances of the game. Being so adept at the latter, he made a 12 year old boy who had no interest in sports fall in love with the game after just a few broadcasts (and Sidney Crosby goals).

Hearing the news of Lange’s passing, I immediately began watching some of the classic goal calls, memorable moments, and tears began flowing from my eyes. I never had the pleasure of meeting the man, but his impact on me was profound. His genuine love for the team and the city of Pittsburgh, and his dedication to his craft and storytelling inspired a whole generation of sports fans to fall in love with the team and the game of hockey. It made me reflect on the lost meaning and communal attachment to sports, when it truly was a localized cultural experience. Today, sports has become a trillion dollar media streaming product. Lange was a product of an age where sports was still about the city where the team was based, and those who provided the audio and visual commentary and descriptions were just as much a part of the team as the players on the field/ice. His loss hurt so much, because of the countless great memories he was the voice of for Pittsburgh hockey fans. Five championships, the entire careers of essentially of Mario Lemieux and Sidney Crosby. The greatest gift Lange had was that he could make you feel like he was celebrating with you, that he too, deep down, was a fan. He wasn’t just taking a paycheck from Netflix, Amazon, or ESPN+. He was living in the memories with us.

Sport is, quite frankly, just a game. Ask anyone who seriously invests themselves into sports fandom though (in a healthy manner - not the gambling nature), and it really is something more. It’s the time you road-tripped with your friends to any enemy's stadium, or took your future wife to her first game. The college friend group’s yearly ritual of traveling back to school for one game. Sports is truly the last communal bonding, live event, most of our society partakes in. Living in the real world, together, experiencing something in real time. To quote my new friend Jordan Goldstein in his wonderful new piece The Athletic Philospher - You're Watching Sports All Wrong, “When someone says’ ‘it’s just a game’ they’re wrong. It’s more than just a game. It’s an expression of the depth of human experience.” People like Mike Lange create that depth, they make us remember why we watch the games, why we cheer when goals are scored, or cry when seasons end with heartbreaking losses.

I struggled for a while to try and put some words together for what to say about my parasocial relationship with the broadcaster. How could I honestly write about someone I didn’t know, who has been profiled by people way more credible and knowledgeable than I. Yet he meant so much to me, some of my greatest memories of childhood and falling in love with sports were to his voice, I wanted to honor him someway. I thought about recapping and explaining all his famous sayings, going through different famous goal highlights, but none of it felt right. I kept coming back to the “school yard and marbles”, and the trip to Detroit for Game 7, and that felt right. A moment created because of shared passion for team and sport, a Father and Son creating a memory we will cherish forever, and the man's words who sound-tracked the entire journey. I never got the pleasure to meet Mr.Lange, but he had a way of making you feel like you already knew him. Maybe that is legacy. Mike Lange, thank you for making a 12 year old kid fall in love with the Penguins, the game of hockey, and inspiring us to go see the Pens win that Cup in Game 7.

Goodbye old friend, and thanks for a wonderful childhood of memories. To end with Lange’s famous post-victory phrase: Elvis, has just left the building.

Dedicated to Mike Lange

March 3rd, 1948 - February 19th, 2025