THE WEST: COLORADO AVALANCHE V. VEGAS GOLDEN KNIGHTS

The West, to put it nicely, is a juggernaut.

And yet, both the Vegas Golden Knights and the Colorado Avalanche have made it look easy.

Both teams have had everyone show up. For Vegas, the return of William Karlsson and Mitch Marner becoming a playoff performer can’t be understated, sparking a new light into the team. For Colorado, having Nathan MacKinnon, Cale Makar, Parker Kelly, and Gabriel Landeskog on the roster is a cheat code.

However, Vegas has distractions. Between the Bruce Cassidy drama that’s gotten the NHL Coaches’ Association involved, John Tortorella’s $100,000 fine, and the loss of a 2026 second-round pick for repeated media violations that aren’t just “going away”,

Colorado isn’t adversity-free either, particularly on their blue line. Injuries are starting to pile up, with Makar, Brent Burns, Josh Manson, Sam Malinski, and Artturi Lehkonen all fighting through something, all of whom are listed as “day-to-day”, but will probably play in Game 1.

Expect Colorado to live up to expectations, but not without a challenge.

Kat’s pick: Avs in seven.

THE EAST: CAROLINA HURRICANES V. MONTREAL CANADIENS

As Seth Jarvis once said, “Contrary to popular belief, I actually have a bit of skill.”

The Canes, contrary to popular belief, have not had a cakewalk to the ECF. Despite the dual sweeps (leading to a perfect 8-0 record and nearly two weeks off), Carolina’s had to stop two young, talented, teams with fire in them — and swept them both, making league history in the process.

Neither have the Canadiens. After two of the most thrilling series (particularly the Buffalo series in Round 2, ending in overtime) in this year’s postseason, the Habs have to keep going, no matter how exhausted they are. They play exceptionally well on the road, despite dealing with big fan atmospheres like Buffalo. (How well they’ll perform at Lenovo Center, a place countless players and analysts have said is one of the hardest places to play in hockey, is a mild concern.)

This series brings a ton of questions out to the forefront. Rest versus rust? Will Freddie Andersen “come back to Earth?” Can Carolina’s depth maintain that momentum from earlier rounds? Can Montreal’s stars wake up?

Ultimately, this will be a series of depth and goaltending. Jakub Dobeš and Freddie Andersen are two of the top goaltenders in the playoffs right now, and getting past either of them have been proven challenges for other teams. Neither team has had their stars “come alive” as of late, primarily relying on their depth for goal-scoring. It works, but for how long?

Carolina has the edge right now. Despite having over ten days off, Rod Brind’Amour has maintained consistent practices where everyone shows up. If that Aho line can get going, and Andersen can maintain his stats from the first two rounds, watch out.

Kat’s pick: Canes in six.

This isn’t my usual content, and it’s most certainly not what I want to be known for. And I promise (pinky-promise) that I’ll be back to hockey within the next few days, with a piece on the Carolina Hurricanes, a team who means a ton to me.

But I feel like I need to talk about it. And by “it” — I mean the things that no one else wants to talk about in hockey media.

None of this is easy to write about. And I wish I wasn’t having to write this.

From March 2024 to March 2025, I was seen among my peers in hockey media as a “rising star”, as “someone to keep an eye out for”. Then I dropped off the face of the Earth, re-formed Hockey in Heels, and have been starting over since then, becoming less and less favorable and palpable. In all aspects of my life, I’ve been starting over — I transferred colleges (shoutout to being a sophomore — second-year, for the non-Americans who read my work — thank you — at 22), moved back to my hometown in North Carolina, cut all my hair off, and have been fully independent since then. I’ve said publicly that these were mental health changes, and to an extent, that’s true.

But there’s something else I’ve been keeping from you. I’m ashamed that I have, because that’s fundamentally, not who I am. I’ve tried my hardest, even from Day 1, to be as authentic as I possibly can.

For the sake of politeness, privacy, and respect, I’ve been quiet about why I left Offside News Co last spring. I’ve been quiet about what I’ve dealt with afterwards. I’ve purged all mention of them from my public social media accounts.

My silence ends here.

Let me make one thing abundantly clear: this is not about “revenge”, nor is it about money. This is not a vindictive ex-employee gone rogue. This is one person, telling a part of one story about something that’s legitimately concerning: a wider problem of what the hockey media world is willing to accept.

I am speaking up so other hockey or sports writers, particularly young marginalized writers, can recognize a bad situation when they’re in it. To listen to their guts, their hearts, their minds, so they can have the courage to leave or speak up if this — or worse — happens to them.

THE BEGINNING

I joined the Offside team in the summer of 2024, one of the last waves of “OGs”. Everyone else before me had been hired in the first wave, when the company first began.

On the surface, it seemed like everything I’d ever wanted out of a job — progressive values, the ability to combine humor with reporting, the pushback against hockey culture.

They’d recruited me before, after I publicly supported the 2024 University of Michigan reporters denied Frozen Four access, and after I’d written about misogyny in men’s hockey. I applied, did an interview with the co-founders, and was immediately accepted. I wrote my first article for them the same day. I still remember it: it was about Rod Brind’Amour’s contract extension.

I was hired to write about hockey culture, because of my history as an investigative reporter at The Meredith Herald, my first college’s newspaper. I was also hired to write about the Carolina Hurricanes, the team I knew best. I opted into the Columbus Blue Jackets beat, despite my boss telling me I was “first on his list” to write about the Canes — I wanted to try something different, and I don’t regret that decision.

What I do regret is most everything else.

At first, things were practically perfect. I had a small sense that some of the editorial board OGs didn’t like me based on some standoffish behavior, but truthfully, as one of the youngest writers there (I was twenty at the time), I thought they were jealous of me. I’d won awards for my writing at my college, and already had another hockey writing gig that I loved, and in return, let me write whatever I wanted.

The reason I also went to Offside News was that it was almost too appealing, especially for a twenty-year-old trying to do the right thing. I was new to the world of professional writing, much less sports media, and figuring it all out on my own. While I was newer to the hockey world (I didn’t go to my first game until I was nineteen), I knew of the internal issues surrounding the game I love, and it disturbed me. I wanted to be a part of the solution rather than the problem.

It was, in fact, too good to be true.

The first few months were great. I had another job as a waitress at a deli, and the editorial board were understanding of that. I could reach out to them whenever to discuss my work, pitch ideas, and issues surrounding hockey culture as a whole. I was quick to be praised, and it made me feel like I was believed in. That I had a future in this whole hockey writing thing.

They made me believe that I mattered. They told me all the time how different and special I was compared to their other writers — I showed zero hesitation at taking on serious topics, always enthusiastic to do whatever they wanted. My boss, Avery Beaumont, told me repeatedly how badly he wanted to pay me. That I was so talented, I deserved to get paid more, and that Offside News would register themselves as a nonprofit to make that happen for me.

And others seemed to agree with them. In a short amount of time, I wrote both an article about Mike Babcock’s history of abuse and how it’s a wider issue in hockey culture; alongside a piece begging Columbus sports media to leave Patrik Laine alone after reports of him wanting a trade surfaced while he was in the NHLPA’s Player Assistance Program. Both articles exploded. I watched from the sidelines as I was heavily praised, as big names in hockey media liked or reposted the articles, or posted themselves in Offside News merch. The company was rising — and I, according to the people above me, was a vital part of it.

THE BAD

Things began to fall apart in July 2024.

After having an autistic meltdown on the clock, Beaumont began to see me differently, which then led to the editorial board viewing me differently. I was no longer a prodigy, but rather, someone small, young, and stupid.

Around the same time, a new wave of recruited writers made their way in. One of them was Morgan Page, who I run Sunshine and Hockey with. They covered the AHL, particularly the Chicago Wolves, and the Minnesota Wild.

I was offered a seat on the editorial board shortly after the new wave arrived. I declined it. I wrote about it previously in my book, stating, “The editorial board was about much more than just editing. It was about power and control, and the moment I declined, said no, stepped outside of the mold that [Offside News] had created for me; things began to change.”

Days later, Beaumont reached out to me to inform me that he was putting me on a leave of absence. During that time, he said, I wasn’t allowed to submit any work. The most important part?

I couldn’t tell anyone.

I came back a month later, right before the death of Johnny Gaudreau, and under the orders of my boss, who held significantly more power over me, I pretended like nothing had happened. Even then, I was legitimately afraid of Beaumont.

I took on a lot of responsibility on my own, despite being isolated from the group at large. Until Page sent me this podcast, linked above.

The transcript of the exchange:

SPEAKER 1: “Actually, no, we can’t do that. Because our resident Carolina Hurricanes fan and Columbus Blue Jackets beat reporter, Kat, would absolutely hate us for that. You can’t even mention Kreider in a pitch meeting anymore, because she gets so visibly mad and upset about his hat trick against Carolina to win them the series. Oh, I looooooooooove Kat. I hope she’s listening to this right now.”

SPEAKER 2: “If you are, love you, Kat! Hi Kat! She’s the beeeeeeeeeest.”

I was too afraid to complain about it, or speak up, because the editorial board punished those who spoke up. Your pieces would be put on a delay, so by the time they released, information would be inaccurate, making you look stupid and foolish and like you didn’t know what you were talking about. And you couldn’t tell anyone outside of Offside News, because everyone on the outside was deemed “problematic” or a “bigot”, and they were “anti-queer”, out to get poor little small companies covering the same corporation we were.

We were truly isolated from everyone except each other. Even now, my most distinct memories of my time there were the mind games played on us by Beaumont and co. Which is part of what made Offside’s tactics so damaging. There was a distinct culture of fear.

Even my therapist at the time noted the changes in me. I was vomiting every morning out of fear of checking my computer, losing weight rapidly. My mental health issues got worse. And I turned to drinking, feeling like that alcohol was the one safe place I had.

LEAVING

I first started to believe that leaving was an option for me in February 2025, after I submitted the first pitch for a piece called “The Impossibility of Child Saviors.” I’d begun to see the hype surrounding a teenage Gavin McKenna in the WHL, and it concerned me. It reminded me of Sidney Crosby, of Alex Ovechkin, and of female music stars, like LeAnn Rimes or Britney Spears.

I submitted the piece’s pitch, and Cody Gzowski, a colleague, told me it was “too political”, and that as an American, I “shouldn’t” write about Canadian athletes like Crosby. One member of the editorial board “liked” his comment, and I went to Page, who was my go-to person. We’d bonded over feeling uncomfortable at Offside News, over similar backgrounds.

After Gzowski went after another female colleague of ours, saying that “no one writes like that”, demanding that a piece she wrote in honor of Mike Lange be changed (and the editorial board caved to his commands), I got angry enough to file a report with HR. Ironically enough, the company’s HR was ran by someone on the editorial board.

All that happened afterwards was that I received one text about it from Beaumont, telling me he was “sorry I felt that way” (I mentioned feeling stupid in the HR report). When I couldn’t attend the Stadium Series game in Columbus that year, he sent Gzowski instead, praising him for “stepping up in [my] absence”.

I quit that Monday morning.

Monday night, I received a text message from a close friend at the company, telling me that she had been fired because of me. Our friendship was one that the editorial board had deemed “inappropriate”, so as revenge for me leaving, they fired her and labeled her a “groomer” to those on the inside. Even those outside the editorial board were aware — when called out on it by another colleague, Beaumont lashed out at her.

I spiraled, and I spiraled hard. I began drinking even more heavily. I isolated myself from everyone, thinking I was a horrible person. Suicidal ideation rammed up, and within two weeks, I was in a psychiatric hospital for having a plan.

All the joy I had from writing about my favorite thing in the world was gone. And it was the same for others. Many people who leave Offside News quit writing entirely, because they were petrified, because there was no joy in it, because everything the company did ruined their love and passion for writing or for the game of hockey. Sometimes, it was both.

I kept going, kept writing, because it was all I knew how to do. A year later, I’m just now re-learning how to find joy in my work again. I’m learning how to feel proud of myself. I’m learning how to write without fear.

THE NOW

Despite making it abundantly clear that I don’t want contact with those in the company, the company has continued to violate that, whether it’s through “subtle” LinkedIn searches/stalking, false accusations of plagiarism from their editorial board to scare me (to both Morgan Page and I about Sunshine and Hockey, despite how this editor did not contact Page whatsoever — only me), while actually plagiarizing my work.

Let me explain the last one to you. I tried to remain friendly with other writers at Offside, hoping it would mend the pain and bridge left behind. I genuinely cared about them and their work.

Offside’s Columbus Blue Jackets writer, Jayd Serdy was one of these writers. We tended to run in the same circles,

I mentioned to her half-heartedly one day that I wanted to start a Hockey Book Club during the offseason, particularly on books about hockey’s dark underbelly. And that’s something I did end up doing. You can check that out below:

While Serdy’s story released days before my book club announcement (it was less than a week), she had knowledge that I was planning to start a book club focused on hockey culture, as did others around us. Which is why it hurt so much when a Twitter follower DMed me to a link to a piece Serdy wrote called “Reading The Room: The Books That Challenge Hockey’s Culture Problem.”

“Hockey has a longstanding expectation that players appear ‘tough.’ We’re familiar with athletes pushing through injuries to win the Stanley Cup or help their team in the playoffs. What isn’t talked about quite as much are the long-term consequences of this culture. Boy On Ice: The Life And Death Of Derek Boogaard by John Branch, Finding Murph by Rick Westhead… are books that look past the championships, the players that are on the ice every other night, and focus more on the effects that hockey has throughout the rest of their lives”, she wrote.

She also wrote, “…Whereas books have a longer-lasting impact on the sport itself. Not many people go back to re-read a game recap from two seasons ago – but what they will do is pick up a book that they’ve previously read about the history of the culture; the traditions, structures of power and resistance to change when the politics surrounding the sport get hard to swallow. In a league where images tend to be polished and perfect and controversies are seen as isolated incidents, these books do more than just tell a story about hockey – they challenge the structures and cultural norms that continue to shape the sport that so many people love.”

Meanwhile, I wrote, “While one book club can’t change decades worth of harm that continues to be perpetuated by hockey culture, especially towards women and people of color, we can try and change things on a smaller scale — growing more education and awareness of what hockey culture is, with personal stories written in literary form on how it affects everyone involved in the game.”

I truly hadn’t seen Serdy’s piece. She hadn’t promoted it within the chat we were in, and kept it quiet. She knew I was planning to do a similar thing, and took part of the audience interested in it by taking my idea, and the first two books I had planned for HBC. I’ve had to completely re-arrange the scheduling of it because of her piece. (The first two books were Finding Murph and Boy on Ice.)

I called her a friend, overlooking some of the red flags in order to maintain our friendly relationship. I was mortified when I saw her piece, well after I had published the idea of HBC. I don’t know why, but I had expected the courtesy of either being given a heads up that she was doing this, or had been asked first. While I don’t own the idea of HBC, I do own my own words. I do own my own ideas. And when someone you trusted takes that idea, much less one that you’ve spent almost a year trying to get organized adequately; it’s a slap in the face.

And Offside is no stranger to plagiarism, either. Last summer, a friend of mine was sent an article from a colleague at their actual job, called “How Close NHL Teams Are To Costco”, a blatant ripoff of a Reddit post called “How Far Each NHL Arena Is To A Costco”, a post with over three-thousand upvotes and that’s over five years old. When they anonymously reported the plagiarism to the site, Offside’s editorial board — or whoever receives their messages — did not respond.

I am writing this for two primary reasons:

1. To get the people at Offside News who were complicit in its culture to leave me alone.

2. To change the culture that created those like Beaumont and Gzowski in sports media. They did not act alone. The culture of men telling women what’s best for them reigns supreme inside and outside of sports media.

No one — not a single person — deserves to feel afraid and alone in an industry that’s designed to be fun, to tell important stories about the game we all love.

May we all be strong enough, safe enough, and brave enough to tell our stories.

Love,

Kat

I’ve truthfully sat at my laptop for several days, contemplating if I’m the “right” person to write this piece, if it even needs to be written.

It does.

If you’re in the hockey world, you’ve probably seen Tampa Bay Lightning captain, Victor Hedman’s, recently released statement about his mental health and leave of absence from the team, starting in mid-March.

“I’ve spent most of my life in this game, and nearly all of my career with this organization. Wearing this jersey — and serving as captain — is the greatest responsibility of my professional life”, Hedman wrote. “That responsibility doesn’t only apply on the ice. Over the past couple of months, I made the decision to step away and focus on my mental health. It was not an easy decision, but it was the right one. I’ve always believed that being a leader means doing what’s best for the team. In this case, it also meant doing what was necessary to take care of myself, so I can be the best player, teammate, husband and father I expect to be.”

Earlier this year, Ottawa Senators goaltender Linus Ullmark did the same. Ullmark said that Hedman was a supporter of him throughout the process. And the same was given to Hedman from Ullmark. In his exit interview with the Lightning earlier this week, he told reporters that Ullmark and former teammate Steven Stamkos were some of his support system.

One thing the two also shared in common was the rumor mill, the 24-hour-gossip-disguised-as-”news”-cycle, the ugliest parts of toxic masculinity all at once.

I’m not going to be linking Bubba The Love Sponge’s radio segment on Hedman that he thought was a good idea to post to Twitter, because it would be completely contradictory to give him any more attention than he deserves — and it’s clearly what he wants. It’s the same rumor that was spread online about Linus Ullmark that exploded to the extent of the Sens having to release a statement about it, and equally as disgusting.

Both of these men — and men before them in the NHL, like Patrik Laine, who was subject to similar cruelty from sports media; like Jonathan Drouin or Kyle Beach, who was labeled a “bust”, like Alexandre Daigle, who was labeled as “lazy”. Despite the support that these men are able to access, it’s still not often enough in the face of tremendous stigma.

As much as I love working in sports media, before I went independent, I noticed a very ugly, very grotesque side to it. I noticed the hunting for vulnerability and earnestness, and how once it was found, it would be torn open like roadkill, in the public eye for everyone to digest. Even other writers weren’t immune to it. After I wrote an article about Patrik Laine’s journey in the summer of 2024, my editor, my boss — a man who held significant authority over me and my future in the hockey world — repeatedly asked me to write a follow-up to it about how Laine had found “a home” in Montreal, and how I had also “found a home” at his company. Each time, I declined, noting how deeply uncomfortable it made me. He wanted to profit off of my success with a deeply personal thing, despite him being insistent behind the scenes that I was a helpless little victim who couldn’t write any of her own work.

I also noticed that the more vulnerable a person is, the more vultures they have around them, whether it’s people in their personal life or in the media industry. Sometimes, like in my case (and my well-documented mental health journey), it’s both.

I’ll never understand how — or why — these sorts of things get so much attention and traction. One of my earliest memories is being a kid in my parents’ living room in Ohio, in early 2007, watching the paparazzi chase Britney Spears in the back of an ambulance. In my first year of college, I took a class that touched upon America’s history of freak shows. And today, the Internet exists, where there’s lolcows and constant torment of other people, particularly those with disabilities and mental health struggles.

In short: mental health remains a spectacle, and there’s sure as hell an audience for it; despite people like Ullmark, Hedman, Laine, Drouin, and me speaking up to decrease the stigma surrounding it. Even if the victim of the circus is practically perfect, like Hedman or Ullmark, who did absolutely nothing wrong; they’re still torn to shreds for the crime of existing. Hedman, Ullmark, and Laine’s masculinity were called into question by another man — different men each time. A radio host. A stranger on the Internet. A man with a podcast microphone. A team captain’s father. My mental capability was called into question by someone I couldn’t report to higher ups (because he was one of the founders of the company), nor did I know about until it was too late.

This is why people are afraid to speak up. And by understandable silence, the stigma continues onwards.

And yet, when players die young, too soon of preventable deaths, of overdoses and suicides, leaving loved ones behind, the response is always the same: “Why didn’t they ask for help? Why didn’t they speak up? It’s okay not to be okay.”

Long gone are these sentiments. We — as a culture, as an industry, as a collective — have to do better. The best way to do so? Sending support, and then leaving these people alone to heal. Giving them time to return to the game we all love — on their own terms. Giving them the space they need to discover themselves again, outside of the thing that they’ve shaped their world around since childhood.

When the audience leaves a stage show, it shuts down. The lights turn off. The cast and crew move on.

Why is it so hard for the media world to do the same?

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“We were an average team all year. When you're an average team with high expectations, you're going to be disappointed.”

Connor McDavid’s words to the media after the Edmonton Oilers faced a stunning defeat to the Anaheim Ducks in Round 1 of the Stanley Cup playoff, a far cry from the team in 2024 that wrangled the Florida Panthers to seven games in the Stanley Cup Final; rang as a harsh warning — to the Edmonton front office, particularly general manager Stan Bowman, to the team itself, but mostly, to himself.

McDavid’s performance was so deeply unlike the man who earned the nickname “McJesus” before he was even drafted into the NHL in 2015. In six games, playing on a ankle/foot fracture, he had one goal and five assists — a measly six points — and a -8 rating. A far cry from the man who earned the Conn Smythe in 2024, despite not being a part of the winning team. A far cry from the playmaker the world has witnessed from his Erie Otters days, a man several steps ahead of everyone else.

PROPHECIES AND CURSES

In the real world, there are no “Weird Sisters” lurking in the background, ready to “Hover through the fog and filthy air”, creating strange curses for the men of Scotland.

However, in the hockey world, there are the Hockey Gods, who might as well be the same thing. The Hockey Gods have no gender, no race, no class. They are one of the few things that bring hockey fans across the world together, setting aside differences for the sake of superstition. Even those inside believe. Tampa Bay Lightning coach — and McDavid’s Team Canada coach — Jon Cooper, told reporters after the Lightning’s first round elimination, “That’s when you – at the end of the game, and you’re just sitting there saying, ‘The, the hockey gods have been in my corner many, many times, and tonight they’re in the other corner.’ And that’s what happens.’”

McDavid’s idol, Cole Harbour’s Sidney Crosby, is the same way. A man of superstition, a man who finds hockey home — to the extent of removing his shoes in the Pittsburgh Penguins locker room. A man of fate, a man of destiny.

Before McDavid, there was Crosby, and before him, there was Alexandre Daigle; there was Gretzky and Lemieux. Bryan Fogarty before them, Bobby Orr before him, and countless other men who were once boys, whose paths were intertwined with raw talent, work ethic, and promises of hockey glory.

A MAN OF DESTINY

“But all’s too weak;
For brave Macbeth (well he deserves that name),
Disdaining Fortune, with his brandished steel,
Which smoked with bloody execution,
Like Valor’s minion, carved out his passage…”

From the moment a toddler Connor McDavid let go of his father’s hand in an ice rink, the world was his.

Since he first began playing hockey at the age of three, on rollerblades in the family basement in Newmarket, Ontario, he was deemed as gifted, as a prodigy, as someone special. The next year, at the age of four, he begged his parents to play hockey a year early. They lied about his age so he could.

By six, McDavid’s parents attempted to enroll him in a league with seven-year-olds in Newmarket, but were denied.

In a 2013 profile of McDavid from The New York Times, journalist Tim Rohan described the child as, “At 5, he wore a nice shirt and tie to every one of his older brother’s games, just like the players. He listened to the pregame speech in the locker room, sat in the stands next to his mother and explained, in precise detail, any moment she missed while chatting with the other mothers, as the other brothers were off lollygagging.

At 12, he dominated his father’s Sunday pickup games, weaving through a forest of adults, ducking under arms, passing through legs, scoring for fun.” 1

One of the best-known McDavid anecdotes came from his mother, Kelly, in an interview lost to time. The story remains the same — McDavid asked to write to Crosby to ask how he deals with the pressure.

Crosby was fifteen.

McDavid was five.

Rarely do we — as a sports world — witness someone who exists completely for their sport. Hockey is different. A sport that is mental just as much as it is physical. In order to succeed, one has to be meticulous. Repetitive. Calculated.

Or, as McDavid’s mother puts it — “a thinker.” 2

Connor McDavid is the exception. Years before the 2015 NHL Draft, where we witnessed him walk onstage in Sunrise, Florida, years before he put on the orange Edmonton Oilers jersey and blue hat, years before his first 11 million dollar contract, years before he became the youngest captain in NHL history at the age of nineteen and the youngest Art Ross Trophy since Crosby did so in 2007 (at the age of nineteen), before ending the Oilers playoff drought in 2017, before more money, more failed playoff chances, before the trips and subsequent losses in the Stanley Cup Final — there was always that drive and ambition in a young McDavid that very few players, much less people, have.

Young hockey players tend to gain international attention in two ways: the NCAA cycle, or the junior hockey cycle. Unlike later stars like San Jose’s Macklin Celebrini, in the early 2010s, McDavid chose the junior hockey route. Traditionally, these players are sixteen years old when drafted to a junior team.

McDavid applied for exceptional player status through Hockey Canada, and was only the third OHL (Ontario Hockey League) player to be granted said exception — the other two were John Tavares and Aaron Ekblad. From there, things were on an upswing — on April 7, 2012, McDavid was drafted first overall to the Erie Otters in the OHL Priority Selection, signing his first contract with the Otters in June 2012.

As Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote, “Legacy? What is a legacy? It’s planting seeds in a garden you’ll never see.” In three years with the Otters, McDavid established a legacy — being a major contributor in taking them from the bottom of the OHL to the top. Becoming the youngest OHL player to be a part of events like the Subway Super Series. Taking home endless individual awards. And most of all, becoming captain of the Otters, leading to other captaincies in prospect events, such as The CHL/NHL Prospects Game in 2015. By the end, McDavid had 285 points — 188 of them assists, leading the franchise history books.

He finished his junior career as the most decorated player in OHL history.

A KING WITHOUT A CROWN

“When I burned in desire to question them further, they
made themselves air, into which they vanished.
Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it came missives
from the King, who all-hailed me ‘Thane of Cawdor,’
by which title, before, these Weird Sisters saluted me
and referred me to the coming on of time with ‘Hail,
king that shalt be.’ This have I thought good to deliver
thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou
might’st not lose the dues of rejoicing by being ignorant
of what greatness is promised thee.”

In those three years with the Otters, there was one thing McDavid never was able to accomplish — win a title.

The Otters made it to the Robertson Cup Final in 2015, but lost to the Oshawa Generals in five games. Oshawa forward Cole Cassels told media after the game, “Words can’t describe how proud I am of our team. We shut down Connor McDavid and the Erie Otters, which isn’t easy.” 3

Despite this, McDavid was a highly toted prospect, a young man with endless potential. The 2015 NHL Draft lottery was not one to be missed. It was the Crosby Sweepstakes all over again, except this time around, it was during a much more digitalized era. It was much easier to react to news through YouTube and Twitter, at the Internet’s possible peak. Just like Macbeth himself, the world had their eyes on McDavid.

With the luck of the hockey gods, the luck of a few ping-pong balls, the young hero’s journey officially began in Edmonton, Alberta, as Oilers fans across the province celebrated. Crowds rose to their feet and cheered for the hope of a young man coming to save their beloved franchise.

Since the days of Wayne Gretzky and Mark Messier, the Oilers had been on a downturn, with their record being something more than abysmal in 2015, 24–44–14. Despite making the Stanley Cup Final in 2006 with stars like Chris Pronger, the team didn’t see much success afterwards. They’d drafted Taylor Hall at first overall in 2010, and again in 2011 with Ryan Nugent-Hopkins, and yet, it was never enough to push them into the playoffs. To see any meaningful success. Hall would be traded to the New Jersey Devils in exchange for Adam Larsson in June 2016, goaltender Cam Talbot would be traded from the New York Rangers to go to Edmonton in the summer of 2015; and general manager and coaching changes were made — all to build around a new, young core, led by one of the best hockey players in the world.

That player, McDavid, would become the youngest captain ever in the history of the National Hockey League at the age of nineteen years and two-hundred-and-sixty-six days.

He would later write about the experience to The Player’s Tribune, nearly a decade later: “I had one thought when I became captain of the Oilers.

Obviously, when you’re given the C at 19, there’s a million things that go through your mind. You start wondering if you can grow a beard. You start thinking about your suits. But the one thing I kept thinking was....

Man, I really gotta move out of my parents’ house now.

I’m supposed to be the leader of a room with all these grown men who have two or three kids. How are they supposed to listen to me when I get back home at night and my mom is like, ‘Hey. Tough game. I washed your sheets.’

I wanted to be the captain of the Edmonton Oilers. I wanted that pressure. No doubt. But I’d be lying if I said it came naturally to me, or that the weight of it wasn’t heavy.”4

Despite the Oilers’ internal turmoil, McDavid lived up to expectations almost immediately. He only appeared in 45 games his rookie season due to a fractured left clavicle in his thirteenth NHL game, but finished fourth in rookie scoring — sixteen goals and thirty-two assists, third-place in Calder Trophy votes. In his sophomore season, he reached 100 points in 92 games played. As more time passed, the young man who shaped so much of his game after his idol, Sidney Crosby, the original boy king — began to shape history of his own, a king in his own right. At twenty years old, McDavid won the Art Ross Trophy for the NHL’s scoring leader — in total, he racked up 100 points.

In 2017, McDavid’s junior season, the Oilers snapped their decade-long playoff drought. Despite being eliminated in the second round in seven games, he proved himself to be a bona-fide playoff performer alongside close friend and teammate Leon Draisaitl — a young player drafted at third overall in 2014, the year before McDavid, equally as ambitious, the Lady Macbeth to McDavid’s Macbeth (despite not facing any of the former’s specific gender-induced internal conflict). McDavid, just like in the OHL, became a decorated individual player, winning awards like the Ted Lindsay for the most outstanding NHL player chosen by the NHL’s Player Association (or the NHLPA, for simplicity’s sake), the Hart Memorial Trophy, the Art Ross again.

But there was still something missing.

McDavid wanted to win.

And he wanted to win with the team that chose him.

On July 5, 2017, four days after the official opening of free agency, McDavid signed an eight-year, $100 million USD extension in Edmonton.

Despite this, the Oilers kept losing. They kept failing to build around their two young stars. The days grew darker, with McDavid suffering more injuries. And in 2019, the Oilers underwent more internal changes, particularly at the general manager position.

All of this occurred before McDavid’s twenty-third birthday. At the same time, McDavid reached 400 NHL points in 306 games.

In 2021, the Oilers went more changes, this time, at coaching, due to a lack of depth. The new goal — support their two stars as much as possible. They were a playoff team in the bubble, but consistently found themselves dropping in and out of a playoff spot.

And yet, McDavid kept climbing. He won more individual trophies. He sent the Oilers to the Western Conference Final in 2022, scoring 10 goals and 33 assists, leading everyone else in scoring for the entire postseason. In 2023, he sent the Oilers back to the WCF, falling to the Stanley Cup champions of the Vegas Golden Knights. He knew what he — and a new Oilers — could do, dubbing the 2023-2024 season as “Cup or bust.”

It began disastrously. The Oilers had a 3-9-1 record. McDavid missed games due to injury. Then the Oilers fired head coach Jay Woodcroft, and hired McDavid’s former Otters coach, Kris Knoblauch.

That hiring changed the course of the Oilers. McDavid had 100 assists and 32 goals that season, and continued it in the postseason. After losing the first three games of the Cup Final to the Florida Panthers, McDavid scored four points in Games 5 and 6, and lost in seven for Florida’s first ever Cup win. Despite winning the Conn Smythe, McDavid did not leave the locker room to accept the award. In Amazon Prime’s documentary, Faceoff, McDavid told filmmakers,“We lost in the most heartbreaking way. It was a moment that I will never forget ever. I wouldn’t have gone out there for a million dollars.”

History repeated itself in 2025, despite McDavid rocking the world with his overtime goal in the Four Nations Tournament, sending Canada to victory in a time where political tensions had never been higher with its neighbors to the south.

Nearly two years later, McDavid is in the same position. A man who has almost everything he’s ever wanted… except the one thing destiny seems to never let him grasp.

THE WORLD WILL NEVER BE THE SAME

“Accursèd be that tongue that tells me so,
For it hath cowed my better part of man!
And be these juggling fiends no more believed
That palter with us in a double sense,
That keep the word of promise to our ear
And break it to our hope.”

2026 has been one of the most tumultuous eras of McDavid’s career. Between the Oilers’ poor performances in both the regular season, and the heartbreak of losing to Team USA in Milan’s gold medal game in overtime, despite being named the Olympic MVP, hockey’s most ambitious man faces an uncertain path ahead. Oilers general manager Stan Bowman has been insistent that nothing is wrong. His two top stars, his Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, tell a different story.

What he will do after his two-year extension expires is an open-ended question that no one — maybe not even McDavid himself — knows what else to do. While the Shakespeare play ends in tragedy, the story of the Oilers looks to end in a similar manner (without the murder and madness).

As McDavid himself said,

“I never felt pressure, or like I had to be somebody.

I was just discovering who I was and who I wanted to be. And I think somewhere along the way, shooting pucks into the plywood of our garage and making long drives for games, I realized that I just wanted to be the best version of myself — to see what I could become. I knew, in hockey, it meant that you have to win. Because I know what it means to win, and what it means if you don’t. So I’ve wanted to win my whole life. It’s who I am.”5

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For those unfamiliar with the PWHL’s playoff format, four total teams play in the semi-finals, aka “Round 1”. The Number 1 seed (this year, the Montreal Victoire) chooses their playoff opponent (the Minnesota Frost) for this round. Both the semi-finals and the Walter Cup Final are a best of five series, and the first team to three wins advances — or wins the Cup, if it’s a Final scenario.

MONTREAL VICTOIRE V. MINNESOTA FROST

Okay. Look. The Victoire have a reputation as “playoff chokers.”

However. Call this delusional. Call it hope.

This year, things have the potential to be different.

Captain Marie-Philip Poulin, aka “Captain Clutch” is back from a post-Olympics injury. Despite the injury, she leads the team in goals with 9. The Victoire’s depth is also stacked — Laura Stacey, Abby Roque, Nicole Gosling, Catherine Dubois, Hayley Scamurra, among others.

The Frost are another team that poise the potential for an upset, particularly with Kelly Pannek, Taylor Heise, and Kendall Coyne Schofield all being at the top of their games. And yet, the Victoire have Ann-Renée Desbiens in goal. Desbiens is arguably the biggest challenge to Boston Fleet goaltender Aerin Frankel’s PWHL Billie Jean King Most Valuable Player bid, with a .955 save percentage and a goals against average of 1.11. Despite that heartbreaker at the Olympics against Team USA, Desbiens is an exceptional goaltender, and shows up big when it matters most.

Kat’s pick: Victoire in five.

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BOSTON FLEET V. OTTAWA CHARGE

This series is the “goaltending series.” Between Ohio native Gwyneth Philips in net for the Charge, and likely PWHL Player of the Year, Caesar salad extraordinaire, Aerin Frankel, in goal for the Fleet, getting past either of the two is a near-impossible task. Frankel’s GAA is a 1.17, and her save percentage is .953. The short version? She’s incredible in goal, and will show that as much as she can.

The Charge have Brianne Jenner, Rebecca Leslie (leading the team with 14 goals), Sarah Wozniewicz, and Gabbie Hughes, all of whom are deeply talented forwards. I just think that getting past Frankel will be a too-tall task, especially with the Fleet having goal scorers like Megan Keller, Alina Müller, and Haley Winn.

Kat’s pick: Fleet in four.

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CAROLINA HURRICANES V. PHILADELPHIA FLYERS

The Canes proved last round that they are not ones to be messed with nor underestimated, sweeping the Ottawa Senators in four games, despite Linus Ullmark’s Vezina-caliber performance.

The Flyers also proved how they got into the postseason last round, beating the Pittsburgh Penguins in six games (a prediction I — and many others — got wrong). The modern day Flyers have something different than prior variations did: they have an identity. As Lin-Manuel Miranda once wrote (and sang), “I am young, scrappy, and hungry, and I’m not throwing away my shot!” Exceptional performances from the Flyers’ youth and goaltender Dan Vladar got them into the second round, despite some… questionable… coaching choices from Rick Tocchet, particularly scratching Matevi Michkov in a vital game.

Here’s the thing. I know the Canes better than I know almost any other team. I’ve been watching them since I first got into hockey three years ago, and I used to cover them exclusively. (Remember those days? That was fun.)

These aren’t the Canes of old. The Canes of one, two years ago would’ve struggled much more against a legitimately talented Sens team. Despite the first line of Andrei Svechnikov, Sebastian Aho, and Seth Jarvis not producing as much as was expected (with the second line of Taylor Hall, Logan Stankoven, and Jackson Blake racking up points like they were playing the NHL video games), and a powerplay slump, the Canes proved their critics wrong. They played a much more physical game without it being distracting from Rod Brind’Amour’s system. They had excellent goaltending from Freddie Andersen, who’s been the topic of fan critique since he arrived to Carolina in 2020. Their defense looked incredibly solid.

If the Canes keep up what they did against Ottawa, I firmly believe they’ve got a great road ahead of them.

Kat’s pick: Canes in six.

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COLORADO AVALANCHE V. MINNESOTA WILD

First things first, this game should be the Western Conference Final, and it’s a crime that it’s not. Quinn Hughes v. Cale Makar? Nathan MacKinnon v. Kirill Kaprizov? Come. On. No matter who you cheer for, and even if you’re a neutral fan, this series is promising some of the best hockey we’ve seen all season.

Both of these teams are, as the Internet says, “spooky.” The Wild have been able to pull off miracles, stunning the Dallas Stars in six games (and my friend and colleague over at Sunshine and Hockey, Morgan Page, who’s Twitter has been absolutely elite the past few days). The Wild have absolutely earned their respect, outperforming their expectations for both the postseason and regular season.

Sunshine and Hockey

Two friends, two hockey nerds, two queer folks talking all things hockey. New letter out monthly!

With that being said, so have the Colorado Avalanche. They beat the Los Angeles Kings at LA’s style of play (which was some of the dullest hockey I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing… sorry, Kings fans.). They won the President’s Trophy. They’re statistical darlings (seriously, check out their MoneyPuck — it’s actually wild.), and their depth performances have been excellent. And, of course, their stars have showed up. Nathan MacKinnon, Makar, and Gabe Landeskog — they’ve all come up big in the moments where it matters most.

The Avalanche have the advantage, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see the Wild take this series too. It truly depends on goaltending this series, and I’m going with Scott Wedgewood, who’s been the standard this season.

Kat’s pick: Avalanche in six.

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VEGAS GOLDEN KNIGHTS V. ANAHEIM DUCKS

I’m sorry to start this one off on a more serious note, but this is a challenging series for survivors of sexual assault in hockey, which is a much more common demographic than you may think it is. If you want to turn on paid subscriptions to Hockey in Heels this month, I gently recommend you donate to Signs of HOPE Las Vegas, or Orange County Sexual Assault and Prevention Services instead.

I’m also encouraging my colleagues in sports media to stop, and truly stop, propping up Carter Hart and Joel Quenneville. Are they both good at hockey? Yes. That doesn’t excuse sexual assault and covering up sexual assault. Never does, never has been, never will.

Okay. Onto the prediction.

First, let’s talk about the Knights. They’re still on the new coach high with John Tortorella. Their defense has looked great. And Mitch Marner gave the William Nylander middle finger to his playoff performer reputation.

As for the Ducks, they also stunned the hockey world by upsetting the Edmonton Oilers in six games. They’re like the West’s version of the Flyers — young, scrappy core and physical. (We won’t touch the Cutter Gauthier thing here, because I don’t want both fanbases to come for my head.)

I’m going with the Knights, just because their puck luck is ridiculous, and they have more experienced playoff performers.

Kat’s pick: Knights in seven.

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BUFFALO SABRES V. MONTREAL CANADIENS/TAMPA BAY LIGHTNING

Including this series is kind of cheating, because the Habs/Lightning series hasn’t even finished yet, but I’m doing it anyway. (Did Jon Cooper hire an Etsy witch for this series?)

However, I’m going with the Sabres over both teams. Because they have some legitimate magic happening, and I love a good storyline. They know how to attack first, their goaltending in Alex Lyon is extremely solid, and they completely outworked Jeremy Swayman in the majority of the games played against the Bruins. If they could do what they did against Swayman and the Bruins defense again, I believe in Buffalo. The stats (MoneyPuck) show that this isn’t a fluke.

Alexa, play “Better Days” by The Goo Goo Dolls.

Kat’s pick: Sabres in seven.

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I fully expect to get at least one of these wrong, and see myself on “Hockey Images That Proceeded Unfortunate Events.”

Please enjoy a photo of the real admin of Hockey in Heels. And most importantly, let’s all be good to each other, and let’s do that hockey.

Love,

Kat

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THE WINNERS

• The Colorado Avalanche: It’s impossible to make a list of who’s doing well right now in the NHL and not mention the Colorado Avalanche, who absolutely dominated the Los Angeles Kings at their own style of hockey. As Stefon would say, this series had everything: terrible officiating, depth scoring, standout goaltending from Scott Wedgewood, a fully healthy Gabriel Landeskog, and production from the entire roster. Despite having to take on either Dallas or Minnesota in Round 2, the Avalanche have looked like the best team in the postseason so far — living up exactly to high expectations. As my friend Laura Grunn, Avs fan extraordinaire, says, “Alexa, play the club jam.” (“The club jam” is “Chase the Sun” by Planet Funk, the Avalanche’s goal song.)

• The Carolina Hurricanes: The Canes shut down any “upset” discussions by sweeping the Ottawa Senators in four games. In that series, Carolina never trailed, establishing their dominance astutely, despite not having the expected production from their first line (Andrei Svechnikov — Sebastian Aho — Seth Jarvis) and powerplay, alongside losing Nikolaj Ehlers and Alexander Nikishin in Game 4. Outstanding performances from the team’s second line (Taylor Hall — Logan Stankoven — Jackson Blake) and goaltender Freddie Andersen led the Canes to victory — and at least a week’s worth of rest before Round 2. Take your shirts off, twist them around your hand, spin them like a helicopter, et cetera.

• The Anaheim Ducks: I, like many, did not predict the Ducks to take the Oilers this far. The Anaheim Youth Movement has come up big this series, while also allowing the Ducks to be back to the postseason in future years (because these 20-somethings haven’t hit their hockey prime yet). Get Ben Afquack out. Get the bongos out. These Anaheim Ducks are here to stay.

• The Buffalo Sabres: The Buffalo Sabres aren’t just a feel-good story. They won the Atlantic Division this year, and have played like it. Despite falling behind in Game 1 (comeback of the century), losing in Game 2, and losing in overtime in Game 5 to the Bruins, the Sabres have been the discussion of the playoffs — and rightfully so. Between Alex Lyon’s viral chirps, how the city of Buffalo has shown out for their team, and in response, the Sabres have showed up in ways most hockey folks didn’t expect them to. As the Goo Goo Dolls say, “Tonight’s the night the world begins again.” And the Buffalo Sabres have officially begun again.

• Kris Letang: The Pittsburgh defenseman didn’t have a great regular season. And a rough first two games. Then, he turned 39, and scored two game-winning goals in elimination games for the Penguins.

• The Dallas Stars powerplay: The Stars powerplay is nearly 50%, which is extremely rare and very good. They seemingly score every time the Wild take a penalty.

• The Minnesota Wild’s scoring: The Wild have gotten scoring opportunities from everyone — to their star, Kirill Kaprizov, to depth players like Michael McCarron. The Wild’s depth was a major concern going into this series, so for them to find those opportunities has been a huge relief — and come at the perfect time, as the Wild lead the Stars, 3-2.

THE LOSERS

• The Ottawa Senators: Give Linus Ullmark a NERF gun. No, seriously. Throughout the entire Carolina/Ottawa series, the Sens did absolutely nothing, left Ullmark out to dry, and were somehow surprised at getting swept. Thomas Chabot said about the Canes, “I started thinking to myself that really, this was the second time we faced a team that failed nine years in a row. I think it's a big thing we can learn as players, as a team, as an individual, just the way they carry themselves. You saw how even keel they were the whole playoffs. Even that last game where they had nine power plays. You could have seen them lose their minds, but they just stayed level the whole way.”

(Yes, this is a VERY REAL quote.)

Comparing the Carolina Hurricanes, a team who’s made the playoffs eight years in a row, to the Toronto Maple Leafs, a team who’ve been cursed since 1967, is a wild one to make, but at this point, everything might be a simulation. Who knows?

• Ridly Greig: When you get a cheap shot in on the back of Sean Walker’s head, caught directly on TV cameras, it can — and will — be turned into a panel discussion on Sportsnet, make you the villain of the week on Hockey Twitter, and get you a phone hearing with the Department of Player Safety. Should’ve stuck to empty-net slapshots.

• Brady Tkachuk: Zero points. Need I say more?

• The Los Angeles Kings: The Kings were out-performed in every way possible against the Avalanche, even at their own style of hockey. Despite Anton Forsberg playing well, they just couldn’t get past the Avalanche. But still, at their own style of plain, dull hockey… that’s pretty bad.

• Stan Bowman: Looking at his moves as Edmonton’s GM objectively, you can see that this man is not a good general manager. Trading Stu Skinner for Tristan Jarry was already a choice (and paid off well for the Penguins, who we’ll get to later). Connor Ingram is a wonderful human, and a good goalie, but he’s also been left out to dry by Edmonton’s defense. If the Oilers advance, it will be in spite of Stan Bowman, not because of him.

• The men of the ESPN broadcast crew: Steve Levy asking Mark Messier and PK Subban to pronounce “Ukko-Pekka Luukkonen” remains one of the most cringeworthy and embarrassing things I’ve seen on television in a long time, and partially overshadowed Luukkonen’s first career playoff win.

(For reference, here’s a video of Luukkonen himself saying his name:)

THE IN-BETWEENS

• The Edmonton Oilers: I came soooo close to putting the Oilers in the “losers” category, because they haven’t performed as expected, but Connor McDavid rose from the dead to help the Oilers beat Anaheim in an elimination game, keeping the series alive. Still not sure what to make of this team.

• The Philadelphia Flyers: They had a 3-1 series lead, and blew it. Twice. Their youth movement is also impressive, but it’s hard to know what to make of the Flyers when they’re this inconsistent. At least Gritty murdered a Penguin on World Penguin Day.

• The Pittsburgh Penguins: Like Connor McDavid, the Penguins arose from the dead to come back twice, pushing their series against the Flyers to seven. Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin, and Kris Letang have all been excellent this series, alongside the fourth line, but everyone else… don’t know what to make of them. As Connor Dewar broke everyone’s heart by saying that “Every win is a few more days together”, the Penguins have locked in at impossible levels. Their “one game at a time” mentality seems to be working for them (and good for them!), similarly to the 2024 Carolina Hurricanes.

Now, it’s time for the real challenge — deciphering the West. As the kids say, it’s the wild West. (No one says this except me.) Anyway. Let’s get on with it, shall we?

THE COLORADO AVALANCHE (121 POINTS) V. THE LOS ANGELES KINGS (90 POINTS)

This prediction was arguably the shortest one it took to decide, and that’s because the Avalanche are just too good. With a 55-16-11 record and 121 points, they took the Presidents Trophy back to Denver this season for the fourth time in franchise history. Yes, the Kings are going to come into the postseason with a chip on their respective shoulders, because they haven’t been given a lot of respect. Their record indicates a much different story than Colorado’s, though — 35-27-20 —, and that’s because they’ve gone to overtime so many times over.

With all this being said, the Presidents Trophy “curse” is not a real thing. It’s teams not showing up in the playoff. Darren Elliot said it best,

“It is the reality of the sport. If your particular strength happens to be that you're really good offensively, and you come up against a hot goaltender and a team that is stout defensively, it might not matter that you were good on a nightly basis scoring goals. And that one particular opponent: you'll have to beat them four times.”

This doesn’t seem like it’s going to be an issue for the Avalanche. It sounds cocky, but Colorado’s depth is some of the best in the entire NHL, with performers like Parker Kelly, Jack Drury, and Logan O’Connor on the fourth line. When Nazem Kadri is your third line center, you know your team is stacked from top to bottom. Depth wins championships, which is why I trust the Colorado Avalanche not just to advance past the first round, but to win the Stanley Cup this season.

Kat’s pick: Avalanche in five.

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THE DALLAS STARS (112 POINTS) V. THE MINNESOTA WILD (104 POINTS)

This one was by far the hardest, most antagonizing, most challenging matchup to decide. I kept going back and forth, but as my incredible friend and co-writer/co-founder of our side project, Sunshine and Hockey, Morgan Page, says, “Don’t believe in the Wild.” (They’ve let poor Morgan down too many times.)

This might be “Battered Leafs/Wild fan syndrome”, but ultimately, Morgan has a point. What sets the Stars apart is their depth, which is something the Wild don’t have. Dallas has stars (pun intended) like Mikko Rantanen, who comes up big in playoff situations; Wyatt Johnston, and Jason Robertson. This is probably going to be the most intense first-round playoff series (and should be at least a second-round series, but I’ll spare my rant on NHL playoff seeding) in both conferences, but ultimately, the Wild’s depth is concerning at best.

And there’s the goaltending issue. The Wild are going with Jesper Wallstedt in net, who’s looked better this season. The 23-year-old netminder has a career .911 save percentage, and a .916 save percentage this season. However, he’s new to a playoff situation — which, again, isn’t always a bad thing (see also: Cam Ward, 2006), but makes things nerve-racking for Minnesota fans.

Jake Oettinger is one of the best goaltenders in the entire NHL, with a career save percentage of .910. I would go with Oettinger in a postseason situation any day, due to past experience. We know what he’s capable of in goal, and it’s likely going to help Dallas win this series.

Kat’s pick: Stars in seven.

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THE VEGAS GOLDEN KNIGHTS (95 POINTS) V. THE UTAH MAMMOTH (92 POINTS)

This was one of the hardest predictions to pick. My heart says Mammoth, but the Knights have the statistical edge. They have Mitch Marner, who has the opportunity to re-write his playoff story. Their defense is extremely solid, led by Shea Theodore and new-to-town from the Calgary Flames, Rasmus Andersson. They’re still on that new coach high with John Tortorella, who’s 7-0-1 as head coach of the Knights. I won’t comment on their goaltending, as I have nothing nice to say about it.

(If you want to give Hockey in Heels a paid subscription this month, donate to Signs of HOPE Nevada or other organizations supporting sexual assault survivors in Las Vegas, especially if my prediction is correct.)

Kat’s pick: Knights in six.

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THE EDMONTON OILERS (93 POINTS) V. THE ANAHEIM DUCKS (92 POINTS)

Anaheim fans, I’m sorry in advance.

The Pacific Division, no joke, may have been some of the worst hockey I’ve seen this season. We had humans orbit the moon for ten days before a team in the Pacific clinched a playoff spot.

Things aren’t all bad for Ducks fans. Despite a cold streak as of late, the team seems to be back on track, with their most recent win being against the Nashville Predators, a team with players like Steven Stamkos on it. And Anaheim has a youth movement. While the average age of the team is 27 (due to veterans like Radko Gudas, Jacob Trouba, John Carlson, and Chris Kreider), the team’s young players are what stand out. The Cutter Gauthiers, the Lukas Dostals, the Bennett Seneckes, the players in their early twenties have had exceptional seasons.

However. Connor McDavid exists. And not just any version of Connor McDavid — Playoff Connor McDavid. McDavid loves to win. Any hockey fan knows this to be true. And with two years left on his extension that he signed last summer, he wants to win now. While Edmonton’s goaltending is always going to be a concern, McDavid, Leon Draisaitl, and Evan Bouchard look damn near unstoppable. Like his mentor, Sidney Crosby, I wouldn’t bet against a pissed off Connor McDavid.

(Again, due to who Anaheim’s coach is, if my prediction is wrong and you so feel inclined, please donate to Orange County Sexual Assault and Prevention Services or other organizations for survivors in the area.)

Kat’s pick: Oilers in five.

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The Stanley Cup Playoff is in full swing, and it’s time for every single hockey writer to make their predictions about how it’ll go. It’s mandated by Hockey Writer Law (kidding, there’s no such thing).

With that said, here are my predictions for the East before tomorrow’s games (that will probably age like milk).

THE CAROLINA HURRICANES (113 POINTS) V. THE OTTAWA SENATORS (99 POINTS)

This one’s for North Carolina, c’mon and raise up!

As spoken by the wise words of North Carolinian philosopher Petey Pablo, the Carolina Hurricanes have been regular season darlings since head coach Rod Brind’Amour was promoted to the job in May 2018. Since then, the Hurricanes have made the postseason eight consecutive times, but can’t get past their mortal enemy of the Eastern Conference Final (where they’ve met the Florida Panthers in 2023 and 2025).

The Senators are in a different position. They lost in the first round of last year’s postseason to the Toronto Maple Leafs (ouch), and are coming in this time around with a vengeance. It’s been a rocky season for the Sens, both on and off the ice (Linus Ullmark deserves so much better), and they’ve been on a hot streak since January, turning their season around to make the postseason after fighting with the Columbus Blue Jackets (pre-March collapse and Rick Bowness’s “changing the freaking culture” rant) and the Boston Bruins for a playoff spot.

My personal opinion? This series is going to come down to goaltending. With Ullmark in goal for the Senators (likely), and the Canes organization’s tight-lips on whether Frederik Andersen or newcomer Brandon Bussi will start Game 1 (my guess is that Andersen and Bussi will likely be a tandem for this series — it’s better than running Andersen into the ground, and with Pyotr Kochetkov unavailable for Round 1, the Canes could benefit from trying something new), goaltending is how players like Sebastian Aho, Andrei Svechnikov, Seth Jarvis, Nikolaj Ehlers, and on the other end; Tim Stützle, Shane Pinto, Dylan Cozens, and Jake Sanderson, can be stopped. If both teams are on at the same time, expect a fast-paced series full of electric play.

Kat’s pick: Hurricanes in six

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THE BUFFALO SABRES (109 POINTS) V. THE BOSTON BRUINS (100 POINTS)

Welcome back, Buffalo!

For the first time since 2011, the Buffalo Sabres are in the Stanley Cup Playoff, with home ice advantage.

Who would’ve thought?

(Thanks, Heated Rivalry.)

The Sabres have had their best season in recent memory, with help from their offensive stars — Tage Thompson, Jason Zucker, Alex Tuch, Josh Doan, and Jack Quinn. Their speed is some of the best in the NHL, with their max skating speed and speed bursts being above the NHL average.

The Bruins are also a very good team. David Pastrnak hit the 100 points mark again this season, Morgan Geekie had a career resurgence, and Charlie McAvoy was… Charlie McAvoy (this is a compliment to McAvoy’s two-way game).

The reason why the Sabres are my favorites to win this series is their speed. You can’t underestimate just how important that is in a playoff scenario, especially against a goaltender like Jeremy Swayman. The advanced stats are on Buffalo’s side, and therefore, I’m picking the Sabres to take this series.

Kat’s pick: Sabres in seven

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THE TAMPA BAY LIGHTNING (106 POINTS) V. THE MONTREAL CANADIENS (106 POINTS)

This is a tough one to predict, and not just because both teams are tied in points. Both teams look very similarly on paper statistically — the Lightning finished the regular season with a 50-26-6 record, while the Habs finished with a 48-24-10 record. Their points percentage is identical — .646% —, injuries are starting to kick in, especially for the Habs, missing star defenseman Noah Dobson, and most of their advanced stats aren’t too far off from each other.

On the surface, it’s easy to pick the Lightning. They’re a tough and nasty team, who play with a lot of grit. Nikita Kucherov, whether you like him or not, is an undeniable part of hockey history for this current era we’re in. Anthony Cirelli, Jake Guentzel, Brayden Point, and Darren Raddysh have all had incredible seasons. However, I’m going with the upset here. I’m willing to bet (my pride) on this series coming down to the powerplay. Despite missing lethal powerplay shooter Patrik Laine due to injury, the Habs have a strong powerplay, with their percentage being at a solid 23.14%. The Lightning’s penalty kill is exceptional (over 80%), but with guys like Cole Caufield, Nick Suzuki, and Ivan Demidov on the top powerplay unit, I’m going with the Canadiens to take this series and get past Andrei Vasilevskiy.

Kat’s pick: Canadiens in seven

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PITTSBURGH PENGUINS (98 POINTS) V. THE PHILADELPHIA FLYERS (98 POINTS)

The Battle of Pennsylvania.

These two teams haven’t met in the playoffs since 2018, with the Penguins winning that series. This is a series for people who want to watch two teams kill each other (and millennials who want some nostalgia — no Claude Giroux this time around, though). The Penguins are coming in with their core — Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin, Kris Letang, and Bryan Rust —, and the Flyers are entering the playoffs for the first time since the cursed 2019-2020 season (remember the bubble?) with an entirely new group of guys, most of whom are newer to the NHL — Trevor Zegras, acquired last offseason from the Anaheim Ducks; Travis Konecny, Porter Martone, Matevi Michkov, and Jamie Drysdale.

Both teams are hot right now, even on goaltending, and both teams have something to play for. I just wouldn’t bet against a pissed off Sidney Crosby.

Kat’s pick: Penguins in five

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Author’s note: This scene takes place during my second admission to a psychiatric facility for alcohol abuse and misdiagnosed severe depression (it was autistic burnout) after leaving an abusive writing gig.

AS I SAT IN THE BACKSEAT OF A WHITE SUV, an unmarked police car, the city of Raleigh passing me by, all I wanted was a drink.

I missed drinking more than I anticipated. This time, there was no “pink cloud” that hung over my head. There were no unexpected joys I’d found in sobriety, outside of my friendship with Meg still lasting. Drinking, I thought, was my secret to figuring out the world. Now that I was without it, I felt just as helpless as I did when I was a kid on the playground, wondering why I couldn’t make friends, much less keep them. I knew of the disastrous consequences that happened when I drank, but crazily enough, I still missed it.

I needed confidence.

And at that moment, I had none.

The officer was quiet, as was I. I couldn’t speak, even if I tried. As we passed cars with Hurricanes decor, or billboards advertising the team, I felt my throat getting tighter and tighter.

As he pulled into the hospital lot, as I waited, holding the hospital scrubs up with my right hand so they wouldn’t fall; I felt the eyes of everyone on me, the officer’s gun clinking beside me as I walked.

The routine was the same, except this time, there was no initial paperwork for me to fill out. Everyone at the front desk already knew what had happened. The hospital staff knew what had happened.

I can’t do this. Not again. I thought I was better.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I found myself in the same waiting room, with the same Breathalyzer, in the same area behind the doors for patients that only staff could open and close so we couldn’t run. I wanted to run, but I knew there was no choice.

It was time to stop running, to stop hiding. I just didn’t know how.

THIS TIME, A WOMAN WALKED IN THE ROOM WITH A PLATE OF food for me.

She introduced herself, then stated, “I’m just here to ask you a few questions as you eat.”

I nodded, poking at the fruit, the only thing I wanted to eat. I couldn’t help it – I both wanted to eat the whole plate, to prove my gratitude, but I didn’t want to eat any of it at the same time. I still felt nauseous, and my disordered eating has never quite gone away – that voice in the back of my head still lingers. I wonder, even now, if that voice grew into my alcohol addiction.

As I ate the fruit – watermelon, cantaloupe, and honeydew –, the woman asked me a variety of questions about my life. She wanted to get to know me past “just paperwork”, to see what my life was actually like, who I was as a human being.

I was desperate to please her, to make her happy, but to also be honest. Sobriety had forced a new kind of honesty on me, even that early in the journey – the same honesty that got me pulled aside and lectured as a child.

I chose to be honest.

I didn’t care if I stumbled over my words, or if I said something socially inappropriate, or if I didn’t protect everyone’s feelings – the most important part. In the South, there’s an expectation of forever politeness, even if it comes at the dispense of the truth. It was an expectation I’d grown up on, even if I found it confusing, and it had wound up hurting me several times over, because I valued the feelings of others over my own safety, internally and externally. I didn’t wonder if she was in on some big inside joke I wasn’t a part of, like I normally felt.

As I told her about William’s abuse, she looked up. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?”

“People shouldn’t do what he did to you. People shouldn’t do that to other people. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that.”

It hit me at that moment, something Margaret had spent months trying to get out of me – I had so much more to recover from than just alcoholism and being abused multiple times over. The alcohol was masking everything, just like how I had been before I was drinking. I had a whole upbringing to recover from, an undiagnosed autistic trapped in the body of a Southern woman.

The woman left, and I didn’t touch any more of the food.

THE REST OF CHECK-IN FELT LIKE ROUTINE. This time, the only difference was that people could see me. There were no lights-out, no naps, nothing. People were out and about in the ward, and could see my exhausted face as I walked, still holding up a pair of paper scrubs. I heard one woman snicker. It didn’t matter. I was too tired to care. I just wanted to sleep, sleep for days or months upon end like animals do, and never quite wake up.

I was examined, again. (This time, I didn’t have to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with.) I was taken out, where, in front of all the other patients, nurses put latex gloves on and inspected my bags.

“What is this?”, they’d ask, holding up something monumental to me that was callous to them.

“My favorite book”, I choked out.

“What is this?”

“Pads.”

“What is this?”

“My pillow and blanket.”

“This ward doesn’t allow –.”

“It’s legitimately a comfort item”, I said, pleading. “Please.”

The nurse rolled her eyes, but reached down for the black phone on the ward. “I’ll call the doctor. Have them approve it.”

I nodded in thanks, trying to not completely lose my mind. Not here. Not now. Not in front of all these people.

I bit my lip, feeling the skin slowly peel. The sensation soothed me.

The helplessness I felt was like no other. I’d felt it before, before I’d attempted suicide, before I relapsed, but this felt unusual.

At that moment, I knew I’d never see the city of Raleigh again, not in the same way. I would likely not return to school or see my friends constantly. I would likely not keep my job as a hockey reporter, even if I wanted to. It would not be the same.

It was up to me to figure out what to do next. But I didn’t have the mental capacity to do it. I was barely surviving at that point.

“I called the doctor”, one of the nurses said. “You get to keep your blanket.” She shoved it across the table at me.

Once the interrogation was over, I was guided to my new room, where another girl was laying in bed, reading a book. I grabbed the first pair of pajamas I saw and took a shower, desperate to clean myself of all things at the hospital. The water was freezing. I’d learn later that our room didn’t have hot water, and no one cared enough to come in and fix it. That was a common story on the unit – no one cared enough to fix things.

That night, after dinner, I went to the unit’s AA meeting. We all sat in a circle, introduced ourselves, and told our stories.

“Hi there”, I said. “My name’s Kat, and I’m an alcoholic.”

I didn’t say anything else that night.

AUTISTIC PEOPLE ARE MORE LIKELY TO experience substance abuse than their neurotypical peers, with up to thirty percent of autistic adults having a problem. One study in 2021 in a substance abuse treatment clinic found that twenty percent of the patients had autistic traits. 1Having other comorbid conditions, like ADHD, puts someone at a higher risk of addiction.

Addiction, particularly in the United States, is extremely taboo, alongside neurodiversity. When someone is so infantilized to the degree that they don’t have any autonomy, it’s unimaginable to think of them getting into “trouble”. It, like so many other parts of being autistic in a neurotypical world, becomes dehumanizing to the person it affects.

But I didn’t know any of this then. I didn’t know it until after I was diagnosed and began conversations with other autistic people who’d struggled with addiction – traditionally successful people, people I admired.

All I knew then was that I was all degrees of fucked up.

I got sick my first days in the ward. I had been given medication on an empty stomach, and the days of limited eating were catching up to me. The two combined made me beyond nauseous, and I couldn’t keep anything down. Standing up made me feel weak. With the help of my roommate, I started to have meals delivered to the room.

On my second day, I made my way down to the hospital cafeteria. It was exactly how I remembered it. Nothing had changed in sixteen months, and I felt a small ping of gratitude, even if I remembered how horrible the food was. Finally, some stability, some routine, some predictability. For the autistic brain, hospitals like the one I was at can bring the same people back time and time again for the routine and safety of the ward. We had routines printed out every morning, and that was, honestly, the best part of the entire hospital experience.

But at that moment, I tried to eat. I couldn’t. I started to gag, and laid my head onto the cold table, hoping it would bring my body temperature down.

The other patients were wrecked with concern. One older man, who reminded me of a more combative Justin, named Clark, was particularly worried. He was a father, and I reminded him of one of his kids, he said. He kept asking me questions as I held it all in.

I only felt myself growing warmer, and tears filled my eyes out of mortification, shame, and sensory discomfort. Clark noticed, and promptly began calling for a staff member to take me back to the ward before I got sick everywhere.

“She can’t”, the nurse noted coldly. “It’s against the rules, Clark. You know that.”

At that moment, I witnessed one of the most profound displays of aggression and advocacy I’d ever seen. Clark stood up and began to scream a variety of things. Profanities I’d never heard before. Rants about how “dogshit” this place was, how the staff treated us.

“She’s a fucking kid, man!” Clark let loose. “She’s a fucking kid about to puke her fucking guts out on this table because you fucking assholes fucked up her meds, and you’re fucking punishing her by making her get sick in front of everyone!”

Honestly, it was kind of inspiring. I’d felt Clark’s rage countless times over – being a kid and having adults I barely knew assume the worst of me before even meeting me, being bullied throughout school and having people tell me it was my fault, being taken advantage of by Micah, an older man who had a whole life he lied about, being abused and assaulted by William and never experiencing any sort of consequences for it, having jokes made about my appearance as a hockey reporter and how much money I made, and being screwed by The Outlet –, but I’d been taught how to smile sweetly and keep it all inside. I couldn’t even let screams loose, even if I tried. I’d try to unhinge my jaw, to take a deep breath, to try and make my tight and tense body less wound up, and nothing would come out. It made sense why my meltdowns and flashbacks led to me losing control over my body, why I’d wail and break things and hurt myself in the process. But I never had it in me to stick up for myself. I didn’t see myself as worthy enough to do so, and I was too afraid of other people and what they would do to me if I ever tried it.

And now, here I was, witnessing someone unleash their rage. I wasn’t afraid or triggered, like I usually was of men and their anger. I felt some form of catharsis, but mostly nausea.

As Clark screamed, one of the nurses got tired of it and called me back to the ward.

“You can’t keep doing this”, he said as he unlocked the door to the unit, as if I had manipulated everyone into believing I was ill. “You can’t keep doing this.”

As the doors closed, I whispered one thing.

“Yes, I can.”

Those words were personal to me. I knew the power of words – my whole career and life had been built upon words and rhetoric. I knew how other people could twist my words and make them into something I didn’t mean. I knew how they could be ignored. I knew how they could do something greater than what humans could ever imagine.

Yes. I. Can.

The words rang inside me like a bell, racing like my heart.

Yes. I. Can.

And I’d vocalized it.

Yes. I. Can.

As the NHL and PWHL regular seasons begin to wrap up, there’s a lingering question in the world of hockey — what next?

And as hockey culture, particularly in the men’s game, has found itself under rightful scrutiny yet again, there’s another lingering question — what do we do about it?

Like many of you, I’ve spent the past month contemplating my relationship to hockey, my special interest, the thing that makes my nights worth staying awake for and brings me immense joy, alongside deep pain, anger, and sadness.

While one book club can’t change decades worth of harm that continues to be perpetuated by hockey culture, especially towards women and people of color, we can try and change things on a smaller scale — growing more education and awareness of what hockey culture is, with personal stories written in literary form on how it affects everyone involved in the game.

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HOW IT WORKS

Once every month, I will choose a book that focuses on a specific issue within hockey, and the Substack chat will discuss it live together — questions, comments, everything related to the book, in real time. At the end of the month, I’ll post a review on here, with a list of discussion questions to be discussed in the comment section.

The book club will be free starting out, but eventually, will be limited to paid Hockey in Heels subscribers only.

The book club will go on pause during the NHL and PWHL regular season, because everyone involved has lives away from the game (such as my return to college in the fall), and there’s only so many books to go around.

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MARCH + APRIL’S BOOK IS…

Finding Murph by Rick Westhead!

Finding Murph is the story of Joe Murphy, an NHL journeyman — a first-overall pick, a Stanley Cup winner —, who became homeless in Ontario after his playing career ended. This book, a case study and investigative reporting at the same time, explores why.

The Substack chat is now open to discuss the book! Please mark [SPOILERS], as not everyone is on the same pace with reading.

At the end of April, my review will go up, and the comment section will be ready for the full discussion.

Happy reading!

Love,

Kat

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CONTENT WARNING: This piece contains depictions of disordered eating and a mention of suicidal ideation.

THE BEGINNING

NEARLY TWO YEARS AGO, I WROTE A PIECE ABOUT MY FAVORITE NHL PLAYER.

It was for another outlet, a place I worked at the time as a Columbus Blue Jackets beat writer. I was twenty years old at the time, less than a year removed from my first hospitalization for my mental health.

It was called Patrik Laine, The Humanity of Hockey, and Me. You might’ve read it when it was first released in The Outlet (the name I have for that workplace, to make the memories in my mind less scary). You might’ve read it again when I re-released it on my blog years later, trying to re-claim control over the narrative.

It was the first piece I’d ever written that went viral. It got thousands of views across social media, what felt like endless quote-tweets, and DMs from people I admire in the hockey media space telling me, “I’m proud of you.” One of my favorite people on the planet, Morgan, bought me a Cameo of Laine himself telling me to keep up the good work.

But at the core of it, that piece was about an undiagnosed autistic girl trying to connect with the world that didn’t understand her. A world that she herself barely understood, trying to make sense of hypermasculinity and mental health stigma (she knew that world well) and a league that seems to always fall on its face when it comes to doing the next Right Thing. Trying to make sense of why a player she enjoyed was at the center of a media firestorm when he himself couldn’t comment on it directly. To me, it was deeply unfair, and it felt morally wrong to see so many media members I once respected tune into the worst show on earth.

I knew then at the time how little Patrik Laine and I had in common. His height is listed at six-foot-four on Google, and I barely stand at five-foot-three. His job is hockey, and my job is writing (and academia). He’s Finnish, I’m American.

None of that mattered when I dug deep. In the autism world, a lot of people (particularly autistic girls and women) find small talk physically painful. The deep stuff, like a sea diver in the depths of the ocean, where everything is vast and wide and goes on for generations; is where things begin to feel real and safe and good.

When I dove deep into all the narratives that surrounded Laine at the time, I had my story right then and there. A story of a prodigy. A story of someone who had grown up in the public eye – just as I was doing. A story that wasn’t really about Patrik Laine at all, but was about countless people put under a spotlight for being really great at something. About the impact all those expectations have on someone’s mental health and well-being.

At the time, I was a beat reporter. I focused on things that were safe – objective facts, like hockey statistics and scores. Away from the rink, before I dropped out of college (and am now working my way back) because my brain no longer felt safe to live in; facts about the life and work of Sylvia Plath soothed me. Objectivity and safety felt safe rather than all of the unknowns. John Green once wrote “I go to seek a great perhaps”, and I’m the opposite of that. I go to seek a great comfort, often ledged in sameness.

Diving into my rich, complex, devastating, emotional world – a world I didn’t know anyone else shared – was something I didn’t know was possible.

My boss at The Outlet, an emotionally abusive man who didn’t see me – or any woman – as a person, wanted me to write a follow-up piece when Laine scored his first hat trick in Montreal Canadiens colors in December 2024, after he and his wife Jordan had started a mental health foundation, From Us To You, encouraging people across the wide spectrum of humanity to share their stories and de-stigmatize mental health. I saw, in real time, the great work the organization was doing. My boss had received an email from someone in Montreal about the piece and how it inspired them, how whenever they watched Laine play, they saw what I did. My kindness, the email said, was making a difference in the world, and I should be very proud of that.

“He found a home”, my boss said. “You should write a follow-up about it.”

“Absolutely not”, was my response. I knew the consequences of my “no”, that my next piece would be delayed as a way to make me look bad, to “punish” me. I didn’t care. It felt wrong, and if I’m good at anything, it’s a clear sense of “right” and “wrong.”

By then, I knew the cruel nature of the sports world to swoop players up in trades mid-season. I knew that anything could happen, with injuries or instability.

The truth was, I knew what my boss wanted. He wanted another piece from the depths of my soul about how Laine – and by extension, me – had “found a home”, like we were rescued animals rather than real, complicated human beings. As if my vulnerability and earnestness and sensitivity were things I could turn on and off like a light switch. I used to hate that about myself. (With the benefit of safety and therapy, I’ve learned how to be neutral about it. I love it these days.)

“Every time they break, it entertains us. And when you shine a light on them, it’s this glittering, fascinating thing, but then, a lot of the time, when the spotlight isn’t on them, they’re still there, up on a pedestal, and no one is watching them”, Taylor Swift said about her song mirrorball in a Disney documentary about her 2020 album, Folklore.

Swift’s longtime collaborator, Jack Antonoff, chimed in. “It’s a myth we love, and we create it for people. Do the broken thing. Make it fun. Now make it sad. Now make it cool. Now make it sad.”

Swift added on. “When the light’s off, be okay.”

That was what life at The Outlet was like.

That was what being undiagnosed felt like.

That was what I wondered if Laine ever felt, performing in front of thousands of people every night. I wondered if anyone else had felt like a circus performer, delicately walking a tightrope between being okay and not okay, between being a person and not a person. As cliche as it sounded, I felt like I was living the Pagliacci joke, the sad clown paradox. “Heard joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says, ‘Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up.’ Man bursts into tears. Says, ‘But doctor…I am Pagliacci.’”

THE FIRST TIME

THE FIRST TIME PATRIK LAINE GOT TRADED IN MY HOCKEY FANDOM, it was August 19, 2024. I had just moved into my sophomore year dorm room at the first college I attended. Raleigh, North Carolina.

It was about a month after Patrik Laine, The Humanity of Hockey, and Me had been released. I was still hearing about it, deeply overwhelmed at the reception it got. I think my boss was, too. A wave of new writers at The Outlet had arrived, with many of them hearing about the site from that piece.

A piece of me still carries that guilt.

It was sunny outside, and I was cozying up in my dorm room – my bed neatly made, lavender comforter tucked up nicely on the bed, stuffed animals and pillows lined up, sitting at my desk with my laptop, wearing my newest jersey.

It was a Union blue, Columbus Blue Jackets, new Patrik Laine jersey. It still hangs up in my bedroom today. Small patches of the Jackets’ infamous cannon in white and navy sit evenly on each side. The front looks like any other Columbus jersey.

I bought it for the back. In unique formatting reads “LAINE: 29” in white, outlined in red.

It was a reminder to myself that if I was open and honest (in AA language, because I had made my first attempt at quitting drinking right around that same time), I could do anything.

At the time, I didn’t know about the concept of masking. Masking, in the autism world, is the act of pretending to be neurotypical, of hiding all of your autistic traits for survival and safety. It is not an intentional act of deception, but rather, a subconscious learned behavior that stems from the trauma of existing as an autistic person in a neurotypical world.

My good friend Lev calls it “the amber halo”, like a forcefield that surrounds you.

“It’s not something I put up in front of myself – it surrounds me; it’s a shell. Sometimes, I don’t notice it. Sometimes, the light catches in just the right way and I notice the mesh or the sepia tones. Sometimes, I’m too aware of the way it filters my vision, and I wish I could tear it down forever – I don’t see anyone else with an amber halo, so why do I have to have one? Regardless, it’s always there”, they wrote.

Whatever the correct term is, whatever it is in my head that I don’t know how to name, it was always there. I didn’t know me. I knew the version of me that everyone wanted to see – the good Kat, the nice Kat, the Kat who never says no and does it with a smile, the Kat who flirts with boys she doesn’t like and gets a college degree in four years and never changes her major and stays as thin as she possibly can and doesn’t fidget or have panic attacks in public and cries when everyone is asleep –, but I didn’t know the Real Me. At all. I didn’t know if she ever existed at all, if she was a fragment of my imagination that was left behind in Westerville, Ohio, once she learned it wasn’t socially acceptable anymore to love stuffed animals and Disney princesses and sucking on her fingers and rocking back and forth.

That jersey was one of the first steps I took to uncover the Real Me, even if I didn’t know it at the time.

At 3:34pm on August 19, 2024, Elliotte Friedman, a man who haunts all of my hockey dreams, tweeted, “Hearing today there is traction between Columbus and Montreal on a Patrik Laine trade.”

Seventeen minutes later, Friedman tweeted, “Patrik Laine is a Montreal Canadien.”

I sunk into the floor as my phone exploded with WELLNESS CHECKS and HOLY SHITS and Twitter mentions ringing off the hook. Empty words of comfort rang hollow, because they were soulless. It sounds stupid and juvenile, but it hurt in a way I can’t describe. It hurt in a way that Panic! At The Disco’s split did when I was fourteen. It hurt in a way that you know that it’s for the best, but there’s a whole process of grief you have to experience first before you get there.

I felt a little bit better about the trade as the sun set and Montreal GM Kent Hughes held a virtual press conference.

But I had to be sad first. I had to sink into my floor and silently weep, reassuring myself it was for the best, that I wanted all the best things for my favorite player who had experienced very similar things to me. I wanted him to feel joy in the game again. I wanted myself to feel joy in the game again.

And then, I went for dinner, treated myself to soft-serve ice cream with Oreos on top; and told myself the sun would still rise tomorrow.

When he got hurt in a meaningless preseason game a few short weeks later, I sobbed, much more loudly, to the extent that my RA next door knocked on the door and told me I needed to stop.

When the news broke that it wasn’t an ACL or an MCL or anything that would be season-ending, I audibly sighed with relief.

When he returned in December 2024, I was at an internship at my college’s counseling center when the news broke. My notifications were ringing off the hook, and I squealed with excitement internally. I tuned in for his first game back, wearing my jersey over my pajamas in my dorm room.

But this piece isn’t about Patrik Laine, who will likely be moved from the Habs at the deadline in seven days (according to every NHL insider), as much as it’s about me, and as much as it’s about you. You, dear reader, clicked on this piece for a reason. Maybe, like me, you’re autistic, and changes and transitions are especially hard for you like they are for me. Maybe, like me, you don’t talk about your favorite hockey player, because you know you’ll be ridiculed. Called crazy or fat bitch or puck bunny or non-puck-knower or other misogynistic names. Knowing your favorite player is likely to be moved, isn’t a statistical darling, but dammit, you feel that connection anyway. Maybe it’s a connection to the Real You, like it was a connection to the Real Me.

STEP ONE: CRY

It sounds like the most miniscule thing ever, especially if you bury your emotions deep inside of you or have alexithymia, like I do. Maybe you try to rationalize your feelings away (also like I do).

Inherently, emotions are a reminder that you, as a human being, are Real. There’s a scene in a children’s story called The Velveteen Rabbit that I find myself coming back to around this time of year. Around late June and early July, when the North Carolina sun beats itself down on me and I drink endless homemade Caribbean Way smoothies and find myself melting down in bathrooms because my body can’t regulate temperature.

“‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’

‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.

‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’

‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’

‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.’”

You, dear reader, are Real, and a part of being Real is having Big Feelings. (I hate that term, but it’s the best thing I can think of to describe the overwhelming emotional experience that happens when your favorite player gets traded.) A part of being Real is allowing yourself to actually feel those things, even if you can’t identify what they are. You can hate every minute of it, but emotions have to be felt.

Find your favorite stuffed animal from childhood (mine are long gone, and I look for Winter and Hope the dolphins on Ebay often), wrap your body around theirs, and allow yourself to cry. To be angry. To feel all the awfulness that comes with change.

I used to rationalize my feelings away, because I couldn’t identify them or found them to be stupid and pointless; especially at the trade deadline. I used to claim I didn’t feel feelings. My job as a beat reporter didn’t allow me to. And while that’s true to a certain extent, I didn’t allow myself to feel those feelings until the universe inevitably forced me to, where a friend would tell me about her favorite player leaving in free agency or I’d be stuck in traffic or I didn’t have strawberries for my smoothie and burst into tears randomly.

It wasn’t emotional instability or craziness like I’d assumed. It was a side effect of being Real.

Let yourself be Real, terrible side effects and all.

STEP TWO: BINGE-WATCH HIGHLIGHTS. BREATHE IN. BREATHE OUT.

When Laine was traded to Montreal, I found myself reverting to YouTube highlights of his shot.

If you’ve never seen a Patrik Laine shot, it’s a thing of beauty. They tend to start in the same way – in the left faceoff circle, and before your eyes can truly process what’s happening, the puck is fired so quickly, with deep intensity you swear you can hear the slap, and it lands in the back of the net.

In a Finnish interview, the shot was broken down. “A shot always happens in relation to the goalie, who prepares based on the shooter’s positioning. Where is he looking? How are his feet, how are his hands positioned? When the puck is in the air, all the goalie can do is hope he read it correctly… The puck comes towards Laine, and the goalie prepares. Then Laine switches up the angle of the shot right as it leaves his stick, on average about 80 miles per hour. The goalie has no chance to react. Everything happens in fractions of a second. The muscles do the work, but the magic happens inside Laine’s head. He just knows what he is doing.”

In order to be a great goal-scorer, you have to be clever. You have to be repetitive. You have to be monotone, to see the beauty in doing the same things a million times over and over again. I don’t know whether I don’t know people enough or if I know them too much; but what I do know is that most people don’t have the mental capacity to do the same thing over and over again. Most people seem to crave spontaneity, change, novelty.

And that’s what makes it so special.

After that trade, from Columbus to Montreal, I found myself watching highlights often, relieving simpler times. We were both younger then, doing things our own way: Laine with his job as a hockey player, me with my job as an annoying college student notorious among the English department.

With those highlights, I felt like I could breathe again. Knowing that something would stay the same – that shot, oh my God, that shot.

It’s weird. Normally, I can’t stand highlights like that. If you ask me to pick between Sidney Crosby and Alexander Ovechkin (who Laine has said in interviews like on the Spittin’ Chiclets podcast), I’d choose Crosby in a heartbeat.

Something about that shot was different in my mind.

This is what the Internet was created for, I thought to myself as I watched the same highlights over and over again. For lonely girls to watch hockey highlights while doing their communications homework, fighting off executive dysfunction hell; even though it’ll come sooner rather than later.

Eventually, my breaths turned from hyperventilating to softer, gentler breaths. Breaths that sat easier in my diaphragm. One day at a time. One day at a time. One day at a time.

Watch the highlights. Feel all the feels. Remember everything good about those memories – because really, it’s not about the shot or the goal or the moment itself. It’s about how you felt witnessing it. Where you were. Who you were with. What it meant to be a human full of love and light in that moment. Take a deep breath. Hold it. Release it. And do it again and again, until your body seems to physically hurt less.

STEP THREE: SHAKE IT OUT

In the autism world, stimming is defined as “repetitive physical movements, sounds, or actions, common in autistic individuals to regulate emotions, sensory input, and stress.”

For years, I thought I didn’t stim. When I was fourteen, I was told by a psychologist that I was so close to being autistic, that I would’ve been diagnosed then… if only I had stimmed in front of her. If only I had been like her toddler son on the spectrum.

(It would take another seven years, two major mental health crises, and a long list of traumatic events before I got diagnosed, but that’s a different story for a different blog.)

For years, I thought I hated my body. I live with disordered eating, and if there’s one thing I hate in life, it’s going to the gym. I hate the sensory sensation of sweating. I hate all the noise. I hate the overhead lights that make my eyelids feel like they’re about to burst out of my skull.

You may wonder how these two things are connected, what I’m even talking about. My disordered eating, especially in my teenage years, well before I discovered alcohol, ruled my life. It was another way of masking, a way of trying to hide the amber halo. If I was as thin as possible, I could hide better, camouflage better, look the part of normalcy. I could be a Normal Girl, and that’s everything I’d ever wanted.

So I went on the pro-anorexia sites and did a million Victoria’s Secret Angel crash diets and did Weight Watchers with my mother and did everything except move my body.

My body, I felt, was a shameful thing, so why should I treat it with kindness?

But like your brain, you can’t shame your body into what you want it to be.

For the current variation of me, my way of moving isn’t a workout. It’s stimming. Some days, I lock my bedroom door, put my headphones on, and stim to my heart’s content to pop music. I let myself dance awkwardly, no matter how ashamed I am of it. I don’t dance in the way I did when I was a child, in a purple tutu, performing for someone else. I do it for me and all the variations of myself, grateful that the door is locked and my Laine jerseys cover up my mirror.

Sometimes, I just walk in circles around my bedroom, if I need a little more quiet.

As Tove Lo plays in my headphones, I shut my eyes and let myself flap my hands, a common stim, one I almost never do (and did not do as a child), but damn, does it feel good.

I can’t help but think of one of my favorite songs, “Shake It Out” by Florence + The Machine.

“But it’s always darkest before the dawn

Shake it out, shake it out

Shake it out, shake it out, oh-whoa

Shake it out, shake it out

Shake it out, shake it out, oh-whoa

And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back, so shake him off…”

Shake it all out. Shake whatever part of your body feels the most natural for you, and shake out whatever devil lies upon your back (the trade deadline). All that uncertainty builds up over time. Let it go. Shake it out.

STEP FOUR: RINSE AND REPEAT

Eventually, with time, with lots of deliberations with my therapists; things begin to make sense again. In his young adult novel Turtles All The Way Down, (my favorite non-Plath author) John Green wrote, “Your now is not your forever.”

Despite how that quote is about OCD, I use it all the time for my own self. For my depression and C-PTSD, things that have gotten easier as I’ve learned new coping skills. For my meltdowns that inevitably happen because I’m an autistic human who pushes herself past her limits too often, but I know now how to give myself more grace for these things. For the careers of my favorite hockey players when they’re in slumps or are changing teams, all things I cannot control, but desperately wish I did; just so everything would be okay.

I ordered a sticker off of Redbubble recently with that phrase, in white bubble text on the orange abstract of a turtle.

Your now is not your forever.

I’ve come a long way since I wrote Patrik Laine, The Humanity of Hockey, and Me. Now, my brain is accustomed to seeing Laine in Montreal Canadiens colors, rather than Columbus Blue Jackets ones. I focus more on the PWHL these days, but I still follow the NHL to see how my original blorbos are doing – Martin Nečas, my first ever favorite player. He doesn’t play in Raleigh anymore. Neither do I. He went to Colorado in a blockbuster trade for Taylor Hall and Mikko Rantanen, and I moved back to my hometown. He signed an eight-year deal to stay in Denver, and I recently went back to my old college and hated almost every minute of it. Nečas outgrew Raleigh, and I outgrew Raleigh, too.

Evgeny Kuznetsov, a player I wished could’ve stayed in Raleigh forever. But the universe has a tendency to laugh in your face, often for something better. He, like me, went back home, except instead of a town in North Carolina, it’s a city in Russia to play for the KHL. I hope he’s happy. I know I am, although I also know that happiness is a bit of a social construct built to keep other people comfortable. In reality, happiness edges and flows, with the concept of it being impossible and deeply unhealthy to maintain all the time.

I hope he feels like I feel now. At peace.

Patrik Laine, the player who means the most to me on a personal level, but not in a weird, parasocial way. The player whose journey has aligned with mine. The player I did one of my first deep dives on, and left it a better reporter, a better writer, a better human being. A player I loved not for what he could do on the ice, but what he did off-the-ice with charity work and From Us To You. Doing something brave yet probably a little terrifying – de-stigmatizing something is never not anxiety-inducing, in a way –, but knowing it’s for something greater than yourself.

That’s a legacy.

I don’t think about my own mortality or legacy anymore. When I was still working at The Outlet, I thought about it a lot, promptly followed by thoughts of my death, because the culture stressed me to that point.

Now, I don’t think about it at all. I write when I have things to say, rather than spewing out nonsense that someone above me wanted me to discuss. I live my life rather than analyzing it at every move, even though it’s really hard not to.

My brain will go through a smaller version this week of the same process it did in 2024, when Laine was traded to the Canadiens. I can’t anticipate yet how I’ll respond, though I know that therapy has helped a ton in understanding and processing my experiences, just as writing about them does. I don’t think I’ll be as upset as I was back in 2024, because your now is not your forever.

Everything comes to an end eventually. My Blue Jackets fandom came to a massive pause this past week, and I don’t know if it’ll be the same ever again; and I’m okay with that. People live, and people die. People come, and people go. Little snapshots in the bigger picture we call life.

In pure Carrie Bradshaw fashion, I couldn’t help but ask myself more questions.

Is this about him or is it about me?

What am I holding onto?

What do I hope to get out of this?

The thing is, I don’t hope to get anything except a few happy brain chemicals out of my fandom. I’m at a point in my life, and I’ve been at this point for quite some time, where I follow players rather than teams. I root for the people behind hockey, not the organizations taking millions of dollars.

I’m holding onto a variation of me that finds safety and joy out of hockey, who tries her damn best to fix things even when it feels impossible, to make the game better for the next weird girl who comes along and finds herself in my black heels.

I know I’m going to watch the new team where Laine ends up. I know I’m going to still cheer when he scores a goal or gets an assist, does something on the ice that only he can.

For now, I’m just going to repeat the cycle I told you about, this time, with more laughter, with more homemade strawberry-banana smoothies, with less pressure to be someone I’m not.

And I’ll be just fine.

And all I can do is hope for the best.

;

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Special interests are highly focused interests common in autistic people. They are more intense than typical interests, such as hobbies, and may take up much of a person’s free time. A person with a special interest will often hyperfocus on their special interest for hours, want to learn as much as possible on the topic, collect related items, and incorporate their special interest into play and art.

– “Special interest (autism)”, Wikipedia.

Content warning: This article contains mentions of sexual assault and suicidal ideation.

DAY 0

Something feels… off.

You can’t pinpoint it. You can’t pinpoint much of anything these days, it feels like. You try to sleep it off. Bad loss, you think. Stupid goal. Stupid medal. You try your damned best to forget that the moment ever existed, that things will be back to normal tomorrow, when you wake up.

The rest of the day still feels terrible. You question if it’s the loss, if it’s sugar, if you took your antidepressants today.

You wake up again at two in the morning. You check Twitter. You see videos from inside the locker room, videos that feel like a fever dream. The laughter hasn’t become public yet, but by the time you wake up again tomorrow, it will be, and your whole world will be flipped upside down again.

You lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling.

Then you mindlessly, hopelessly, pray to nothing about nothing.

DAY 1

By nine, the laughter rings in your ears. You make yourself oatmeal, a comfort meal since you were a kid. One of the few things that remains certain from that age. One cup of milk, one and a half cups of oats, half a spoonful of brown sugar, a few pumps of cinnamon. Strawberries on top.

By ten, you’re back in bed. Your pink covers and cream weighted blanket, fifteen pounds, tries to consume you.

You give in.

What’s the point of fighting it anyway?

“Indelible in the hippocampus is the laughter, the uproarious laughter between the two men, and their having fun at my expense”, Christine Blasey Ford stated when giving testimony about her sexual assault in front of the United States Congress in 2018.

Indelible in the hippocampus is the laughter.

Time slips through your fingers. You can’t get out of bed.

By two, you send a message on a public platform, your blogging name on it. Hockey in Heels: Autistic folks, what to do when your special interest betrays you?

The real thing is longer than that. Tears threaten to overflow.

It goes viral, with thousands of people, autistic and not, leaving comments and likes. Neil Gaiman and Harry Potter fixations flood your mentions. Suggestions to “just watch women’s hockey”, as if you don’t already do that. Why can’t you just change this hyperfixation and sending virtual hugs and it happened to me and it felt like a death and grief is the price of love and better things are ahead.

And the worst ones start to come in at that time. No one gives a damn what you have to say and men’s hockey is trash, the culture is horrible, how did you not already know and you ignored the culture for your own selfish gain and the most hurtful, believe women, as if you weren’t sexually assaulted when you were sixteen and left with six years worth of nightmares over it. As if you hadn’t spent your entire career advocating for women. As if you’d ever been allowed to speak freely in your entire life.

As if you’d committed a horrible crime rather than seeking help.

You remember being put in the back of a police car after going to the hospital. I want to die, you’d said.

The tears come, and they last for what feels like days. You silently wail, and you remember what it feels like to be a child again.

DAY 2

It’s like Groundhog Day, but the routine soothes you. Up at nine, making oatmeal by nine o’five. Like any other day.

You feel numb today. Your muscles are tight, your eyes feel heavy, your body feels like it doesn’t want to be. By now, the whole world has seen the laughter, and everyone has a take on it, most of which share your pain and rage; but are blissfully uninformed.

Nine thirty. Oatmeal is done, medication in your system, the Cymbalta and Abilify you imagine flows through your internal systems like a river before being broken down.

Like the echo of your fault that haunts you even now, whether from your assault or from your failed friendships or those closest to you can’t stop getting hurt because of you; a new song enters your mind.

Complicit. Complicit. Complicit.

Clearly, you handle criticism very well.

Maybe you’re the problem. Maybe you’re the reason the culture surrounding your special interest is so rotted. Maybe you’re the reason everyone hates you. Maybe you’re the reason everything sucks. Maybe you’re just a terrible fucking person.

You go back to bed, and just aimlessly lay there, fully shut down.

DAY 3

Ten a.m., and you can’t shower. You can’t bring yourself to. The exhaustion has already set in, and you’re not sure if it’s because of your genetics, chronic fatigue, or the great loss you’ve experienced.

You think back to when your dog died last winter. You were in college then, two hours away then, perfectly functional then (when your job didn’t have you breaking down every morning then). You remember the moment vividly. Taylor Swift’s folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions played on your television as you dried your hair, trying to not scream at the sound of the hairdryer; because normal girls don’t have meltdowns over the sound of a hairdryer. One moment, he was here, and the next, your parents were holding him on FaceTime as you whispered your goodbyes. You can’t pet something through a screen. You just hopelessly watch, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You tweet again about the incident. The one that’s ruined everything surrounding your safe place. The one place you could escape. People keep tagging you in videos surrounding it. You cannot escape any longer.

Complicit. Complicit. Complicit.

It explodes again. You turn off your comments this time. Viral on two different platforms in two days, a new record.

Complicit. Complicit. Complicit.

DAY 4

You channel your anger into action. You post nonstop on social media, refusing to let things die down like they did before. You rage-bake a chocolate cake, but you are too fatigued to make icing. A loved one says they were just drunk, and you nearly launch the plate at their heads, hypothetically.

Women start to speak up. Hilary Knight says, “Now I have to sit in front of you and explain someone else’s behavior. It’s not my responsibility.”

You start to speak up a little more, despite your hands shaking. Indelible in the hippocampus is the laughter. A new memory arrives a minute of every time a man has ever disrespected you, laughed at you, hurt you and liked it. Savoured in it. Relished in it.

You remember the boys at school who mocked you once they hit puberty. Who meowed at you and said here kitty kitty and pussycat, thinking they were clever. Who told you to jump up and down, knowing you didn’t understand hidden innuendo at that time. You grew up evangelical Christian, after all, and that kind of sexuality was a sin. You remember the church preaching that you were responsible for lustful thoughts in the men, preached by the men. It’s not my responsibility. You remember your first boyfriend, who abused you before sexually assaulting you at school. You remember men laughing during stories of sexual violence in English literature texts, during women’s suicide attempts in those stories. You remember hearing a new story from a new girl at school about how a man had hurt her, and everyone else but you found it funny. You remember the two girls in your eighth grade graduating class who were pregnant, and the fathers were much older than us; and everyone mocked the girls. You remember all the men who rolled down their windows to yell something vulgar, the men who stared, the men who did nothing. The men who asked well, what did you do to deserve it. The men who downplayed it all. You remember your boss, who coerced you into opening up about your abuse story to him, and held it over your head at any opportunity he could. Who put you on “mental health leave” for the crime of being abused. Who let other men at work say misogynistic things to you, such as you’re too stupid to write this, you’re not Canadian. Who sent a man who you filed an HR report on to your hometown when you couldn’t go because you were too busy trying to get someone to believe your neurodivergence. Who tormented you to the extent of a mental breakdown that sent you to the hospital.

And he was touted around like a fucking leader of progressiveness.

So you talk. And you talk. And you talk, but listen more.

Complicit. Complicit. Complicit.

DAY 5

You go out to lunch and then to therapy. Your lunch is a fast-food chain of rice, beans, chicken, cheese, lettuce, and sour cream. You wonder what else to do. Your therapist hands you a worksheet of activities to fill out surrounding your special interests and asks how you’re handling everything.

You spend the whole hour talking about it. You talk, and you talk, and you talk. Your therapist tells you that you’re handling it well, all things considered. She says she wouldn’t blame you if you melted down every day, because your autistic brain is taking in a realm of information that shouldn’t have to be processed. You can love something and want better for it.

DAY 6

You try to avoid the world. You spend the day with your grandmother, but the world inevitably leaks back in once you open your phone. You want to burn it. Throw it into a lake. Smash it with a hammer. You crave connection too much to do any of these things.

You wonder if grief is the price of love as the rain pours.

You wonder if you ever belonged in your safe haven.

You wonder a lot of things.

All you know is that it’s your responsibility to fix it.

Things in Jacketsland are going pretty well, if you ask around.

Just the eye test alone proves that the Blue Jackets are on an upward swing. Under new head coach Rick Bowness, the team is 10-1-0 and on a seven-game win streak.

But the work isn’t done yet, not according to Bowness.

There’s still a playoff spot to be made.

According to MoneyPuck, the Blue Jackets have a 52% of making the postseason. Returning from the Olympic break, the Jackets play the Boston Bruins and New York Islanders, who are their primary competition for the second wildcard spot in the Eastern Conference.

Defenseman Zach Werenski and goaltender Elvis Merzlikins are off to Milan, representing Team USA and Team Latvia. These two teams face off on February 12 at 3:00pm EST on Peacock in the United States. Werenski is expected to play, Merzlikins is TBD due to Latvia’s goaltending rotation — he’s fighting for a spot against Artūrs Šilovs and Kristers Gudļevskis, but he was one of the first six announced for Team Latvia back in the offseason. (Remember those days?)

Hockey in Heels will have a recap of that game, as it is practically a Blue Jackets game. Just with a lot less Blue Jackets players on the roster. But still.

MONTHLY MAILBAG: FEBRUARY

What are the top five hockey books you’ve read and recommend to others? —

This is a phenomenal question, and as both a literary and hockey nerd, a question I love. (I also have an exciting new project launching soon about hockey and books… stay tuned, especially this offseason.)

1.) A Matter of Inches by Clint Malarchuk

I think every hockey fan knows Malarchuk’s name. This book goes beyond the sensationalist headlines about his 1989 accident, where he nearly died due to a skate to the neck, and into a very vivid image of mental illness, life after hockey, and the inner workings of a goaltender. This book is raw, unflinching, and very, very, very honest.

Malarchuk’s story (I highly recommend his Players’ Tribune article from 2018) has resonated deeply with me as someone else who also deals with mental health stuff, particularly PTSD. I first bought this book after getting out of a mental health-induced hospitalization in 2023, and it was a huge part in my recovery, letting me know I wasn’t alone.

(Note: This book is called The Crazy Game in Canada.)

2.) Boy on Ice by John Branch

I recommend everyone in hockey reads this one. This book is a biography of Derek Boogaard, who was one of the NHL’s top enforcers throughout the 2000s. During his NHL career, at the age of 27, Boogaard died of an accidental overdose. This book tracks the life of Boogaard, from being a child on Canada’s ice rinks, to his days playing junior hockey, to his ECHL and eventually NHL career. It’s a slow buildup of a variety of emotions, but mostly the ones you’d prefer to keep bottled inside of you.

I don’t have enough amazing things to say about this book. My copy of it is absolutely trashed — highlighted, sticky notes everywhere with my notes, et cetera — and for good reason. It’s a heartbreaking read, even if you know the Derek Boogaard story, but incredibly important.

3.) Finding Murph by Rick Westhead

This one is in the same vein as Boy on Ice. I love books written by journalists, and this book most definitely fits that bill — Rick Westhead is arguably the best investigative reporter working in hockey today. I don’t have enough positive things to say about his work. (We Breed Lions is on my TBR list.)

How does a college hockey star, former first overall pick, and Stanley Cup winner end up unhoused? This is the question Finding Murph aims to answer, and it does it incredibly well.

This book infuriated and fascinated me. Joe Murphy was let down so many times over, just like Derek Boogaard, just like countless other hockey players and athletes. These book raises more questions than it does answers, particularly about the role of the NHL in CTE and head trauma.

4.) The Game by Ken Dryden

Is it really a list of hockey books if I don’t include some Ken Dryden?

The Game is another book by a goalie. (I think more goalies should write books — their perspective on the game is fascinating to me.) This book is Dryden’s perspective on his final season with the 1978-1979 Montreal Canadiens, a team that would (spoiler) win the Stanley Cup. It sounds boring, but it’s absolutely not. This book dives into Dryden’s inner workings, both as a human and as a goalie, and it’s absolutely breathtaking to read.

5.) Chill Factor by Dr. David Paitson and Craig Merz

This is one of the books I’m currently reading (alongside Push Off From Here by Laura McKowen and Cake Eater by Carl Radke). I just started it. It’s a memoir from the perspective of Paitson, who was the Columbus Chill’s team president and GM, about the Columbus Chill’s founding to their eventual end as the Blue Jackets arrived to town, mainly because of the success of the Chill. This book is a perfect look into small market hockey teams and how they can successfully work in nontraditional areas — for the Chill, marketing played a major role in it. I can’t wait to talk more about this book once I’m finished with it, but I highly recommend it for Blue Jackets fans, fans of small market, down-on-their-luck franchises, or people interested in how minor league hockey works.

Hi, I’m Kat, and welcome back to Jackets!

How things have changed since the last time a recap hit the timeline! Since October, the Jackets have blown leads, acquired Mason Marchment from the Seattle Kraken, blown more leads, sent Marchment, Miles Wood, Isac Lundeström, and Brendan Smith to the IR with a wide variety of injuries; blown more leads, fired Dean Evason, hired Rick Bowness for the remainder of the 2025-2026 season in order for a playoff push, and have gone on a win streak.

That’s a lot, right?

Let’s digest it.

WELCOME TO COLUMBUS, BONES.

Rick Bowness, best known as the former bench boss of the Winnipeg Jets, has arrived to Columbus with a bang on January 12. In his first press conference (which you can watch here), he started with a grand reveal: he was on a boat when Blue Jackets GM Don Waddell called to ask about the Columbus job.

Within five seconds, according to Waddell, Bowness said yes.

Throughout the presser, themes of accountability and structure echoed, particularly after an embarrassing Pittsburgh loss that led to the firing of Evason and Steve McCarthy. First things Bowness wanted to address? Goals against, the rush against, shots against, puck management, and the disastrous penalty kill, which has plagued the Blue Jackets all season. Alongside those, Bowness pressed the Jackets to be “a little nastier”, and players that “their job is to help the team win.”

“This isn’t the 80s”, Bowness said. “You don’t score your way into the playoffs. You defend your way into the playoffs.”

Re-committing the team defensively to the postseason was another common goal, Bowness said, describing himself as a “pressure coach.” As for helping players get re-committed, particularly the team’s youth, Bowness stated he would “spend a lot of time with them… get to know them, know what makes them tick.”

As for a message to the devoted Fifth Line, Bowness’s message was as follows:

“I’ve loved coming into this rink since the day [the Blue Jackets] came into the league... I know they have a very passionate fanbase, which we all love. What we want them to see -- there’s going to be mistakes.... -- we want them to see a team committed to each other and playing as hard as they possibly can for each other, and when you're doing that, you're playing for the fans as well.”

“You want to work with good people”, Bowness stated. “But you also want to have a chance to win.”

ON FIRE

Columbus, OH | 5-3, Columbus Blue Jackets

Despite the on-ice results, there is a permanent alliance between the Calgary Flames and Columbus Blue Jackets, in honor of the late, great, Johnny Gaudreau.

The Gaudreau family were the guests of honor for both teams, with Meredith Gaudreau and her children being the cannon lighters for the game. Both teams maintain the idea to “love the game that John loved”. Calgary/Columbus games go beyond the game of hockey. They are a tribute to a man who loved the game of hockey and family, a man remembered for a kind heart and good nature.

Adding to the injury report, the Blue Jackets played without defensemen Denton Mateychuk (upper-body), and Damon Severson (illness).

13,385 fans packed into Nationwide Arena for the debut of Bowness, and it did not disappoint. The Jackets looked more alive than they had since the beginning of the season — defensively nimble, keeping the puck away from goaltender Jet Greaves, who, prior to that evening’s game, had played 16 out of the last 18 Blue Jackets games.

At just 3:57, Blue Jackets defenseman Dante Fabbro scored the night’s first goal, getting past Flames goaltender Dustin Wolf, putting the Jackets ahead 1-0. As the cannon fired, the much-beloved Cannon Crew honored Gaudreau by holding up his number 13 up on their hands.

The Blue Jackets, when they were in their offensive zone in the first, capitalized as much as they could. Shots hit the post. Wolf stopped shots, or shots were blocked by other members of the Flames. And all of it worked out.

Ten minutes after the Fabbro goal, Charlie Coyle, who already had an assist on the evening, Dmitri Voronkov cleverly passed the puck to the right, in front of Jake Christiansen, and Coyle buried it past Wolf; putting the Jackets up 2-0.

The second period was penalties galore.

At 2:14, the Blue Jackets went on the powerplay after Brayden Pachal tripped Adam Fantilli. The Jackets failed to capitalize on it, alongside the other man advantage they’d take in the period. But it would soon be forgotten, despite making shots on Wolf — after the powerplay, the Jackets had 12 shots on goal in the period to the Flames’ 2.

Seven minutes later, a traditional scrum broke out behind the Calgary net. Now-Vegas Golden Knight Rasmus Andersson and Blue Jackets captain Boone Jenner dropped the gloves in the midst of it (they started said scrum), and each took a five-minute penalty for fighting. Jenner is not a fighter — in a twelve-year career, Jenner has only had fifteen fights, according to HockeyFights.com. The viewership of the site voted 42% in favor of Jenner winning the fight, and Andersson 32%. Needless to say, Jenner ended up on the ice, and both men took five minutes for fighting.

The Flames went back on the man advantage a minute later, with Norris and Hart Trophy contender Zach Werenski going to the box for slashing Calgary’s Adam Klapka. In the last several seconds of the powerplay, Calgary capitalized after lots of passing in their offensive zone (and big saves from Greaves), with a goal from Morgan Frost. Calgary would tie the game after the Jackets took a too many men penalty during a bench transition, with another powerplay goal from Andersson at the period’s conclusion. (Remember when I — and Rick Bowness — said that the penalty kill needs work? Yeah. It does. It really, really does.)

But the Jackets would come back swinging. With a burst of energy, the team returned to their first period defense, keeping the puck away from Greaves. Columbus defenseman Ivan Provorov was struck in the face with a deflected puck, and went to the Blue Jackets room with assistance.

The Jackets would return to the man advantage after Calgary’s Yegor Sharangovich hooked Werenski. With fifty-four seconds left on the original powerplay, Columbus would go to a two-man advantage after Yan Kuznetsov (not related to Carolina Hurricanes legend Evgeny Kuznetsov) tripped Kent Johnson.

And in a hockey miracle, an act by the hockey gods, Bowness called a timeout for Columbus.

Clearly, this benefitted, as the Jackets scored on the powerplay, Werenski at the helm. Just as it had been drawn up. Just as the hockey gods intended.

Fabbro, after a play behind Greaves’s net was blown dead, had used his stick to shove Calgary’s Nazem Kadri to the ice — and before then, had done the same during a play in front of the net. He took a penalty for interference, and a red-hot Calgary powerplay went back to the man advantage. Mikael Backlund capitalized to tie the game at 3-3, past the goal line. (Again, the Jackets penalty kill is… a work in progress.)

At 18:26 in the third, Jenner scored, putting the Jackets ahead, and coming in clutch for Columbus. Flames head coach Ryan Huska pulled Wolf with a minute left to go, and Coyle capitalized on the opportunity, ending the game at 5-3.

Fire the cannon.

The more important part of Coyle’s goal? Jenner got an assist, giving him his first Gordie Howe hat trick. 1 Thus, giving Jenner the evening’s second star and the Donkey of the Game. 2

The advanced stats for this game showed exactly what Jackets fans described during this game — a burst of new energy. The Jackets won 55.4% of faceoffs (putting them in the top 10% in the NHL), took 43 shots, and 21 hits — a new era of “nastiness”, giving Bowness his first win as the head coach of the Blue Jackets.

Even better? This game put the Blue Jackets out of last place in the Metro, handing the New York Rangers their well-earned title.

ELVIS HAS RETURNED TO THE BUILDING

Columbus, OH | 4-1, Columbus Blue Jackets

Superman Night in Columbus against the 32nd-place-Vancouver-Canucks (for more on the Canucks, read here) started off with a surprise — defenseman Erik Gudbranson, who’d been out since October with a rib injury, appearing on the ice for practice with the main group. Gudbranson would be taken off the injured reserve (IR) the same day, January 15, loaning Dysin Mayo to the Cleveland Monsters in exchange for Gudbranson’s return. Five scouts from the New York Islanders, Boston Bruins, Florida Panthers, Minnesota Wild, and Tampa Bay Lightning were in attendance at this game (this may be relevant at the trade deadline), alongside 14,918 fans.

The only changes to the Blue Jackets lineup? The return of Damon Severson. More importantly, goaltending. Elvis Merzļikins played his first game since January 10, a 4-0 loss to the Colorado Avalanche. Before then, his playing time was scarce.

The first period started off slow, with moments of great puck possession. The Jackets went to the powerplay at 15:49, after Vancouver’s Max Sasson tripped Charlie Coyle. Coyle got the last laugh, as he scored on the man advantage with help from Adam Fantilli and Kirill Marchenko. This goal was his third in three games.

Throughout the second and third periods, the Jackets kept playing with energy. At 5:49 in the second, Kirill Marchenko won a puck battle on the boards and fired it into the Canucks’ net, to get his seventeenth of the season. Shortly afterwards, Marcus Pettersson took a penalty for tripping Kent Johnson, which sent the first powerplay unit out for Columbus — Werenski, Marchenko, Fantilli, Johnson, and Coyle — and they capitalized on it, with Werenski scoring, putting him first on the team’s goal-scoring list at eighteen goals for the season. He’s currently on a thirty-goal pace, which is rare for a defenseman.

At 12:51 in the second period, Marchenko took a penalty for hooking Conor Garland. (At this point, the television cameras panned to Vancouver head coach Adam Foote, best known as one of the most controversial Blue Jackets captains in the organization’s 25-year-history.) Vancouver’s Brock Boeser scored his first goal in twenty-two games, giving the Canucks their only goal of the night. In the third, Columbus’s Johnson scored his fifth goal of the season.

After the game, Merzļikins, the evening’s first star for stopping thirty shots, sat down with FanDuel Sports Network’s Jody Shelley (CBJ legend).

“Three wins, two at home, a new coach, what’s the difference?” Shelley asked.

“New coach”, Merzļikins responded.

“That’s it?” Shelley said.

“New coach”, Merzļikins asserted.

When asked by Shelley about the next game in Pittsburgh, Merzļikins responded, “We’re gonna win, even there.” 3

Postgame, Merzļikins clarified his comments to media, stating, “I'm really excited. I mean nothing against Dean [Evason]. I mean, his decisions were his decisions. I'm mature enough, so I'm obviously happy that we have a new coach, because it's new energy right now.”4

THE MESSIEST CLUB

Speaking of messy comments….

Days after his firing, Dean Evason sat down with The Athletic5 to discuss what happened. Evason said,

“I walked in, and Steve McCarthy was there. I said ‘What are you doing here?’ Don had texted him too. I met with Don in my office, and he told me the news. Told me I was fired. I was blindsided… Usually, when you go through this as a coach, you can feel it coming. But I’ll be honest with you: I didn’t. [Don Waddell] talked to me, then he talked to Steve, and it was time to pack our shit and get out of Dodge.”

Evason also stated,

“At the end of the day, do you take it personally? You have to, a little bit. But you have to be accountable, too. I get that we lost leads in the third period, and that was frustrating for everybody. But without sounding like a whiny or petty little whatever, I don’t think it should’ve happened. I think it was too soon, and I think there was more to it than losing leads in the third period. What that is, I don’t know.”

Ahead of the Pittsburgh game, former Blue Jacket Egor Chinakhov was asked about Evason’s firing. His response? “I don’t know. I just saw the news, and then texted the guys, how they think about it. I’m not surprised.” 6

WINNER POINT

Pittsburgh, PA | 4-3, Columbus Blue Jackets

This game began with several lineup changes, particularly on the fourth line. The Blue Jackets lines appeared as follows:

Sillinger — Fantilli — Marchenko
Jenner — Monahan — Johnson
Voronkov — Coyle — Olivier
Heinen — Gaunce — Aston Reese

Werenski — Fabbro
Provorov — Severson
Zamula — Gudbranson

Merzļikins

Merzļikins played against his Olympic teammate, Artūrs Šilovs. And this game was really a battle to determine which one would get the starting spot for Team Latvia. (As of January 21, Olympic starters still aren’t known, and likely won’t be known until early February.)

Zach Aston-Reese drew in for Mikael Pyyhtiä. Aston-Reese has also been another player who was a healthy scratch most games under Evason; a player with a physical game, who has that “nastiness” Bowness wants. He quickly proved Bowness correct, scoring his first goal of the season two minutes into the game — a goal that would win him Donkey of the Game. Aston-Reese, a former Penguin who played 213 games with the organization, said in 2022, “[It’s] like going to dinner with your ex-girlfriend” on playing Pittsburgh. Shortly thereafter, in pure form, Aston-Reese took a penalty for high-sticking Kris Letang. In an act of miracles by the hockey gods, the Jackets’ penalty kill stopped the second-strongest powerplay in the league. The Jackets PK stopped the Penguins twice more, including on a 4-on-4.

But it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for the Blue Jackets. At 9:59, Connor Clifton got past Dmitri Voronkov and beat Merzļikins for his first goal as a Penguin, tying the game. Rickard Rakell put Pittsburgh up by two eight minutes later, with the help of Sidney Crosby.

Early in the second period, Dante Fabbro sustained a lower-body injury, and did not return to the game. With 5D, the Jackets pulled off some small victories, such as Kirill Marchenko scoring. Ten minutes after the Marchenko goal, Danton Heinen, a new Blue Jacket, scored his second goal of the season. Merzļikins made several major saves throughout the second and third, alongside Šilovs.

One moment at the end of the third period changed the game’s course.

Because Sidney Crosby is inevitable, despite Pittsburgh having pulled Šilovs, he scored. It’s one of those “you’ll-have-to-see-it-to-believe-it” type of goals.

The game’s tied, which means… overtime!

This overtime gave teams of both fans heart palpations. Merzļikins made three stops within seconds of each other, Šilovs made a major stop, Letang managed to get on a breakaway, but had the shot blocked by Damon Severson, and Merzļikins became an OT hero for Columbus, stopping everything coming his way.

He also did one of the wildest things a goalie has ever done in the history of goaltending. During play, in his zone, Zach Werenski stood behind Merzļikins with the puck. Merzļikins took a water break.

I am not joking, dear reader.

On the move, he said, “I trust my teammates. I saw [Zach Werenski] with the puck going (to) the back of the net. I knew there is gonna be a breakout. Yes, I was really thirsty. But I just felt confident.” 7 Bowness also stated, “I told the guys that, I've been around the league 50 years and I’ve never seen this one. You can’t make that stuff up.” 8

Because both goalies stopped everything that came their way in overtime, a shootout was meant to be. Their shootout records couldn’t have been more different — Šilovs struggles in the shootout, going in with a record of 1-5 (although wins are a team stat, not a goalie stat), and stopping 11 goals on 16 attempts. On the other end, Merzļikins is one of the best shootout goalies in the NHL, going 10-2 in the past two seasons.

First up: Rickard Rakell. He was stopped by Merzļikins with a poke-check. Kent Johnson went next for Columbus, getting past Šilovs with a slick move. Sidney Crosby went next for Pittsburgh, and Merzļikins made the save. (The two had a short conversation after the glove stop, which Merzļikins described as positive.) Adam Fantilli went up for Columbus, and was stopped in a similar manner by Šilovs. Going against his former teammate and close friend, Pittsburgh’s Egor Chinakhov (traded from Columbus in December), was the only member of the Penguins to get past Merzļikins. Kirill Marchenko missed his first shootout shot of the season, denied by Šilovs. Bryan Rust was stopped by Merzļikins. In the fourth round of the shootout, Charlie Coyle ended the game with a shot landing behind Šilovs and in the net.

Voronkov was moved to the fourth line in the back half of the game, with Bowness telling The Athletic that he wanted to see more “offensive impact” from Voronkov9. In recent games, Voronkov’s playing time has steadily decreased, playing 8:57, a season-low.

DOWN TO EARTH

Columbus, OH | 4-1, Ottawa Senators

The forward lines looked the exact same as Pittsburgh, particularly with goaltending — Merzļikins started in net again, his third start, a far cry from devoted fans being concerned about his playing time and if he’d ever start again. Voronkov remained on the fourth line, and Jake Christiansen drew in for Dante Fabbro after his injury in Pittsburgh.

As for injuries, Mason Marchment and Denton Mateychuk are working their way back, a positive sign. Marchment hasn’t played since December, and Mateychuk is still day-to-day as of January 20. 10 Approximately two-and-a-half hours before puck drop, the Jackets activated Isac Lundeström off of the IR, who’d missed twelve games with an upper-body injury suffered during a late December practice. He did not play in this game against the Ottawa Senators, currently eighth place in the Atlantic Division due to goaltending.

This game kicked off a five-game homestand for the Blue Jackets, with sixteen games played in the month of January. It did not begin well for Columbus, with Ottawa’s Tyler Kleven scoring his first goal of the season; his first in sixty-one games, at 3:34 in the first period. Sean Monahan tied it four minutes later for his seventh of the year, however, the Senators fired back with a Tim Stützle goal. (Stützle has been one of Ottawa’s stars this season, and will be representing Team Germany at the Olympics in Milan, Italy, this February.) Poor play and too much time in Ottawa’s offensive zone proved to be lethal for Columbus, as it put them behind early on.

At the end of the first period, Ivan Provorov blocked a shot and was in significant pain, being down on the ice for several seconds. He limped to the locker room, but returned for the second period.

Jet Greaves was in the crease for the second and third periods.

Merzļikins did not return from the room due to illness.

The second period gave the Blue Jackets lots of opportunities to capitalize on the powerplay, as this period was penalties galore (again). Kleven took a penalty for tripping Charlie Coyle at 6:22 in the second. The Sens’ penalty kill is last in the NHL, and they were able to kill off the Kleven call. Mathieu Olivier slashed Ridly Greig, and in response, Olivier and Senators captain Brady Tkachuk got into a scrum. Olivier took a slashing penalty, and Greig took a roughing penalty. The Jackets briefly went to a 4-on-3 after Michael Amadio slashed Zach Werenski, but it ended with :43 seconds left after Monahan was called for a trip.

Look. These recaps try to remain as objective as possible, despite being written from a CBJ-perspective. However. The Monahan call was not a trip. It was a classic puck battle. Not a trip.

To top off all the penalties, near the period’s conclusion, Shane Pinto took a penalty for high-sticking Adam Fantilli.

Greig got his revenge, as he scored with a backhand early in the third period. His goal was Ottawa’s first shot-on-goal in the period. With 3:34 left to go, Jet Greaves was pulled, and Tkachuk scored the empty-netter to make it 4-1, securing an Ottawa win, ending the Jackets’ winning streak of four games.

WHAT’S NEXT?

The Jackets play again on Thursday, January 22, against the Dallas Stars — a former Bowness team, and again on Saturday, January 24 against the Tampa Bay Lightning. Next week, they take on the Los Angeles Kings on January 26, the Philadelphia Flyers on January 28; and they go back on the road on January 30th to play against the Chicago Blackhawks, followed by a next-day game against the St. Louis Blues in Missouri. Their final two games before the Olympic break are in Newark on February 3 against the New Jersey Devils, and at home against the Blackhawks on February 4.

Outside of March, January is the Blue Jackets’ busiest month.

Thank you for tuning into this week’s episode of Jackets. I’ll see you soon.

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“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”
– Sylvia Plath, “The Bell Jar”.

For twenty-one years, I didn’t know I was autistic.

For twenty-one years, I existed in a haze. I tell people it was a blue-grey haze. I mean that in the literal sense – I’ve always been literal, both in how I speak and how I write, especially when I’m talking about the NHL. But the haze itself wasn’t fully literal. It was more of a cross between the literal and the metaphor, what’s real and what isn’t, what writers create to make life more manageable for themselves.

The haze absorbed me. It was a haze of cluelessness and awareness at the same time. Awareness that I wasn’t like other people, but clueless as to why. I spent twenty-one years walking the planet Earth assuming that I was defective or broken. Other people seemed to perceive me in the same way. I walked on a floating rock, assuming life was a really grim National Geographic documentary: you are born, your behavior is deemed Wrong and Bad, and the small things, like hockey, keep you alive from the natural inhabitation of the universe. Congratulations! This pattern continues until you die. Enjoy!

I existed in a haze that everyone could see through – everyone but me.

On the surface, I appear as someone who could see right through a haze. It was my job as a reporter for close to three years of my life, beginning when I was the go-to girl for investigative journalism at my college newspaper at the age of nineteen; spending hours in the library archives. It still is my job, running this blog – the creative process could be its own essay, but in a short variation: it is timely. I am not a journalist in a traditional sense, at least not these days – I don’t have a journalism degree, but I have lots to say about seemingly everything: the NHL, everything surrounding hockey, the state of sports media, what it means to write, what it means to be an alien in a human world or vice versa. As Ann Richards once said about Ginger Rogers, “She did it backwards and wearing high heels”, which is the quote that sums up my entire life so far.

So why didn’t I see through such an obvious haze – the haze known as “undiagnosed neurodivergence?”

The question of WHO AM I has haunted me for decades. It’s come to me as a small child who already understood that who she was was not enough, that she could not survive in the modern world without changing herself. It’s come to me as a teenager, looking at myself with nothing except disgust and disdain. It’s come to me as an adult, living the dream of every aspiring sports writer yet living in a permanent state of depression and dissatisfaction; a pathological people-pleaser, that she couldn’t quite begin to explain why; not even to herself. I cried, I screamed, I begged God or the universe or black holes, supermassive or not; or the void to let me be understood.

Every teaching in life thus far had been if I tried hard enough, neurotypicality was mine, and I was neurotypical; if only I tried a little harder. A circle trying to fit a square mold, doing anything to fit. The perfection of the Little Miss Perfect persona I’d spent decades trying to find had nothing to do with academia; nothing to do with writing talent; nothing for thinness or appearances, although all of these things were certainly grains of sand in a fragile hourglass built upon a lie. The perfection was built upon neurotypicality.

Masking, at least in the new context of my life, is defined as “an adaptive phenomenon where people develop intricate strategies to navigate an allistic (non-autistic) society, blending in seamlessly like chameleons in their surroundings.” And believe me, up until recently, I could’ve been The Queen of Masking. It served me well as a journalist. In locker rooms and in situations where I would need to network, I adapted into a bland persona, reflecting what the other person wanted to see from me.

For over a decade, I believed I was Bad – fundamentally horrible, alongside being awful at being a human. I had a chip missing, something that was Wrong With Me; something I desperately could fix if I just “tried a little harder.” Despite making myself near invisible, so small I was nothing; and then success as a hockey writer, where I, like Esther Greenwood, should’ve been happy, but was nevertheless miserable — the missing piece never appeared. I wonder if it will ever appear at all, or if it even existed in one fragment of time.

Sometimes, the question has appeared to me in softer moments. It’s appeared to me as I write yet another piece about the Columbus Blue Jackets or the Carolina Hurricanes, neglecting other responsibilities to do so. Maybe I’ll find myself in it. It appeared to me in discarded ideas about the Pittsburgh Penguins that I never acted upon. Am I qualified to write this? Since I moved away from Raleigh, it’s appeared to me while looking through old photo albums, staring back into the face of a girl I once may have known.

My name is Kat, spelled with a K and not a C. It’s a nickname of my legal name. I gave it to myself when I was in the eighth grade, after watching 10 Things I Hate About You (after Julia Stiles’s character) on TV over the summer. I am a writer. I have always been a writer – from writing fiction stories on the family computer as a child, to today, where I write about hockey. Hockey, particularly the NHL (and some quieter niches of it), is what I consider my Special Interest. Special interests are defined as “highly specific and passionate interests. We tend to learn A LOT about our areas of interest and love to talk about them…. Our special interests are also how we best connect with people. Many of us can more easily make friends…. when the friendship is based around an area of shared special interest.” When there is no hockey, I am still thinking about hockey.

Storytelling, especially as a woman, is not easy, much less as someone who scripts almost every detail of their social interactions. As a woman, I have been trained to make people as comfortable as possible. Hyperfocus on their emotions, even if your interpretation is wrong. Make them comfortable. Make them smile. Make them laugh. Be pretty. Be Good. Be nice. Interest them. It’s almost like doing stand-up comedy, all the time, all at once, and the show never ends. And add on journalism, where the writer is never supposed to be the story, and you get a jumbled bit of personal narrative with pieces of shard glass involved. I am not quite the sunshine and rainbows reporter I once presented myself as, nor am I solely the woman who tears herself open for content either, but rather, someone, something, in between. As a little girl, decades before I was diagnosed, I thought I was an alien. In twelve-step programs, stories are told in three ways: what people once were, what happened, and what they are like now.

I want to tell my story, if that’s okay with you, dear reader. Dear reader, if you allow me, I’d like to tell you the story of how I got into hockey at an older age – and discovered a few vital parts of myself – in the process. It’s a messy story, but it’s mine, and I think that alone makes it worth telling.

FIRST PERIOD

In November 1996, five investors, including Worthington Steel’s John H. McConnell, decided to submit an NHL expansion bid to bring the league back to Ohio, nearly twenty years after the Cleveland Barons folded. Approximately ten-million USD later and a submitted application to the NHL offices; commissioner Gary Bettman made his first visit to the city of Columbus around the same time Columbus citizens voted on whether or not to approve the financing of an arena.

In March 1997, the Hartford Whalers, due to a lack of finances for player salaries and an inability to negotiate on a construction and lease package with the city of Hartford, were announced to be moving to Raleigh, North Carolina.

I was born in late 2003, just a few short years after the expansion bid was submitted, after Nationwide Arena was built near penitentiary grounds, after the Blue Jackets played their first NHL game, after Rick Nash was drafted at first overall to save the Blue Jackets from themselves and became the highest paid rookie in NHL history; after the Whalers moved to Greensboro for two seasons and moved to Raleigh; after the Hurricanes traded with the Philadelphia Flyers for Rod Brind’Amour, after the Hurricanes made it to the Stanley Cup Final against the Detroit Red Wings, the wagon of the early aughts.

I did not grow up on hockey. Hockey could’ve been a foreign language in my house. My father loved basketball, and both of my parents loved college football. Saturdays were sacrilegious in our household, with Ohio State football being at the center of it. “Michigan” was the equivalent of swearing in my house, worthy of having the mouth washed with soap.

But what was a constant in my house was ESPN. Sportscenter served as background noise every morning, before the days of sports gambling and hot-take “journalism”. Stories of child prodigies who had lived up to expectations – this LeBron kid right up in Akron, filling the mantle of Michael Jordan for my father and a new love of basketball for my siblings, this kid named Sidney – Sid for short, “Sid The Kid”, from Canada who was drafted first overall by the Pittsburgh Penguins, twenty-one years after Mario Lemieux was drafted. And of course, locally, there was Rick Nash, who was the best chance at bringing the Blue Jackets out of the depths of hockey hell.

One of my earliest television memories is seeing a clip from Pittsburgh’s 2009 Cup parade on ESPN. Sidney Crosby, then in his early twenties, with curly hair, beaming. On top of the world in the figurative sense, sitting on a light blue car in the literal. Next to him, a young and overjoyed Marc-André Fleury. The fans, happy as can be, crowded on top of cars and inside of parking garages, desperate to get a glimpse of the greatest trophy in sports.

I think even then, I understood what drives people to love sports. Years and years before hockey became my sacrilegious ritual, my Special Interest, the thing that shapes how I see and connect with the world, my reason for living. I do not kid when I try to describe just how intense these interests are. I cannot function without mine. I live and breathe it. It is the center of my universe. It is one of the most, if not THE most, important thing to me.

I began watching hockey during the 2022-2023 season.

It’s such a short time, for someone so obsessed, who defines her universe on what is happening in hockey. But the Special Interest has never been chosen by me. It chooses me by fate. It claws me in by the grips of everything Good about it, and by nature, I am sucked in. I have never had control over my Special Interests – Disney films as a small child, Winter the Dolphin as an adolescent girl, Panic! At The Disco for several years as a teenager, and then back to Taylor Swift to finish off my teenage years. Sylvia Plath joined the rotation when I was fifteen and has never left.

Hockey became my Special Interest in April 2023, towards the end of the regular season. I had just committed to college in Raleigh, North Carolina. If you’re not a hockey fan, you probably see Raleigh as the center of North Carolina politics, or think of Jim Valvano and the 1983 NC State men’s basketball team. (Yes, 1983 shirts are still sold throughout a variety of NC State shops locally.)

2023 was a major year for the Carolina Hurricanes (also known affectionately among fans as “the Canes”) . Despite free agency losses, the Canes were on the brink of something special. The team had been in hockey hell, just like the Blue Jackets, for over a decade after winning the Stanley Cup in 2006. Stars like Eric Staal and Cam Ward aged and were traded. Poor ownership and poor attendance (because North Carolinians, at their core, do not like to lose) had relocation talks swirling – again. Just like the team’s original form of the Hartford Whalers, who relocated to Raleigh in 1997.

By 2018, things were looking up. Owner Peter Karmanos, known to me as “Whalers Guy”, sold majority ownership of the team to Raleigh businessman Tom Dundon. Head coach Bill Peters (who was later accused of physical abuse of his players, by former players – the allegations were confirmed to be true by current Hurricanes head coach and franchise legend Rod Brind’Amour) resigned from his position in order to coach the Calgary Flames; and GM Ron Francis was moved to be the team’s president of hockey operations, a kinder way of firing someone with their jersey in the rafters. Former Atlanta Thrashers GM Don Waddell took over as general manager; and Brind’Amour took the head coaching position. That summer, Russian teen phenom Andrei Svechnikov was drafted at second overall. Just like Nash and the Blue Jackets over a decade before, just like Crosby and the Penguins, Svechnikov had a task on his hands: to be young and fix a franchise.

By 2023, the Canes were beloved again; were consistently making the playoffs, and all was right and Good in the universe.

And of course, there was the Stadium Series game.

Stadium Series games are a fairly new, but highly beloved hockey tradition – outdoor games, played in a college football or NFL or MLB stadium, somewhere naysayers believe hockey doesn’t belong. In fact, most Stadium Series games are played in areas where it was believed hockey would completely fail.

Raleigh, North Carolina, included.

That night, Carter-Finley Stadium, home of the NC State Wolfpack, packed 56,961 fans to the brim. The Canes won that game 4-1, with one of my favorite Martin Nečas goals of all time.

I got my first piece of hockey memorabilia around that same time, a gift for choosing. It was a medium-sized Canes Stadium Series sweatshirt – black, with the now-famous solid red logo, a small red acorn (because Raleigh is “The City of Oaks”, after all) in the corner reading “2023 STADIUM SERIES.” With the sweatshirt came tickets to a game — Hurricanes v. Red Wings, April 11, 2023. So much had changed since I left Columbus, but not the sheer hatred for the whole state of Michigan.

“They were really good in the 90s!” my father laughed after I had pointed that out to him.

On the way to then-PNC Arena, I spent the drive rotating between looking at the hockey subreddit, the rules of NHL hockey, and the actual city of Raleigh itself. I looked at everything I could possibly anticipate at an NHL game, hoping and praying that I might like it.

The Canes won that night, 4-1. 4-1 was their lucky final score that year. From the moment the puck dropped and Jordan Staal took the faceoff, I may as well have been witnessing real-life, authentic magic. By the time the speakers of PNC Arena were blasting “Sweet Caroline”, followed by “All I Do Is Win”, and the players lined up in a circle at center ice, clapping with the fans, up and down, up and down; hockey was going to completely change my life.

I just didn’t know it yet. What I knew was that I had found something that felt like home for me, after searching for so very long.

I spent the rest of that spring invested in the Canes’ playoff run, quietly spinning with joy in the break room at my retail job when they took down the Islanders in six games; quietly celebrating when they took down the Devils in five games. Hockey broke my heart for the first time when the Carolina Hurricanes would experience their first sweep by the Florida Panthers in the Eastern Conference Finals, a dangerous land where they hadn’t been able to conquer a win since 2006, the year where the state of North Carolina saw its only professional sports championship. I watched as the Vegas Golden Knights hoisted the Stanley Cup, and spent the summer watching Canes historical highlights, diving headfirst into the game. I think, by now, I have the famous Brind’Amour Cup lift from 2006 burnt into my eyelids.

That same summer, I dove deep into the world of hockey.

YouTube was practically my best friend as I found more teams that weren’t just the Canes. I was particularly curious about my hometown team, the Columbus Blue Jackets. Although I’d left Columbus well over a decade before, I still found myself missing it, in a strange, nostalgic, sort of way. I never felt like I fit in anywhere, and naively, I thought it was because I was a Midwestern girl thrown into the South.

I learned quickly that Rick Nash, the man who had been in the background of my childhood, was a franchise legend these days, with his number 61 going into the rafters of Nationwide Arena. I learned about Sergei Bobrovsky bringing hope – and the postseason – back to Columbus. I learned that Zach Werenski was a defenseman with endless potential. And of course, there was Johnny Gaudreau and Patrik Laine.

Gaudreau and Laine were on the same line, and each time I watched Gaudreau pass to Laine in “his office”, I felt feelings I didn’t know how to explain. Giddiness, perhaps. Nevertheless, despite the team’s dysfunction, I loved them anyway.

Hockey, at least for me, feels like home. I’ve never laced up, put on a helmet, and taken a faceoff. I’ve never played a game of hockey in my life. It doesn’t make sense as to why I love the sport so much. But I do, and that may be enough.

INTERMISSION #1

Who am I?

When I was six, the question appeared to me for the first time.

I was living in Columbus, Ohio, at the time. Home of THE (and don’t forget the THE, or certain population of the city will be quite angry with you) Ohio State University, which granted the Earth athletes like Jesse Owens, Eddie George, Archie Griffin, Mason Lohrei, and Tessa Bonhomme. Home of the Columbus Blue Jackets. My home.

The first time I realized I was Different, I was four years old. I was on the playground. I walked up to a girl wearing a shirt of Marie from The Aristocats, and pointed to it.

At home, I had at least three different Marie stuffed animals. The Aristocats was one of my mother’s favorite Disney films, and she understood that Disney was the way to bond with her strange daughter; her daughter who didn’t like to be touched, who found cute infant dresses hellish, who sobbed at sound.

“Marie”, I said. The girl, understandably, ran in the other direction, and I was pulled aside to be told that I was Wrong for doing what I had done. Other girls didn’t cause people to run in the opposite direction. I was the child’s version of Frankenstein’s Creation – so grotesque, so inappropriate, so awful that it caused people to run away.

I learned later on that people didn’t stop running away, no matter what I did. Playground games evolved into exclusion and bullying, exclusion evolved into abandonment and terrible relationships, platonic, professional, or romantic. It explained why I stayed friends with girls who mocked me behind my back, why I continued to work in places where I was the butt of the joke or infantilized to the extent where my work was not seen as mine. It explained why the people I dated didn’t see me as a human.

The second time I realized I was Different, I was six years old. I was in the back of a kindergarten class, washing my hands after an art project. I’ve always hated when things touch my hands.

And the question hit.

WHO AM I?

Logically, I knew who I was. I was a six-year-old girl from Columbus, Ohio. I knew that I liked it there. I knew that I loved – loved, obsessively – Disney movies. My favorite characters were Ariel and Cinderella. (Alice would come later.) I knew that my favorite color was pink (not like there were other options for little girls in the early aughts), that my room was princess-themed – bright pink walls with a baby pink canopy lying above my bed. (Did I actually like those colors? Did I actually like color at all?) I knew that The Smurfs was my favorite television show, and I’d watch it on Saturday mornings like my parents had in the 1980s. I knew I loved cats, rabbits, and all the other animals. I knew that I was a gangly and awkward ballet dancer. I knew I’d taught myself how to read at the age of four, and was the most advanced reader in my class. I knew that I had brothers, a friend who lived across the street from me, endless books to read in my room, all of my stuffed animals on my bed so no one felt left out and everyone experienced the warmth of my body and heart and soul; and there was no real reason for me to feel this way.

But I still felt… Odd. Strange. Alienated. And a deep sense of child melancholy.

My knees buckled, and I grabbed the sink to keep myself steady, from fainting in front of everyone. I never told anyone what had happened.

The feeling of being Different never quite left me. If you know, you know – it’s a viscerally uncomfortable and lonesome feeling. It fills your entire body. Being neurodivergent is a strange thing. Even before you’re fully aware of your differences, you know that you are, in fact, Different, and that you have to chameleon yourself at a time when most people are learning who they are. The English language has hundreds of thousands, millions, of words; and yet, none of them quite describe what it feels like to be permanently alienated.

SECOND PERIOD

I got my first hockey writing job my freshman year of college, shortly after my twentieth birthday.

I began tweeting about hockey shortly after that. In the midst of weekly therapy appointments and school, hockey felt like a guiding light. I live-tweeted Canes games, oftentimes to scream about the powerplay that haunts this team every single year. An editor from a hockey outlet found my tweets amusing, and my prior journalistic work at my college paper interesting, and asked me to join his site.

I happily accepted, and the next chapter of my life began.

Every Sunday, I’d submit a weekly recap of everything happening in Hurricanes-land: the forward lines changing, especially after the Canes traded for Jake Guentzel and Evgeny Kuznetsov; the defense evolving but still not being where fans wanted it to be, and the goaltenders – Freddie Andersen had returned to play after surviving blood clots, after everyone in the hockey world had expected a Jennings-winning goaltender to medically retire.

And people wanted to read what I had to say, which was the strangest part of it to me. A lot of Canes fans cared very deeply about what I had to say, Right or Wrong, and found my work interesting.

As a child, instead of sports, I did musical theater. From the ages of eight to eighteen, I had been onstage and perceived. But this felt completely different. Onstage, you are playing a character. You learn the character inside and out. You become the character.

But for neurodivergent people, the show never ends. The curtain never falls, and the show keeps going, even though you have no script or no blocking or directions. You have to adapt, and adapt quickly.

Growing up, I thought everyone had a gimmick, just like I did. I thought everyone found social situations terrifying and unpredictable and exhausting.

By the time I was going into my second season as a Carolina Hurricanes beat reporter, I had completely adopted the persona of a bland, compliant, good little journalist girl who stayed quiet when she should’ve said something and said something when she should’ve stayed quiet.

INTERMISSION #2

Despite my new life, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something fundamentally wrong with me. I kept waiting for someone – a reader, perhaps – to “catch” me as a complete imposter, an alien disguised in the body of an American woman.

I started another hockey writing job that summer, covering the Columbus Blue Jackets, and that feeling only grew more and more intense. My new workplace was very social and knew all the inside jokes of the world, and I did not. I wrote down scripts of what to say, how to convey myself as a Good sports journalist. I pretended like everything was fine. I tore myself open for content. And it paid off. Professionally, I had beyond what I could’ve ever dreamt of than when I first began my career. I was praised for my authenticity. But none of it ever felt genuine. When talking about mental health, I put on the Miss America smile and parroted the talking points everyone else in hockey media said.

But Zoloft or Cymbalta or Abilify didn’t stop me from collapsing on my dorm bed after a night at a game. Zoloft or Cymbalta or Abilify didn’t stop me from always making social mistakes and doing everything seemingly Wrong. Zoloft or Cymbalta or Abilify didn’t stop me from massive, often destructive, uncontrollable meltdowns when everything – sounds, lights, food, people, everything – got to be out-of-control and overwhelming. Zoloft or Cymbalta or Abilify didn’t stop the shyness and social anxiety I developed from always saying the Wrong Thing, the nights of uncontrollable weeping, begging the universe to tell me what was so Wrong with me, to give me a solution to fix it, to tell me a probable lie that everything would be okay.

In September 2024, a coworker asked me if anyone had ever asked me about autism or ADHD.

The answer was no, but I’d learn more that it would be a yes. More memories would pop up at random times, whether it was a quiet moment in my dorm room, or during intermission at a Hurricanes game in the fancy media ladies’ restroom. I remembered one moment in particular – my first therapist recommending my parents a book called Aspergirls. I found it on my mother’s bookshelf, read the whole thing in three days, and panicked. I found my own story in the book – stories of endless failed social interactions, stories of bullying, stories of exclusion and friendships lasting a year or less, like mine; stories of meltdowns and everything I couldn’t talk about. Stories that would later become mine.

I was later assessed for a variety of things that year. I was fourteen.

“You’re not autistic”, the assessor had said.

In November 2024, my therapist mentioned autism to me. She was insistent that when I was ready – and only when I was ready – that I be assessed.

“Kat, who are you?” she asked.

THIRD PERIOD

I knew everyone telling me was right, but work was busy, and I couldn’t risk my career or my education. I knew everyone would see me differently if I went through with it.

So I kept the gimmick going, despite how exhausting it was to continue it. My legs felt heavy every morning. I’d wake up and feel nauseous, first thing. I’d fumble my way through social interactions, in a world that was too-loud-too-bright-too-smelly-too-much, and do it all again the next day.

Sometimes, the mask would slip. One moment sticks out to me.

It was March, near the end of the regular season. The Canes were about to make the playoffs – again, consecutively since 2019. The subject of the scrum was goaltender Pyotr Kochetkov. At the time, Kochetkov was the second goaltender in a rotation with Frederik Andersen. It was the year after the Chris Kreider hat trick in Round 2 to eliminate the Canes from Cup contention, and everyone – the team, the fans, the city of Raleigh – wanted more.

I asked Kochetkov about the rotation.

He asked me to repeat myself. I hadn’t scripted a response to that. My face burnt with shame. Other reporters jumped in to help as I held back tears. I had failed as a reporter, but also as a human being. English is Kochetkov’s second language, and I knew how it felt to be misunderstood by people. I feared I had made someone else feel the same way, all by asking the netminder a stupid question. I knew by this point that not everyone functioned in a thick grey fog of shame like I did, and it was not okay to talk about it unless I could put an optimistic, happy-ending, spin on it. I had messed up yet another social cue, messed up everything, again, as per usual. One of the other reporters walked alongside me, despite my speed-walking in three-inch heels.

“You realize he was joking, right?”, the reporter said. “He was just messing with you.”

I didn’t process much of anything else that night – not any more interviews, not the Sabrina Carpenter playing in someone else’s car on the drive back to my dorm room. I went home, or home as I called it – and had one of the largest meltdowns I’ve ever had.

I was diagnosed that June.

POSTGAME

Who am I?

It’ll change, like all things in life change, even though I hate change. Maybe one day, my favorite ice cream flavor won’t be mint Oreo. Maybe one day, my favorite color won’t be a light lavender. Maybe one day, I’ll find my twenty-one-year-old self again, and she’s happy. Despite her year from hell, she’s found some semblance of things that keep her going, and it may be the things that fuel my future self. If my future self still exists as I know her, a product of the unknown, the things that scare even the most neurotypical of people.

But there’s a lot about me that won’t change either. Maybe my future self is wearing a Blue Jackets jersey, with a Penguins Crosby jersey or a Canes jersey on her couch, ready to change as she tapes a game airing at the same time, just like my current self does. Maybe one day, she’ll be smiling as she types up another primer for her teams in the heat of July, even if it’s not her career. She does what brings her pleasure, not what she anticipates will bring others pleasure or comfort. I look back, and I think of the whirlwind of my time on this planet so far. I think of my ambitious teenage self, desperate to leave her hometown. I think of how mean people were to her about her Special Interests. I think of how adolescence, and even childhood, turned me into a shell of a human that never served me at all. I think of my sweet little childhood self, the girl who wrote in her journals begging for the aliens to take her back to her home planet, where everyone was just as weird and strange as she was. I still feel that way – a misunderstood, gawky adult woman waiting for “her people”, full-well aware that they may never come. I want to sit on my childhood couch with her, with a VHS tape of The Little Mermaid playing, and tell her that I understand her. I want to tell her that the aliens will come, but they won’t come in a UFO or in the form of other people. They exist in the form of televised ice rinks and men who wear knife shoes. I want to tell her, Rely on yourself, kiddo. I want to give her tools to understand herself, tools that my adult self doesn’t quite grasp yet. I want to try and love her, to show her more grace and empathy than anyone else ever did.

I have come to accept over the past month that my struggles will be forever. I will always need to wear my AirPods on noise-cancellation mode at games, and sleep for three days afterwards. I will never be the neurotypical, perfect woman I once craved. And that’s okay. I’m enough as I am, a messy, imperfect autistic woman with ADHD. For me, diagnosis gave me the freedom to say just that.

Neurodiversity isn’t the whole of who I am, dear reader – I don’t want you to take away from this piece that I am “Kat, neurodivergent”, but rather “Kat, hockey writer, Taylor Swift fan, cat lover, autistic.” Fully-fledged human-alien being.

And yet, it is a significant part of who I am. And it’s a significant part. It’s why I write and speak the way I do, why my awkwardness is always there; even on the Internet, where no one is supposed to be awkward and gangly. I’d rather be the version of myself I know now than the perfectly polished image I spent years putting on. Disabled and neurodivergent people belong in hockey. We’ve always been here. We’ll continue to stay here, no matter what the cultural narratives about us in popular culture insist.

I’m Kat. I’m a hockey writer. I write for myself these days. My whole heart belongs to teams that others don’t understand, teams that rebuild again and again and again; but to me, they’re the greatest hockey teams on planet Earth. I’m an autistic woman.

And I couldn’t be more Real than I am now.

CITATION LIST

1.) Plath, Sylvia. “The Bell Jar.” p. 243. Published January 14, 1963. Harper & Row Publishers Inc.

2.) Neff, Dr. Megan Anna. “What is Masking in Autism? Autistic Masking, Explained.” https://neurodivergentinsights.com/what-is-masking-in-autism/?srsltid=AfmBOoqoP558Tdkd-Nd3J2tEyAxtmk1hdT72wDmy-1NblODzitD5xTYZ

3.) Neff, Dr. Megan Anna. “DSM-5 Criteria for Autism, Explained in Picture Form.” https://neurodivergentinsights.com/dsm-5-criteria-for-autism-explained-in-picture-form/?srsltid=AfmBOoqU055AuyJMmoPiW31tyuihFcVqsDzjg-93-haoFx–vIfjJZaX

Content warning: This story discusses suicide. A list of resources is included at the bottom of this article.

The Columbus Blue Jackets are both a maligned and cursed franchise.

It’s what happens when a hockey team is built over a former state penitentiary. It’s what happens when an entire state becomes an Internet meme taken too seriously. The Columbus Blue Jackets are a common NHL punchline. The franchise has always been rocky with a record of more losses than wins since its inception in 2000. The franchise knows tragedies – multiple deaths, of both fans and goaltenders, both freak accidents. Despite it all, Columbus fans refuse to abandon the team they adore. Columbus fans are some of the league’s most passionate, most resilient. For many fans, this comes from simply being there throughout it all – and proudly, loudly – loving a hockey team that’s grown the entire sport in a land where college football is king is a badge of honour. It’s even more honourable for Columbus fans, especially fans that have been fans since the franchise’s inception, to stay diehard fans. Columbus fans know loss. Columbus fans are repeatedly told that the honourable thing is to walk away. And they never do. Win or lose, Blue Jackets fans will keep butts in seats. They know how to swarm. They know how to be fans, even if it feels like the rest of the league spits over and over again in their faces for it.

Columbus, Ohio, is a city that is just as misunderstood as its beloved major league hockey team. As the Ohio state capital, Columbus is the fourteenth most-populous American city. Like most maligned stories, the ending isn’t a cheap punchline. It is just one gigantic college town, one that sees the sun twice a year, one with firmly knit communities, with a hockey team that repeatedly can’t catch a break.

Neither can the team’s stars. Since the franchise was first announced in 1997, there have been multiple Columbus stars in need of an out because of the franchise’s curse, because of injuries, because of constant sacrifice for the organization and nothing gets done, because of personal life circumstances that gain media attention. Rick Nash. Sergei Bobrovsky. Artemi Panarin. Pierre Luc-Dubois, Elvis Merzlikins. The anonymous and deeply brave players involved in the Mike Babcock scandal breaking.

Hockey stars, especially young hockey stars, often have a tragic narrative surrounding them. From first overall picks to the mania surrounding young players, there is hardly ever a shot at normalcy for NHL-bound teenagers, whether it is the moment they are first drafted or setting records at nineteen. These stars are built up young with all eyes on them, waiting to see if they flame into the next Big Thing, Somebody Great. Waiting to see if they’ll burn faster than they rose.

Enter Patrik Laine.

The second overall pick in 2016, only behind Auston Matthews. A Winnipeg Jets superstar as a teenager, breaking records left and right. Despite some of those records being broken again by the Next Big Thing (in this case, now-Carolina Hurricanes left winger Jesperi Kotkaniemi), despite being traded in 2021 while injured to Columbus at the trade deadline, Laine seemed to be unstoppable.

The “downfall” of Patrik Laine has been greatly exaggerated.

Now twenty-six, Laine has been set up to have the-so-called “breakdown” since his 2016 draft. Him and Matthews, like countless first-and-second overalls before them and after them, have been pit against each other constantly, with the “second overall curse” lingering over any Laine discussions. And while Matthews had a rocky early professional development, with his first NHL coach being Mike Babcock and sustaining some injuries, Laine’s injury history has significantly been more unlucky.

Since his debut, Laine has been injured repeatedly. Injuries are not a player’s decision, especially in hockey. We all know the stereotypes – hockey players play until they physically can’t anymore, and even then, still ask to finish a shift. Even as recently as 2008, necks being cut with skates isn’t enough to postpone an NHL game entirely. Injuries – and a player on the ice with them – is a determination of “toughness” within hockey culture. Concussions have also played a role in many of the injuries Laine’s suffered over his career. Head injuries, even in 2024, still remain a taboo in the NHL. NHL higher-ups, including NHL Deputy Commissioner Bill Daly still remain firm on the idea that the science behind repeated head injuries, including concussions, is lacking, and that repeated blows to the head are not enough to seriously affect players. Now-deceased players, including former Nashville Predators captain Greg Johnson and Chris Simon have been found to have chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) after their deaths. Both men died by suicide. While Laine’s situation is his alone and is well-within his right to remain private (since it ultimately is no one’s business but his own), the science behind concussions and mental health effects is documented and could be the case for other players.

Not every teenage superstar – Laine and Kotkaniemi included – is going to be a Crosby or a McDavid, even with the same heavy weight of the world lingering on their shoulders, the same overanalysis of their every move. Nor should they be. In a way, robbing someone of childhood and adolescence is a quiet crime. It’s not known at the time. Very rarely is it known – it is loved. The stolen innocence is a subtle robbery of an irreplaceable thing, even if it was gone for a career, gone for a game that so many adore, gone for a game that isn’t just a game. Hockey is never just hockey. Even if these rising stars will have their names permanently engraved in hockey history, into halls of fame and all the glory that comes from athletics, the pressure never evens up. A well-known McDavid anecdote describes a then-five year old boy who asked his parents to write a letter to a fifteen-year-old Crosby, asking how he deals with the pressure, asking how the weight of expectations lessens through being The Sidney Crosby. Even before two hockey prodigies became the stars fans internationally know right away, they were just boys under immense pressure, kids in a situation having to use their names to mean something more than themselves, to demand more more more on- and off the ice, wondering if all the sacrifices will mean something someday. It’s why fans love the sport of hockey. It’s why fans hate the sport of hockey.

Like every other teenage prodigy deemed “lucky”, Patrik Laine has just been caught in the crossfire.

His 2021 trade to Columbus was one fans got excited about. It seemed like a match made in heaven – a young superstar who played hungry and ornery, going to one of the NHL’s most fiery and passionate fanbases, under then-Columbus HC John Tortorella’s (notorious for combativeness) coaching style. And for a time, it was. Columbus fans adored Laine, both for his on-ice ability and who he is off-ice. And Laine openly loved the city that’d built itself in return. It was a mutual win situation – a city known for its toughness, and a hockey player known for his perseverance. Throughout his time in Columbus, he told reporters that he’d “never scored against Columbus and hopefully it stays that way until (my) career is done.” He signed another Columbus contract in the summer of 2022, stating to local press that “(he) loves the city and (he) loves being here. It’s just that simple.” And it was that simple – he showed his love for the city that had welcomed him with open arms, in ways very few franchise players had done before. He could be spotted enjoying the state of Ohio like its residents at Cincinnati Bengals games, signing autographs, replacing stolen jerseys for a fan, and emphasizing the importance of grit in Columbus. Laine’s message of grit is one he knows as a player well, and one that the city of Columbus, the state of Ohio knows just as personally as Laine himself does. The player and the city intertwined.

And there was the famous charity work. Laine was famous in Columbus for always giving back, such as donating one-thousand US dollars for each goal he scored in the 2023-2024 season to OhioHealth in support of men’s mental health initiatives. OhioHealth was not the first or last partnership for good that Laine did during his tenure in Columbus. It was one of the many reasons fans adore him.

In January 2024, the Blue Jackets organization released a statement explicitly stating that Laine would be entering the NHL’s Player Assistance Program. “Out of respect for Patrik,” the statement read, “(we) will have no further comment at this time.”

These narratives – the narratives of the scrappy city who adores their cursed hockey team more than words can describe, the narratives of the young player who burns too brightly for their own good – are the ones that serve as the backbone of modern hockey media. And yet, the narratives don’t always give the full truth, no matter how subjective that truth can be. Now that reports have surfaced about Laine allegedly being traded from Columbus this offseason, he remains in the Player Assistance Program – he cannot be contacted by teams due to program rules. When the narratives fail, there is always an urgent break-glass-in-case-of-emergency one ready to take its place, no matter how dysfunctional it is to the humanity of hockey. In the case where a majority of speculation remains just speculation, it’s reached a point where it’s become a legitimate discourse as Columbus finds itself rebuilding – again. Even now, Laine’s humanity is on the way to becoming an afterthought in the chatter. Fans can argue that it already is. When the organization’s newest GM is asked about Laine’s Player Assistance release repeatedly so the process of a trade can get going – it’s hard to not argue that there’s at least some aspect of humanity being ignored for the sake of business.

The casually invasive – and dehumanizing – question of “when will recovery be over” isn’t just a well-meaning question.

It’s a statement pointed out as a question. A statement of impatience or ignorance, wondering if this will really be over already because everyone is sick of dealing with your sickness, wondering if they can just speed things up for normalcy’s sake. A statement of confusion, wondering if anything has the potential to feel somewhat okay again, if things ever felt okay at all.

After all, nothing truly is over.

Sure, these questions are a part of the job. But they don’t have to be. When clarification is publicly given that Laine is still in the program because the aspect of “business before personhood” is unbreakable and completely socially normalized, it might be the time to push back. It might be time to keep a grain of empathy, a dash of grace in our pockets, understanding that the players we love are just as human as we are.

It’s happened before. This sort of case is why the mental health in hockey discussion exists as it is today.

Rick Rypien, 2011. A young, widely-loved scrappy player for the Vancouver Canucks. Rypien was best known to fans as a fighter, the David to every other team’s Goliath. He was a cult hero to hockey fans, not just Vancouver. In Vancouver, he remained one of the franchise’s icons, a young player who Canucks fans saw themselves in. Twelve years later, Vancouver fans fondly remember Rypien. Fans who saw him play still want to talk about Rick Rypien. Aaron, one Canucks fan, fondly described the player in conversation as “a little guy going up against players more than a foot taller than him… one of the most memorable depth players in team history.”

Like Laine, Rypien was a young, dynamic, fan-favourite player who was deemed to be “plagued by personal issues”.

During the summer of 2011, Rypien signed with the Winnipeg Jets, searching for a fresh start.

In August 2011, Rick Rypien took his own life. After reports of his death were made public, those in the hockey world who knew – and loved him confirmed that Rypien had struggled with clinical depression for over a decade. Rypien was also diagnosed with CTE after his death.

According to Aaron, the response to Rypien’s death was shock. When the cause of death was released, it was even more shocking, he said.

He still remembers the response, describing it as an “outpouring of sadness by fans, and a general ‘speak up if (you’re) not okay. Mental health shouldn’t be stigmatized’ sentiment.”

That sentiment led to more initiatives. The Canucks partnered with a variety of mental health organizations in British Columbia, founding Hockey Talks in Rypien’s memory. Rypien’s former teammates, particularly Kevin Bieska, found themselves speaking out in support of mental health de-stigmatization.

Objectively, the mental health discussion in hockey remains more open than other sports, largely because of the bravery of those involved in the sport to speak openly about it. Corey Hirsch. Clint Malarchuk. Robin Lehner. Connor Ingram. Samuel Girard. Rear Admiral. Even before mental health was being discussed in the mainstream during the late 1990s, the NHL and NHLPA started the Player Assistance Program in 1996.

It doesn’t mean that the stigma is gone, however. In fact, it’s still very visible. In February 2024, the “B&B Roundtable” podcast made a remark during an episode about Laine, stating that he was “contemplating Remington retirement.”

The remark is an explicit reference to suicide, particularly suicide by gunshot. (Remington is a now-bankrupt firearms brand.)

Laine himself saw the clip on X (formerly known as Twitter), responding “This is just not okay.”

Columbus fans used that universal fiery spirit again, this time in rightful defense of Laine. Fans donated over ten-thousand US dollars to OhioHealth’s men’s mental health initiatives. Columbus teammate Johnny Gaudreau picked up Laine’s commitment to the cause, donating one-thousand US dollars himself for every point he recorded during the 2023-2024 season, finishing what Laine started. Gaudreau told local reporters that he got the idea from Laine, and “not because an idiot comes out and says terrible things.”

So much of the Patrik Laine story resonates with me. And not just as a journalist.

Hardly ever do I find myself incorporating pieces of myself into a story. I tell people that I put a small piece of my heart in everything I write, but never do I explicitly do something like this. It’s a lesson every journalist is taught swiftly in undergraduate school. The goal of journalism is to bring humanity into inhumane situations, while having to take your own out of the equation.

This is a different story entirely.

I will be the first to admit that the Blue Jackets are my second team. I have not lived in Columbus in twelve years. Yet I’ve grown up with parents who’ve told me the entire story of the franchise, because they’ve lived it too. For nine months of the year, I am two miles away from PNC Arena, two miles away from the Carolina Hurricanes – a team I adore more than words can describe. There’s lots of overlap between both organizations, most recently a GM (Don Waddell) and a goaltender (Spencer Martin). At my core, I am both a Columbus girl and a Raleigh girl at the exact same time.

You can take the girl out of Columbus, but not the Columbus out of the girl.

Maybe that’s where the grit other people are determined I have plays a role.

Stories of recovery, stories of mental health in this silly little sport, those always resonate with me past the journalistic level. I’ve been on local news in the Raleigh area to talk about why I love Evgeny Kuznetsov as a Hurricane so much. Hockey is a human sport at its core, not a business like so many wish to claim it is. It’s why I love it so much. It’s why I demand that the national league be better, because the sport is already so great.

These stories resonate with me for a million-and-one reasons, but the first that comes to mind as to why is a date: December 11, 2023.

A date that stands out to me, but not to most others. For Carolina fans, it’s remembered as being smack-dab in the middle of a disastrous West Coast trip. For Columbus fans, it’s the day after the Blue Jackets lost to the Florida Panthers at Nationwide Arena. 5-2. Laine had an assist.

For me, it’s a day I won’t forget. It’s the date of my own suicide attempt.

I don’t feel comfortable giving any more details than that. The “why” is a question that was asked to me over and over and over again in the aftermath. No one expects a “tough” hockey player to need mental health help like I did. No one expects someone like me – Little Miss Perfect — to try and kill herself. Even now, I struggle to fully answer the why.

The decision to try and take my own life was one stemming from significant mental illness, from extreme darkness and pain that very few people understand unless they’ve been there. It makes me angry-laugh whenever someone says that suicide is the easy way out. Trust me, it’s not.

It’s the exact opposite.

Within two hours, I was in the backseat of an Uber with a pink duffle bag adjusted to cram itself onto my left rib, my Carolina Hurricanes throw pillow placed firmly inside of my arms. I’d been given the choice after I’d been found: go to the mental hospital yourself, or the police or EMTs will do it for you. The Uber was the easy way. The driver played a self-help podcast in the twenty-minute drive to the hospital. All I remember was the literal darkness outside. I was a late night arrival, and it was pitch-black outside that night. It’s funny looking back – that darkness, both outside and inside of me, was endless. It went on for miles and miles with no end in sight.

Getting help, at least for me, was a do-or-die decision. Either I did it, or I would be dead. I still think I would be dead without that night, without that Uber, without the eight days in the hospital, three weeks of partial hospitalization after that. Getting help remains the best decision I’ll ever make.

I’ve spent the past seven months in mental health treatment, piecing myself back together. I can’t count the miles, can’t count the endless Amtrak trains and Uber rides back and forth, back and forth. I can’t count the small untruths I’ve told the drivers when they ask how my trip was, whenever anyone who doesn’t know asks me how I’ve been doing as a casual catch-up conversation starter. I can’t count the amount of times that I’ve told myself being crazy is a full-time job. Mental health recovery is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s the most worthwhile thing I’ve ever done and probably will ever do. And I know that I’ll spend the rest of my life fighting my own self, my own head, in varying stages of coping the best I can. I’ll put myself together again for a very long time. I have been through the depths of hell, and my feet still burn.

I am not ashamed anymore.

This is the first time I’ve ever talked about this publicly. And the last thing I’ll do is lie. It’s absolutely terrifying to talk about the lowest of your lows, especially when there’s an audience involved, especially when I’m talking about a sport with a “tough it up” culture that I love so much. Letting go, especially letting go of your own story, is one of the hardest and bravest things any writer can do. And here we are. I cannot - will not - keep quiet anymore. In the hospital, I was known as “the hockey girl”. When I first got to the ward at four a.m, the nurses had to search through the pink duffle. I’d packed my Canes Stadium Series sweatshirt, and I was belligerent that they put it back in the bag. I refused to have anyone else touch it but me, refused to have something that precious have the strings taken out. During four-thirty-a.m. blood draws, two a.m. fear to sleep, and eight-thirty p.m. night checks, nurses would give me Canes score updates. My friends told me I was the good luck charm, the thing that made the Canes win on the road thousands of miles away. “The hockey girl” has been a subconscious security blanket for me throughout this whole process.

Throughout it all, I’m glad I’m still here.

I’m grateful every single player who’s been through what I have is still here.

I’ve decided that wherever Patrik Laine ends up, I’ll be cheering for him. Patrik Laine is my answer for “favorite active non-Hurricanes player”, my answer for why I’m still drawn to Columbus even if I only see the place once a year, even if I’ve never been inside of Nationwide Arena. Even if he never shoots a puck or skates onto the bright lights of a professional hockey rink again, I’ll be cheering for him, because I know what it’s like. I know. I know it so well. I have a pair of grippy yellow socks and multiple mental health medications under my name to prove it.

But I also know the light.

At the end of the day, it’s all about seeing parts of ourselves: past, present, and future in these players. There’s equal humanity in all aspects of the game, from the players themselves to the little kids with handmade signs, sitting on a parent’s shoulders and holding a sign. Maybe it’s written in their first grader handwriting, asking their favorite player for a puck. Maybe it gives a peek into their inner worlds away from the rink, away from the crowds and noise – It’s my birthday! I had heart surgery here. I beat cancer at the children’s hospital here. This hockey team got me through. There’s humanity in the families, young and old, who find their seats in the arena, telling playoff stories about how they fell in love with the sport. There’s humanity in the longtime season-ticket-holders who every other fan knows, especially the locals. There’s humanity in the small warmup routines, the weaves of small threads of the game that don’t go on television. There’s humanity in the small groups of college girls cheering for a goal, as one girl turns her face away from her friends so that they don’t see her cry on a happy moment. Her first thought is I never thought I’d make it to this day. This hockey team helped get me through. There’s humanity in the reporters who stick around, especially late at night in the small markets who have to get up at the brink of dawn, but they want to know the thoughts that go into the game of hockey, what hockey means to those who truly love it and the communities around it. Those reporters are a part of those communities too, deep down knowing what hockey means to them, wondering if someone else understands it like they do. There’s humanity in all the screams of joy over a horn after a win. There’s humanity in cries of sadness after a loss, as an arena shuffles out quietly into the night.

Hockey isn’t just hockey. It’s a reflection of the human spirit. The human condition is at least billions of years old, and yet, it never changes, and never will change. It’s what makes us all love hockey – these players that fans see themselves in get knocked down and stand back up over and over and over again. Let’s remember that humanity – and keep it at the core of the game.

SUICIDE PREVENTION AND MENTAL HEALTH RESOURCES

International Suicide Hotlines

Find a Helpline (International)

USA: 988 Lifeline, Mental Health America, National Alliance on Mental Illness, Substance Abuse and Mental Health Helpline

Canada: 988 Canada, Mental Health Commission, Centre for Suicide Prevention Canada, Hope for Wellness Hotline, Kids Help Phone, Canadian Association for Suicide Prevention

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I.

IN THE BEGINNING, THERE IS LIGHT.

There are multiple different theories about the origin of light across time, across religion, across value.

In most major Western Abrahamic religions, the universe is thought of beginning with a divine being. The divine being’s first act of creation is to place light in the emptiness of an unknown, to begin with one simple act: to begin with presence. The divine being, evidently different from everyone else, is awake, alive, and begins everything with three words. I am here.

Cosmic theory of light, or known to scientists as Cosmic Microwave Background, states that approximately 380,000 years after the Big Bang; once the universe was calm, light could travel freely for the first time.

Needless to say, light arrives when the world is ready.

Before the child savior picks up a hockey stick or sits down in front of a piano, there is the familiar burst of light ready for arrival.

What to do next with that light is the question.

The best stories have to begin somewhere.

The best stories don’t begin with a dynasty. The best stories don’t begin with a franchise-altering legend hoisting the Stanley Cup for the second, third, or fourth time. The best stories don’t begin with a little girl hoisting a Grammy Award to a cornucopia of photographers. The best stories don’t begin with pundits picking apart the skin of “enough is enough”, of pacifiers being taped to signs, of tides turning.

For most, these stories have a clear beginning. First overalls. History makers in tiny bodies forgotten.

The real stories start well before then. These stories start long before Nova Scotia newspapers sat down with a seven-year-old boy. Before “Welcome to Cole Harbour: Home of Sidney Crosby”. Long before Gavin McKenna was paid nearly 750,000 USD to attend Pennsylvania State University, long before Connor Bedard or Macklin Celebrini or Auston Matthews or Gabriel Landeskog or Cam Ward or Sidney Crosby or Alexandre Daigle walked onstage to shake the hand of Gary Bettman. History makers in tiny bodies, forgotten.

There is always a before.

And at the core of that before, there is a small body and an even smaller voice.

There is just light overflowing.

There is a line between Stars and Gods, Good and Great. There is a line between who leaves the pathway for a next generation and who tries but can’t make the mark. There is a line between a star and a savior.

Culturally, both child stars and child saviors entertain us. With child saviors, spines stand straighter, ears eagerly await to listen, eyes await to see. Child saviors engage and inspire in ways nothing else can. Child saviors are something beyond themselves.

Child saviors are not just expected to save an institution, whether it’s country music in America, the National Hockey League; or a respective team; or maybe North America as a whole, but rather, they are expected to save their audiences at the same time.

Child saviors are the blinding light.

II.

IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO BE A CHILD SAVIOR.

Reflecting in 2022, country music child savior LeAnn RimestoldRolling Stone, “There’s a way that country music places women on this pedestal — like I was this otherworldly angel child, the way people perceived me.”

As Rimes puts it, “otherworldly angel children” spend their entire adolescence being rigidly trained on how to be everyone’s everything, all at once, all the time. With Perfection, capital P, there must be a blank, unobjectionable public image. And why should there be? With endless eyes on the child savior, they can never be controversial, never be rude, never be anything that could drop that image of sheer angelicity.

Like country music is a religion in the American South, junior hockey is as equally – if not more – sacramental to the existence of Canada.

When Marc-André Fleury debuted, he was the youngest goaltender in the National Hockey League. At only eighteen, Fleury was the first child savior tasked with saving the Pittsburgh Penguins from financial ruin.

During the 2002-2003 junior hockey season, Fleury was a star in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League (QMJHL) for the Cape Breton Screaming Eagles. Before becoming the third goaltender ever to be drafted first overall in the NHL Draft, Fleury was tasked with his first act of saviorism in Cape Breton – tobring a new team to success. Before, the Cape Breton Screaming Eagles had been around for three seasons. Former Columbus Blue Jackets head coach Pascal Vincent had been hired in 1999 to bring some degree of success to a maritime junior hockey club. By the year 2000, the team attempted to utilize the CHL Import Draft to their advantage, picking Russian superstar Ilya Kovalchuk at tenth overall. Kovalchuk declined to report to the team, playing for Vysshaya Liga club Spartak Moscow instead. In 2001, Kovalchuk became a child savior of his own, becoming the first overall pick in the NHL Draft for the Atlanta Thrashers. He was also the first Russian to ever be drafted first overall — a child savior carrying an extra burden.

Vincentdescribed the process toSportsnet in 2019 as, “[You’re] telling a kid, ‘You’re going to Cape Breton’ from Montreal or the area of Montreal, it’s the same as telling them ‘You’re going to Russia’.”

In his three seasons in Cape Breton, Fleury maintained a save percentage of .908.

By the time Fleury appeared in his first NHL game on October 10, 2003, the hockey world knew his name. By the time that evening’s game ended, despite the Penguins losing 3-0 to the Los Angeles Kings, the name “Marc-André Fleury” would forever be etched in hockey history.

In a forty-six save performance, including a penalty shot poke-check on Esa Pirnes; an eighteen-year-old Fleury brought something a Pittsburgh crowd hadn’t seen in a flickering moment. Not since the days of Mario Lemieux and Jaromír Jágr.

Hope.

Longtime Pittsburgh Penguins writer Jesse Marshall, who was in attendance that evening,remembered the moment via Twitter thread:

| “I remember going to Eat and Park after the [debut] game with a large group of people and all anyone talked about was Fleury. The Penguins put the student rush kids (all 3K of us) right behind the net he defended twice. He lived under a chorus of praise from kids the same age as him.

Fleury’s first game is the high-water mark of losing. That brief glimpse of a light at the end of the tunnel that you only get generationally as you come out of a period of rebuild. A special time and place to be a part of for people young enough to remember the first two cups.” |

III.

WHO IS A CHILD SAVIOR?

There are specific benchmarks a child savior must meet, particularly in hockey or Hollywood, to reach past stardom and into saviordom. They may have done their first interview before the age of ten. (Sidney Crosby, aged seven.) They may have been told as teenagers, “If you’re not a first ballot Hall-Of-Famer, you’re a bust.” (LeBron James, aged seventeen.) They may have been breaking records upon their debut into a specific industry. (Marie Philip-Poulin, aged eighteen, Taylor Swift, aged eighteen, Britney Spears, aged sixteen, LeAnn Rimes, aged twelve.) They carry the weight of the world upon their shoulders. They are everyone’s everything, all at once.

As the great Lee Corso told his mentee, Kirk Herbstreit, “We’re in the entertainment business.”

Child saviors are the entertainment business.

Excess Maturity

A child savior must be wise beyond their years, particularly in dealing with media that wants to consume them whole. They speak and carry themselves in ways that make adults blush, answering unusual questions for teenagers and children. A child savior carries the weight of everything on their shoulders, but in their appearances to the world, they carry nothing. They always give the right answers, never stumble, never make a misstep in their interviews or scrums. The rest of the world is inauthentic, but they are not. The rest of the world may not feel real, but they do. Flesh and blood, a machine of goodness.

Raw Talent

A child savior must carry near-superpower-like levels of skill at the Thing That Makes Them Great. Yes, their work ethic, particularly the work ethic of players like Sidney Crosby, is what makes them so great, but what attracts the eyes is the raw talent of these young men and women appearing effortless. (example: LeAnn Rimes, at the age of twelve, belting and yodeling Patsy Cline’s “Blue”.) They stand out from their peers. They appear to be unflappable, unshakeable, unbroken. They carry an air of what most would consider perfection. Flesh and blood, unable to be stopped.

Carrier of Attention

A child savior must attract levels of attention that would be unfathomable to the average human. Attract nicknames like The Chosen One, The Next One. Attract, attract, attract. Give, give, give, but never take. Wherever they go, it is as if a natural spotlight has fallen upon them. Flesh and blood, impossible to look away from.

IV.

THE ROUTE TO IMMORTALITY IS NOT EASY.

Child saviors, particularly in their youth, are the subjects of immense cruelty, oftentimes disguised as “caring.” Like maple syrup in Canada or apple pie in America, there are few national pastimes quite like building up the child savior, only to tear them down just as quickly. Watching the downfall of the child savior is something the public – and oftentimes, the forces behind said downfall – relish in. Even in the sports world – particularly in the sports world.

As Britney Spears wrote in her memoir, The Woman In Me,

| “Shaving my head was a way of saying to the world: F–k you. You want me to be pretty for you? F–k you. You want me to be good for you? F–k you. You want me to be your dream girl? F–k you. I’d been the good girl for years. I’d smiled politely while TV show hosts leered at my breasts, while American parents said I was destroying their children by wearing a crop top, while executives patted my hand condescendingly.”|

Alexandre Daigle was the butt of hockey jokes for decades, including a Sportsnet panel joking, “Alexandre Daigle became a hero in the NHL, but not for much more than the money he made and the chicks he dated… I might dress up as a nurse too for twelve-million bucks and a shot at Pamela Anderson.”

Sidney Crosby, by the age of eleven, would have to “sit in the stands during tournaments while waiting for his team’s turn to play, wearing shoulder pads but no sweater; too often parents, seeing the name on his jersey, had jeered him to the point of tears”. As he grew older, he became one of the most tormented players in hockey, from opponents deliberately attempting to injure him – Crosby recalled a memory from youth hockey in 2010 to Sports Illustrated, stating, “‘I remember being in pee-wee, a guy trying to break my leg,’ said Sidney. He gestured as if he was swinging a stick. ‘It wasn’t even during a play: I was going to a face-off, and a guy just two-handed it right at my knee—like a baseball bat’.”

By the time Crosby reached teenagehood, the torment extended into pundits and fans. Don Cherry referred to a sixteen-year-old Crosby as a “hotdog”. All of Crosby’s perceived flaws were on Cherry’s show for years. His World Juniors 2005 jersey was stolen by a fan, only returned after police investigation and a public, tearful plea at the age of seventeen. He was referred to as “Crybaby Crosby”, “Cindy Crosby”, or simply, “Cindy.” Fans taped pacifiers to signs. His teeth were knocked out in his first season, the victim of grotesque hazing by the league – just like it had been in peewee hockey, just like it had been in junior hockey.

Connor Bedard’s mannerisms became an Internet joke, with many Reddit users referring to him as “Bedarded”, constantly compared to more extroverted first-overall pick Macklin Celebrini. TNT analyst, former NHL goon, and Barstool Sports’s Paul Bissonnette referred to his game as “pond hockey” on national television. Bedard was nineteen at the time.

Cutter Gauthier, when in Philadelphia, faced constant chants of “F–k you, Cutter”, booing him every time he was in possession of the puck.

And most recently, seventeen-year-old Gavin McKenna, a boy with his own jersey selling out stands, a boy with “overrated” chants held at him at every away arena; was booed each time he touched the puck at an away game at Michigan State, with adult fans holding signs reading “750K. 1 SEASON. 0 LOYALTY.”

WHAT HAPPENS TO THE CHILD SAVIOR?

There are two routes with the child savior.

One – they become immortal beings, living up to every expectation and more. The torment of their youth shapes them into being someone Great. The Sidney Crosbys and Alexander Ovechkins of the world – the boys that grow into men, breaking records thought impossible, winning championships, starting dynasties, becoming someone special.

Two – the light, as light does, burns, and burns out, a natural progression of too-high expectations and the deprivation of youth.

In approximately two seasons, when the flowers turn to raw heat, commissioner Gary Bettman will step onstage at the 2026 NHL Draft and call out the name of McKenna, still just a boy himself. A boy who told reporter Scott Wheeler last summer that he “loves being up north and kind of away from everything. And when I’m there, I love dirt biking. I love fishing. I love golfing. It helps me get away from the game and resets me in the summertime.”

A boy about to become the hockey – and entertainment – business.

A boy with the world on his shoulders and the world ahead of him, ready to conquer it.As Connor Bedard, 20, told reporter Mark Lazerus just days ago: “At the end of the day, we’re entertainment.”

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Originally posted by callsignred

[insert guitar music here.]

GAME 6: SHOOTING STAR

Dallas, TX | 5-1, Columbus Blue Jackets

Coming off the win against Tampa Bay at home, the Blue Jackets had a new challenge on their hands – winning in Dallas.

Historically, the Blue Jackets have struggled in Dallas. At home, the Stars’ record against Columbus has been 22-15-1 since 2000. And Dallas now has a roster full of stars (pun fully intended), including Mikko Rantanen, Tyler Seguin, Jamie Benn (who was out for this game due to a collapsed lung), former Blue Jacket Matt Duchene, and Jake Oettinger, just to name a few.

And the Jackets came out flying in the galaxy full of stars.

Within minutes of the first period puck drop – 4:33 –, Adam Fantilli put Columbus on the board for his second goal of the season. Fourteen minutes later, Dallas’s Mavrik Bourque took an interference penalty against Boone Jenner. Jenner’s response? Score a powerplay goal, reviving a powerplay previously thought of as gone.

The second period had a different star – not a skater, but rather, a goaltender. Elvis Merzļikinsstopped all but one shot on him (a Tyler Seguin goal during the second period), stopping 22 shots in total throughout the game; finishing with a .957 save percentage. He stated postgame,

| “When we all showed up here, seriously, I saw this room different. … We are seriously working hard and we care about each other. If you do the mistake, there’s going to be somebody who is gonna save your butt. That’s what the (good) teams do, and success is coming and that’s good. But now even if it’s a win or a loss, we need to forget about it. We need to focus. We know our mission by the end of the season, and we want to get there.” |

The Jackets’ penalty kill also experienced a revival, as the four minutes of penalty time for Columbus led to no Dallas powerplay goals. While the sample size is small, the back-to-back Tampa game (where the Jackets’ PK successfully killed all but one penalty with a total of seventeen minutes), and Dallas game should spark some degree of hope for Jackets fans, known affectionately as the “Fifth Line”.

The Jackets kicked things into gear during the third period. After a dominant first period, the team acquired that same energy, despite the early third period being spent in the Stars’ offensive zone. At 7:21, Denton Mateychuk scored his first goal of the season, adding insurance to the Blue Jackets’ lead.

Seven minutes later, Dmitri Voronkov finally scored a goal that wasn’t called off for goaltender interference or pushing the puck in manually; this time, a powerplay goal. The penalty was taken for an action against Voronkov – holding the stick –, making the goal even sweeter for the Jackets. This game marked the first where the Jackets scored multiple powerplay goals, with one powerplay goal in five games – this game, they had two in one evening.

With 4:40 left to go, Dallas pulled Jake Oettinger, with Isac Lundeström attempting the empty-net goal shortly afterwards. Lundeström’s shot went just far right, missing what would’ve been his first goal as a Blue Jacket. Not to fear, as Kent Johnson scored the empty netter at seventeen minutes into the third period, making the score 5-1, Blue Jackets.

The Blue Jackets, with the conclusion of this game, had two things outside of the win worthy of celebrating. The first was that they marked their territory as the NHL team allowing the fewest 5-on-5 goals at six for the season. The second was that this game set a new organizational record for the largest win margin against the Stars with a +4, surpassing seven different three-goal victories.

In total, these Blue Jackets had points for the evening:

• Adam Fantilli (goal, assist)

• Boone Jenner (goal, assist)

• Denton Mateychuk (goal)

• Dmitri Voronkov (goal)

• Kent Johnson (goal, assist)

• Zach Aston-Reese (assist)

• Yegor Chinakhov (assist)

• Charlie Coyle (assist)

• Kirill Marchenko (assist)

• Sean Monahan (assist)

• Damon Severson (assist).

GAME 7: ABOLISH THE THIRD PERIOD

Columbus, OH | 5-1, Washington Capitals

Grateful Dead Night in Columbus began with an Alex Ovechkin milestone lurking on the horizon – two goals away from nine-hundred, two games away from 1,500. Two decades before, Ovechkin debuted against the Blue Jackets on October 5, 2005, scoring his first two goals. For two decades, Ovechkin’s dominance has been well-documented, with several current Blue Jackets players idolizing him as children – including Dmitri Voronkov, Miles Wood, Kirill Marchenko, Yegor Chinakhov (more on him later), and Jake Christiansen.

The goal? Win. Not just preventing Ovechkin from scoring two goals. No more moral victories. This is a new era of Blue Jackets hockey, and the hope was for the team to play like it.

But the hope… as Ted Lasso once said, “it’s the hope that kills you.”

And the hope absolutely killed the Fifth Line as the Jackets fell 5-1 against the Caps in the third period. The first period, despite being fast-paced and full of puck battles, remained scoreless, with neither team managing to get past Jet Greaves or Logan Thompson. Erik Gudbranson returned from an upper-body injury, being paired with Dante Fabbro, and told the Blue Jackets broadcast, “I’m just going to go right at [Ovechkin].”

So why did the Jackets lose this game, if everything planned seemed to be correct and Good?

The answer: the third period, special teams (particularly the powerplay), and Logan Thompson.

Going into the third, the Jackets were down 1-0 after a John Carlson goal. A minute and three seconds into the third period, Ovechkin scored his second goal of the season, 899.

From there, the Capitals were unstoppable. A minute later, Justin Sordif put the Capitals on the board with his first goal of the season and second NHL goal, increasing their lead to 3-0. Denton Mateychuk put the Jackets on the board at 10:20 in the third period, but two minutes later, the game would fully shift after a called-off Columbus goal for kicking (from, you guessed it, Dmitri Voronkov).

At 12:35 in the third, Mathieu Olivier took a five-minute major and a game misconduct for elbowing Declan Chisholm in the head. The penalty took over a minute to assess, with Olivier and head coach Dean Evason each arguing with officials. The ruling stayed, and the Capitals went to the powerplay.

X (formerly Twitter)

The Olivier call was controversial in NHL circles, with the topic being much-discussed on social media. @NHLReview, a Twitter account devoted to evaluating officials’ decisions, posted, “Good call to make this a major – although it should’ve been an illegal check to the head and not elbowing.” Others, particularly Blue Jackets fans, argued that Olivier did not elbow Chisholm, therefore, the call was illegitimate. In-arena chants were a repeated chorus – “REF YOU SUCK! REF YOU SUCK! REF YOU SUCK!”

Needless to say, the call sucked all the life out of the Blue Jackets’ on-ice play for the remainder of the game. The Capitals took two goals on their five-minute powerplay (Tom Wilson and Connor McMichael goals, respectively), and with the Blue Jackets failing to capitalize on any of their powerplay opportunities from the night; the game ended with a Capitals win.

Ahead of the next day’s game against Pittsburgh, Olivier told media,

| “Timing of it wasn’t great. I just didn’t agree with the call especially when you see the other player come right back out there. Was there contact to the head? Sure. I mean, I don’t think anyone’s denying that. But I don’t think my elbow goes up. I stay grounded just trying to finish through. He kind of jumps out of the way, and the first thing they teach us in hockey is protect yourself. Elbow doesn’t come up. No ill intent, obviously, so it was just an unfortunate play.” |

Columbus head coach Dean Evason had similar sentiments, stating,

| “Guy gets hit. First he stops, jumps out of the way. We’re just going to finish the check. Arms are in finishing the check. There’s no chicken wing. His head hits the glass. He gets hit on this side. He holds (the other side) of his face. Plays the very next shift. He plays hockey. For a five-minute major? I don’t understand it. I just don’t. I’m talking to some very intelligent hockey people that just don’t understand what that call was. There’s no intent. Yeah it’s baffling. Is it frustrating? Yeah.” |

Hopefully, Team Canada’s goaltending coaches take a look at this game to prove why Thompson is worthy of having an Olympic slot, as he stopped 34 out of 35 shots.

Going into this game, the Capitals’ stats appeared as follows:

• 36-15-1-6 all-time against the Blue Jackets, with six of their last seven games being won when played at Nationwide Arena.

• The Caps have scored a powerplay goal in four straight games.

• The Capitals are ranked first in the NHL in goals against (13).

• The Capitals have two road wins against Metropolitan Division opponents this season.

• Last season, against the Metropolitan Division, the Capitals went 8-5-0.

GAME 8: PENG-WINS

Pittsburgh, PA | 5-4, Columbus Blue Jackets

This was a “Kat Hopes Both Teams Have Fun” game, as the Penguins are a team I follow and have love for. I am the proud owner of a 2008 Sidney Crosby Winter Classic jersey. No matter what result, I would’ve been satisfied.

(Yes, CBJ fans, I know how outrageous this is.)

The Blue Jackets traveled to Pittsburgh for the second half of a back-to-back, where they faced off against the longest tenured trio of teammates in North American sports history – Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin, and Kris Letang. Twenty years of dominating the Blue Jackets. (The trio are the top three all-time point leaders against the Blue Jackets.) Twenty years of friendship. Twenty years of hockey. Twenty years of winning and losing and winning again. Twenty years of magic on – and off – the ice. Crosby, like Ovechkin, has served as a role model or idol to many of the younger Blue Jackets players, including Adam Fantilli and Denton Mateychuk. A man known for his on-ice talent since childhood and off-ice kindness. A man known for wowing audiences for two decades, breaking Wayne Gretzky’s records.

No pressure.

Pregame, the Penguins honored Scotty Bowman, Ron Francis, Eddie Johnston, and Kevin Stevens, as the four were inducted into the Penguins Hall of Fame. These four were core aspects to the Penguins’ success in the 1980s and 1990s. As the Penguins broadcast put it, “It’s a celebration of pride, passion, and the legacy of these four men, and those they join have left on this city and this hockey club.”

Mario Lemieux, one of the greatest Penguins of all time, was in attendance.

In net, there was the Battle of Latvia. Elvis Merzļikins for Columbus, Arturs Silovs, his Olympic teammate, for Pittsburgh. It was the first Latvian goalie matchup since January 21, 2002 (Vancouver’s Peteris Skudra and Carolina’s Arturs Irbe).

And the puck dropped.

Fifty-nine seconds in, on the first shot on goal, Ryan Shea scored for Pittsburgh. A reverse of the situation the Penguins would too-often find themselves in last season – the first shot on goal would be scored against them.

Now, it was Pittsburgh’s turn to change the narrative. With an all-time record of 39-11-7 against the Blue Jackets, 24-4-1 in Pittsburgh, there were no more talks of “tanking for [Gavin] McKenna.” There were no more talks of trading Crosby or Malkin, of splitting up the two-headed monster. Not one without the other.

Throughout the first, captain Boone Jenner fought Pittsburgh’s Matt Dumba, in his first fight since March 2023. Merzļikins shone, stopping shots from NHL legends, keeping the Jackets thoroughly in the game. And at 15:44, Charlie Coyle rose to the occasion with a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it goal right in front of Silovs’s net. It was his first as a Blue Jacket.

Pittsburgh challenged for goaltender interference, but for seemingly the first time, the goal stood – and NHL officials made a call in favor of the Columbus Blue Jackets. (Like seeing a unicorn.) Despite the Blue Jackets failing to capitalize on the following powerplay for delay of game, there was a universal sense of euphoria amongst the Fifth Line at a call going their way. Right after going back to five-on-five play, where the Blue Jackets tend to thrive – the team has outscored their opponents 13-9 in five-on-five play, the fewest only behind the Washington Capitals – Anthony Mantha scored from an Evgeni Malkin pass (bringing Malkin’s point total up to eleven for the season), increasing Pittsburgh’s lead by a goal. With seconds left, the Jackets took a penalty, and yet again failed to capitalize on it.

The next two periods were classic, back-and-forth hockey. The Penguins went on the powerplay early in the second period after an Erik Gudbranson illegal hit, and despite their top-ranked powerplay (33.3%), they also failed to score, making me eat my words about the Blue Jackets’ penalty kill from the last recap. Sidney Crosby nearly had a goal near the five-minute mark of the second period on the powerplay, but Elvis Merzļikins saved the puck in the midst of netfront chaos. Both Silovs and Merzļikins made several fantastical saves throughout the second period, keeping their respective teams fully competitive and close.

The Blue Jackets seized a tie at 17:39 in the second period, with a Dmitri Voronkov goal.

As for the third period… it was sheer chaos.

Yegor Chinakhov put the Jackets on the board (using Ivan Provorov’s stick, according to the Jackets broadcast) at 1:55. The goal marked Chinakhov’s first of the season, Isac Lundeström’s first point as a Blue Jacket (secondary assist), and Zach Aston-Reese’s one-hundredth career point with the primary assist. The Jackets scored again three minutes later, this time, Voronkov’s second of the night.

Rickard Rakell, a Penguin who prior to this game, had a five-point streak in five games, took an Erik Gudbranson shot to the hand in the third, and did not return to the game. He underwent surgery for the injury on October 26, putting him out for six to eight weeks, including the Penguins’ NHL Global Series game in Sweden against the Nashville Predators.

Jenner took a high-sticking penalty against Connor Dewar, which sent the Penguins back on the powerplay. With help from Denton Mateychuk, Merzļikins stopped all Pittsburgh shots. Despite their goalie trying his best, despite Merzļikins losing his stick, Cole Sillinger took another Columbus penalty for hooking. At 14:54, on the powerplay, Kris Letang, aiming to tie Rob Blake for the twenty-second most points in NHL history for a defenseman; a man who has walked through hell – multiple strokes in his career – and survived, scored his first goal of the season, assisted by Tommy Novak and Silovs – a goalie assist. Bryan Rust tied the game at 16:54, giving Malkin his twelfth assist and Erik Karlsson his sixth.

Nothing happened in overtime, so…. shootout time! As the wise former Blue Jackets head coach John Tortorella once said, “Eliminate the shootout. Go to 3-on-3 until someone dies.”

Last season, the Blue Jackets went 6-1 in shootouts, with Merzļikins being the best shootout goalie in the entire NHL.

The Blue Jackets sent their first man, Kent Johnson, who scored on a wrist shot.

The Penguins sent their first man, Rust, who scored on a backhand.

The Jackets sent their second man, Adam Fantilli, who scored on a fakeout wrist shot, just like Johnson had done.

The Penguins sent their second man, Sidney Crosby, the man with sixty-five career points against Columbus (only Patrick Kane and Pavel Datsyuk have more); who finally scored in the shootout on a wrist shot.

The Jackets sent their third man, Kirill Marchenko, who scored on a wrist shot, following in the footsteps of the youth.

The Penguins sent their third man, Evgeni Malkin, who had been near-flawless all night, on a wrist shot, sent his shot wide left, saved by Merzļikins, who would surpass Steve Mason on the all-time CBJ goaltender wins list that night.

The Blue Jackets seized victory from the jaws of third period defeat, and took two points. The team took their fourth overall victory – and first away from central Ohio – in which all three men for the Jackets scored in the shootout. It had been done previously on November 24, 2007, against the Detroit Red Wings; and again on December 27, 2010, against the Minnesota Wild; and again on December 13, 2011, against the Vancouver Canucks. All of these occurred at Nationwide Arena. Never on the road.

Never in Pittsburgh, a place that for so long, has been haunted for the Blue Jackets.

Until this game.

In total, these Blue Jackets had points for the evening:

• Charlie Coyle (one goal)

• Yegor Chinakhov (one goal)

• Dmitri Voronkov (two goals)

• Zach Aston-Reese (one assist)

• Dante Fabbro (one assist)

• Adam Fantilli (one shootout goal)

• Kent Johnson (one assist, one shootout goal)

• Isac Lundeström (one assist)

• Sean Monahan (one assist)

• Kirill Marchenko (one assist, one shootout goal)

• Cole Sillinger (one assist)

Head coach Dean Evason took his second win in Pittsburgh, making him the winningest coach at PPG Paints Arena for the Columbus Blue Jackets – other legendary Blue Jackets coaches, like Dave King or John Tortorella, only had one win at Pittsburgh.

GAME 9: MILES TO WIN

Buffalo, NY | 4-3, Columbus Blue Jackets

After a short break, the Blue Jackets went up to Buffalo to play against the Sabres, who are actually (kind of) a decent team now. (Who would’ve thought?) Since 2000, the Blue Jackets have a 23-19-5 series record against Buffalo, winning their last matchup in April 2025. They meet again in Columbus in January, with the Blue Jackets looking to extend their overall wins.

Erik Gudbranson took warmups, but was subbed off for Jake Christiansen due to a hip injury. Miles Wood made his return to the lineup after an eye injury in the Jackets’ home opener against New Jersey in exchange for Zach Aston-Reese, who was the team’s healthy scratch.

And the game began, notably marking the start of Boone Jenner’s 750th NHL game.

In net, Columbus placed Jet Greaves in, and Buffalo inserted Alex Lyon. Despite the Sabres’ reputation, Lyon is no easy opponent – he’s made 56 saves on 58 shots faced while the Sabres have been shorthanded, and among goaltenders with at least five games played, he is second in penalty-kill save percentages (at .966).

At 6:09 in the first period, Yegor Chinakhov put the Jackets on the board after gaining the puck during a battle on the boards, swooping it behind Lyon. It was Chinakhov’s second goal in two games, and his third point in the last four Columbus games.

It would be the only goal of a largely uneventful first period, despite great play from the Blue Jackets’ fourth line, particularly Miles Wood, and Sean Monahan, growing closer to scoring. Goaltending was the primary story, with Alex Lyon stopping fourteen shots, and Jet Greaves stopping six. Both goaltenders would continue these stops early on in the second period, until Josh Doane, not to be confused with former Blue Jacket Josh Dunne, scored his third goal of the season at 11:39.

All hell would proceed to break loose. Three minutes later, the Sabres took the lead off of a Ryan McLeod goal.

On October 28, the day before this game, Zach Werenski told media,

| “Maybe people say for me, the offense isn’t there right now, but I don’t really care. We’re controlling the game and we’re on the attack, and it seems like we’re not giving up anything and we’re helping our team win. That’s the most important thing. I’ve honestly really enjoyed it this year. I’ve had a lot of fun. I feel like I’m playing great hockey.” |

He would proceed to score to tie the game on a Blue Jackets powerplay after Alex Tuch took an interference penalty on Denton Mateychuk during a puck battle. (And all the Fifth Line rejoiced, as the powerplay showed a sign of being functional.)

A last-minute scrum led to officials handing out penalties like how Oprah handed out cars on The Oprah Winfrey Show, with Kirill Marchenko, Bowen Bryan, and Dmitri Voronkov all taking roughing calls. Marchenko joined the scrum to defend Voronkov’s honor, leading the Sabres to start the third period on the powerplay.

Thankfully, the Jackets’ much-improved penalty kill stopped the Sabres’ powerplay, with Greaves making multiple vital saves throughout the sequence. At 2:40, former Blue Jacket Josh Dunne scored his first NHL goal to put the Sabres ahead with some netfront chaos. At 13:55, Miles Wood tied the game.

This game would be going into overtime. The dreaded O-word. But nevertheless, the Jackets persisted, with Miles Wood ending the game nearly three minutes into overtime, the energy line doing exactly their job – two goals for Wood, two points for Columbus.

It was Wood’s ninth career multi-goal game, with the first since 2022, where he was a New Jersey Devil at the time. This would also mark the first overtime winner of his career. Wood became the first Blue Jacket since David Vyborny in 2006 and 2007 to score the game-tying goal in the third period alongside the overtime winner. All in all, not a bad game for the man, the menace to goalies, the legend called “Woody.”

As for the Blue Jackets collective, the team would be returning to Columbus with four road wins, something that would’ve been a small miracle last season, for the first time since February 2022.

GAME 10: [INSERT STEVE DANGLE SCREAM HERE]

Columbus, OH | 6-3, Columbus Blue Jackets

With the spookiest of seasons underway, the Toronto Maple Leafs came to Columbus for the second game of a Jackets back-to-back for Hockey Halloween at Nationwide Arena.

Pregame, Leafs coach Craig Berube told media that star William Nylander would be out due to injury after playing nineteen minutes the night before; with Sammy Blais taking his place. On the Columbus side, Erik Gudbranson missed his second consecutive game with a hip injury. (The day after this game, October 30, the Jackets would call up Dysin Mayo from the Cleveland Monsters, the Blue Jackets’ AHL affiliate.)

Toronto placed Cayden Primeau, a goaltender claimed off waivers from the Carolina Hurricanes, in goal, and Columbus, true to the rotation, had Elvis Merzļikins in net. Merzļikins ranks fifth in the NHL for fewest even-strength goals allowed at seven total. (The Blue Jackets are the only team in the entire NHL with both goaltenders in the top ten in even-strength save percentage, with Merzļikins at .934, in seventh.)

And the puck dropped, with the Blue Jackets having a win streak to maintain.

At 6:58 in the first period, Cole Sillinger put the Jackets on the board with his first goal of the season, after seemingly endless chatter about his slow start to the season.

With the primary assist on Sillinger’s goal, Charlie Coyle celebrated his three-hundredth career assist. Coyle also is on a 338 consecutive games played streak since October 16, 2021, tied for the fourth-longest active in the National Hockey League.

Shortly afterwards, Zach Werenski nearly scored from the left circle, firing the puck in the crease, however, it didn’t hit the back of the net. Not to worry, as hope is the thing in the back of the net, unless one is a goalie (or whatever Emily Dickinson once said), and Werenski would get a goal at 11:18 in the first period, increasing the Jackets’ lead to two.

Despite the Leafs’ three goals from Sammy Blais, John Tavares (his fifth-hundred career goal), and Nicholas Robertson, the remainder of this game was Blue Jacket-dominated. Ivan Provorov scored his second goal of the season, and Cole Sillinger would score his second of the night shortly after the Provorov goal. Dante Fabbro would score his first goal of the season in the second period’s conclusion. At the end of the second, the score would be 5-1. Mathieu Olivier would increase the lead to 6-1 at the start of the third, and that’s really all that needs to be known, because the lead was just that large.

The Leafs outshot the Blue Jackets that night, as the Jackets only had twenty-six shots on net. Cayden Primeau allowed a goal in every four shots. (Yes, that is a real stat.) Two Leafs jerseys ended up on the ice… in Columbus. This would mark the third straight game against the Jackets in Columbus in which the Leafs would give up six goals.

The Jackets would finish the month of October 6-4-0 with this win.

GAME 11: SING THE BLUES, ST. LOUIS.

Columbus, OH | 3-2, Columbus Blue Jackets

Coming off of the Toronto win, the Jackets still had a win streak to maintain, and came into the third place in the Metropolitan Division.

But first, there was the St. Louis Blues to take on.

The Blues have lost six (now seven) consecutive games, ridden with injuries, with both young stars Robert Thomas and Jake Neighbours out. In net, the Blues placed struggling goaltender Joel Hofer (1-3-0 record), and the Blue Jackets, staying true to their patterns, placed Jet Greaves in (3-3-0). While wins are not a goalie statistic, both goaltenders desperately needed to win.

In the first ten minutes of the game, these three things happened:

• St. Louis’s Justin Faulk got the puck past Greaves as it bounced off the post, scoring his second goal of the season.

• Whether you believe the Blues scored an own-goal, or the Blue Jackets responded, the Jackets still got themselves on the board, with the goal being credited to Charlie Coyle.

• Mathieu Olivier and Tyler Tucker, in their yearly tradition, fought at center ice.

The rest of the first period involved both teams trying to get as many shots on goal as possible (ending in a tie), with the Blue Jackets trying to maintain another streak: their sweep of the Blues. In the past two season series, the Jackets have gone undefeated against the Blues (4-0-0), ) earning points in 13 of the last 20 games of the series since the 2014-2015 season.

Zach Werenski scored his fourth goal of the season in the second period, assisted by Denton Mateychuk, tying a career high with goals in three straight games. I would write more about the second, but honestly, not much happened, with the exception of this goal and several excellent saves by Greaves. The Jackets went on the powerplay twice, and failed to capitalize each time.

But alas! Not all hope was lost for the doomed powerplay! The Jackets would go on the powerplay again early in the third period, after St. Louis’s Nathan Walker hooked Ivan Provorov. Late in the powerplay, Sean Monahan would finally score his first goal of the season, after coming extremely close multiple times throughout the season. This goal would mark Monahan’s sixth-hundredth NHL point.

On the goal, Monahan stated,

| “I think as the milestones come here, now that I have a son, it’s something I’ll store in his room. I think it’s more so cool for him.” |

At 9:48, Nick Bjugstad would score for St. Louis, but the goal would hardly matter. The Blue Jackets would take the win yet again, at home, starting the month of November with a win.

GAME 12: NIGHTMARE ON ELMONT STREET

Long Island, NY | 3-2, New York Islanders

As the Blue Jackets embarked on their annual road trip, starting in Long Island, there would be some lineup adjustments made.

Yegor Chinakhov would be the team’s healthy scratch in favor of Zach Aston-Reese, a Staten Island native, who had been a healthy scratch since Miles Wood’s return. Wood would be moved up to the second line with Adam Fantilli and Boone Jenner, and Kent Johnson would be moved to the fourth line to play with Aston-Reese and Isac Lundeström. Erik Gudbranson would remain out with a hip injury. On Aston-Reese, head coach Dean Evason described the decision to healthy-scratch him:

| “When Reeser came out, he was playing well. It was just circumstance where everybody was playing well. We want to get people back in. This is our opportunity here tonight.” |

Elvis Merzļikins would play his 250th career NHL game on this night in the state that never rests. Across from him, David Rittich would start for the Islanders.

The first period began how it tends to, at least for the Blue Jackets: the team’s goalie coming up in extensive ways. Merzļikins made multiple grand saves, stopping seventeen of eighteen shots on goal throughout the first.

First overall pick Matthew Schaefer would score his fourth NHL goal at the age of eighteen, adding to his already-impressive resume as the NHL’s Rookie of the Month for October, and a frontrunner in the Calder Trophy race. Schaefer’s October resembled a superstar’s, with 22:21 minutes of ice time, thirty-three shots on goal, and was tied for rookies with the most powerplay goals that month at two – also tying for all NHL defensemen in powerplay goals. He also became the fourth teenage defenseman in NHL history to record three goals in a month, alongside being the second defenseman in NHL history to record at least eight points as an eighteen-year-old through his first eleven games.

Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, in this game, with the exception of Merzļikins’s play, went the Jackets’ way, and it was entirely of their own making. The Jackets, in the second period alone, had three different powerplay opportunities, and capitalized on none of them. While Miles Wood scored his fourth goal of the season, bringing the Jackets bench some hope, their first period play was too poor to truly recover from.

The Blue Jackets took the lead with a Denton Mateychuk goal early in the third, his third goal in the last seven games. Merzļikins continued to make all the saves he could, and for a majority of the period, it was a foregone conclusion that the Jackets would win this game, despite the Islanders taking a penalty and the Blue Jackets failing to perform on the powerplay – again.

And then it all fell apart at the period’s conclusion.

The Islanders pulled their goaltender, as they often do when behind at the period’s end – ninety seconds to go.

Schaefer scored again at 18:53, despite being surrounded by Blue Jackets, on a deflected puck.

Just seconds later, with thirty-seven seconds left to go, the Islanders would take the lead with a Simon Holstrom goal, despite the Jackets being around Merzļikins’s crease. A (rightfully) furious Merzļikins smashed his stick on the posts of his net before skating to the bench, and was pulled as the game ended.

And the final horn sounded, and the Blue Jackets deflated as the Islanders crowd chanted the name of their next big star.

WHAT’S NEXT FOR THE BLUE JACKETS?

The Blue Jackets continue on their road trip, heading to Canada and Seattle for a series of late night games over the next two weeks. The team returns to Columbus on November 13, with games against the Oilers, Rangers, and Canadiens, before departing on another road trip; hopefully fixing their powerplay before then.

And just remember, dear readers:

Hi, I’m Kat, and welcome to Jackets!

(Is now a good time to admit that I’ve never seen an episode of Jackass? Or anything relating to the Jackass franchise, despite being a child of the 2000s?)

ANYWAY.

Back to Jackets.

Six months of never-ending “who’s the opening night goaltender” and “will Yegor Chinakhov get traded” discourse later, we’ve officially survived the long and treacherous offseason filled with Horrors (like what Quinn Hughes sees behind the bench – is it the void? Is it ghosts? Who knows?).

THE OFFSEASON

The Blue Jackets had a quiet offseason, with very minimal movement. Ivan Provorovwas re-signed to acontroversial seven year, $8.5 million deal on June 30 (at the last possible second before free agency opened). On June 27, the Jackets traded Gavin Brindley, a second round pick in 2027, and a 2025 third round pick to the Colorado Avalanche in exchange for Charlie Coyle and Miles Wood, best known for being a “man-child” at Boston College, and running into goalies,including former Columbus goaltender Daniil Tarasov. In free agency, the Jackets picked up former Anaheim Duck Isac Lundeström on a two-year, $1.3 million deal. On September 14, Philadelphia traded goaltender Ivan Fedotov to Columbus in exchange for a sixth-round 2026 draft pick. Fedotov was put on waivers, and successfully cleared, making him the starting goaltender for the AHL’s Cleveland Monsters.

As for other waiver-related chaos, Daemon Hunt, a defenseman traded from Minnesota in the David Jirieck trade last season, was anticipated to make his Columbus debut early this season after a strong preseason showing. Hunt was placed on waivers on October 2, and Minnesota claimed him back the next day. In short, the Blue Jackets’ waiver strategy appears as follows:

GAME 1: WHAT’S GOALIE INTERFERENCE ANYWAY? EW.

Nashville, TN | 2-1, Nashville Predators

Pregame, both teams were described as “having a chip on [their] shoulders”. For Nashville, it came after a highly disappointing season, marked by 30 wins on a team that has Brady Skjei, Steven Stamkos, Jonathan Marchessault, and Ryan O’Reilly. For Columbus, it came from just barely missing the Stanley Cup Playoff last season after defying expectations of a last-place Metropolitan Division finish.

In net, Jet Greaves, a man who resembled the spirit of Dominik Hasek last April, and Juuse Saros faced off. The Columbus goaltending decision was announced the morning of October 9, after a long offseason of goaltending questions surrounding the Blue Jackets.

The first goal of the evening was a Nashville goal, scored by Pittsburgh Penguins/Toronto Maple Leafs/Carolina Hurricanes legend Michael Bunting, assisted by Erik Haula (best known for wearing a bracelet that read “Canes Suck”), with 13:15 left to go in the first period. A goal reminiscent of Alexander Ovechkin or former Blue Jacket Patrik Laine.

The Jackets struck back near the first period’s conclusion, with a Dmitri Voronkov goal, assisted by Damon Severson, a defenseman on the rise from a poor 2024-2025 campaign, and Denton Mateychuk, a rising star at the age of twenty-one.

With seconds left in the second period, Mathieu Olivier scored for Columbus, but Nashville challenged due to goaltender interference. Goaltender interference, according to the 2024-2025 NHL rulebook, is defined as:

| “This rule is based on the premise that an attacking player’s position, whether inside or outside the crease, should not, by itself, determine whether a goal should be allowed or disallowed. In other words, goals scored while attacking players are standing in the crease may, in appropriate circumstances be allowed… Goals should be disallowed only if: (1) an attacking player, either by his positioning or by contact, impairs the goalkeeper’s ability to move freely within his crease or defend his goal; or (2) an attacking player initiates intentional or deliberate contact with a goalkeeper, inside or outside of his goal crease. Incidental contact with a goalkeeper will be permitted, and resulting goals allowed, when such contact is initiated outside of the goal crease, provided the attacking player has made a reasonable effort to avoid such contact. The rule will be enforced exclusively in accordance with the on-ice judgement of the Referee(s), but may be subject to a Coach’s Challenge.” |

In simpler terms, if the goaltender is unable to tend the goal because a skater (forward or defenseman) is interfering, it counts as goaltender interference.

Here’s a clip of the goal, and you, dear reader, can decide for yourself whether or not it was goaltender interference:

Every Jackets player, fan, and head coach Dean Evason were livid about this call, with Olivier spending what felt like the length of a full game with commercials talking to the officials about the call. In a statement from the league, the NHL’s explanation appeared as such:

| “Video review determined Columbus’ Mathieu Oliver made contact in the crease with goaltender Juuse Saros that impaired his ability to play his position prior to the goal. The decision was made in accordance with Rule 69.1.” |

Evason later spoke to the league about the call for clarification, telling media on October 11 that “We [the league] agree to disagree.”

Nashville’s final goal occurred on the powerplay, with Jackets forward and resident blorbo Zach Aston-Reese taking a penalty for tripping (and he lost an edge on his skate, going shoulder-first into the boards). Ryan O’Reilly scored on Greaves, finishing the game 2-1 in Nashville’s favor.

As for other chaotic things that happened during this game, Dante Fabbro’s “welcome back” video played while he was in the penalty box (Fabbro was claimed by Columbus off waivers from Nashville at the start of last season), and like Miss America, Fabbro waved to the crowd… from the sin bin. Kent Johnson also did a reverse Erik Johnson slide during the second period to try and stop a shot.

Jet Greaves stopped a total of 29 shots. Juuse Saros stopped 37 shots on goal. His performance led to both praise from Evason and Olivier, with the former stating, “A ton of positives. Obviously their goaltender was real good. We did so many really good things in this hockey game. It’s frustrating, obviously … but the guys know how hard and how well they played.”

GAME 2: MARCHY MAGIC

St. Paul, MN | 7-4, Columbus Blue Jackets

This game was marked by three things for the Columbus Blue Jackets:

• Stellar goaltending.

• Lots of goals.

• Even more penalties.

Going into this game, everything remained the exact same – with the exception of goaltending. Elvis Merzļikinsstarted in net, saving a total of 48 shots. Merzļikins set the record for most saves made by a Blue Jackets goaltender with 56 saves in a January 2022 game versus the Calgary Flames, and currently holds the record for third-most saves made in a playoff game in Jackets history (that one was 49 saves against the Toronto Maple Leafs), but this 48 shot game marked the second-most saves in a regular season game in Blue Jackets history.

The scoring began at only two minutes and twenty-nine seconds into the game, with new Blue Jacket, human bowling ball, and terrorizer of goalies, Miles Wood, scoring from a Merzļikins save and Zach Aston-Reese pass. (There was no goalie assist on this goal, unfortunately, although the save started the play that led to Wood’s goal.)

Nine seconds into the second period, Kirill Marchenko left fans wondering “who is the superior Kirill” (after Kirill Kaprizov signed one of the largest contracts in NHL history, beginning next season, at eight years and $136 million total) after scoring directly from the faceoff, putting the Jackets up 2-0. The Jackets won 68% of their first-period faceoffs, so this wasn’t completely unexpected, but still extremely fascinating to witness in real-time.

Marchenko would score again twice, giving him a hat trick that evening. This placed him with the third-most career hat tricks in franchise history, only behind Cam Atkinson and Rick Nash.

The second period also marked the game of never-ending Columbus penalties, with all four of their goals in both the second and third periods being on the powerplay.

During the third period, Adam Fantilli scored the franchise’s 5,000th goal, and captain Boone Jenner scored his 200th career goal. Jenner joined the ranks of Rick Nash and Cam Atkinson as the only players in Blue Jackets history to reach the milestone.

In total, these Blue Jackets all had points that evening:

• Marchenko (three goals)

• Jenner (one goal, two assists)

• Fantilli (one goal, one assist)

• Zach Werenski (one goal, two assists)

• Wood (one goal)

• Dmitri Voronkov (two assists)

• Charlie Coyle (one assist)

• Zach Aston-Reese (one assist)

• Cole Sillinger (one assist)

• Ivan Provorov (one assist)

GAME 3: HOME IS WHERE THE 614 IS

Columbus, OH | 3-2, New Jersey Devils

After a (not-so) long and treacherous road trip, the Blue Jackets returned home to walk the Blue Carpet for the twenty-fifth time (a tradition that began their inaugural season in 2000, where players meet fans pregame outside of Nationwide Arena).

Gudbranson did not play due to an upper-body injury, is currently “day-to-day”, and was replaced by Jake Christiansen. Jet Greaves started in net, continuing the “every other” game mix from Evason. At the game’s start, in honor of twenty-five years of hockey in central Ohio, the McConnell family(of Worthington Steel, the team’s ownership family), began a new tradition by lighting the famous cannon. For the first time this season, the cannon was fired, the puck was dropped, and hockey had made its return to Nationwide Arena.

This game proved four things, four constants in life:

• Death.

• Taxes.

• Jack Hughes falling on his face.

• The Columbus Blue Jackets lose their home opener.

The first period was, quite frankly, a disaster for the Blue Jackets. Power forward and team energizer Wood was high-sticked near the eye, and did not return to the game after being assessed by the team’s trainer. Despite a four-minute powerplay, New Jersey’s penalty kill was successful, keeping the Blue Jackets at zero.

Adam Fantilli took a hooking penalty, and with a second left on New Jersey’s powerplay, Timo Meier scored his eighth goal in eight games against the Jackets, sinking an already-weak penalty kill in Columbus.

During the second period, Kirill Marchenko continued his “hot streak” by taking the puck from New Jersey star Jack Hughes, getting on a breakaway, and successfully firing the puck past Jake Allen, putting the Blue Jackets on the board. (There is something magical about a breakaway goal, such as Nathan MacKinnon’s frequent breakaways, and Marchenko’s goal proved the why – it creates a force of invincibility for the player.)

New Jersey got back on the board minutes later, with a Dawson Mercer powerplay goal, putting the Jackets at seven powerplay goals against in seven games.

Allen left the game with cramping during the second intermission, putting Jacob Markstrom in net for the third period. With two minutes left, Jet Greaves was pulled, and Mercer got his second of the night on an empty-netter. Dmitri Voronkov pulled off an impossible goal that was shockingly not called off for goaltender interference, but that’s what happens when there’s less than a minute left in a hockey game.

GAME 4: THIRTEEN IS THE LUCKIEST NUMBER

Columbus, OH | 4-1, Colorado Avalanche

The second game of the Columbus homestand was about more than just hockey.

Blue Jackets legend Cam Atkinson officially announced his retirement from the NHL on October 8, and on October 16, signed a one-day contract to retire as a Columbus Blue Jacket. Atkinson was drafted by the Blue Jackets at 157th overall in 2008, and played for the team (and their original AHL affiliate, the Springfield Falcons) from 2010 until 2021. During those eleven years, Atkinson set many of the team’s records, similarly to franchise legend Rick Nash. Before the late, great Johnny Gaudreau wore the number thirteen, it was Cam Atkinson’s.

Thirteen is the luckiest number in Columbus, Ohio.

Atkinson’s final lap was one of the few positives of the night for the Jackets, despite a stellar performance in net from Elvis Merzļikins. With them, the Avalanche brought a series of storylines – Cup favorites, top goaltending and superstar players, Gavin Brindley’s return to Columbus after the trade, Yegor Chinakhov’s debut after requesting a trade this summer –, but storylines don’t add up to on-ice play. The Colorado Avalanche dominated the Jackets for the evening, despite a second period goal from Ivan Provorov. Kirill Marchenko continued his streak of being one of the best skaters in the National Hockey League with the primary assist.

That was the only goal for the Jackets, with a weak powerplay serving as the reason why. Despite Colorado penalties, Columbus was unable to capitalize, with Avalanche stars Cale Makar (the reigning Norris Trophy winner), Brock Nelson, and Valeri Nichushkin all scoring. Nichushkin scored twice – once in the second, once in the third. The Jackets had two goals called off – the first was a Dmitri Voronkov goal, with officials believing Voronkov had swatted the puck into the net with his glove. The Jackets called for a review, but the goal did not count due to Voronkov swatting the puck into the net with his chest. There was no explanation at the moment. The second was disallowed due to a hand pass.

Dean Evason stated postgame, “”We thought we were challenging the hand pass, but (GM Don Waddell) just said it’s out that it was directed into the net. But obviously we disagree with that. We just think it hits him in the chest and goes in.”

GAME 5: THERE ARE MANY WORDS

Columbus, OH | 3-2, Columbus Blue Jackets

Earlier this year, I suggested that the Jacketswould benefit from a rivalry, and suggested the Tampa Bay Lightning (rather than the Montreal Canadiens, because Patrik Laine is my favorite Blue Jacket ever), due to their 2019 playoff series.

But I’ve gotten ahead of myself.

Pregame, the inaugural Jackets roster was honored, with the team’s first head coach, Dave King, first goaltender Ron Tugnutt, Kevin Dineen, and first CBJ draft pick Rostislav Klesla in attendance.

Within minutes after this group dropped the ceremonial puck, the Lightning and Jackets found themselves in a scrum, with Columbus captain Boone Jenner, Kent Johnson, and Dmitri Voronkov involved. This started for three reasons:

a.) These teams hate each other.

b.) A Tampa Bay player aimed for Johnson’s head before the scrum, according to Jenner.

c.) The Jackets needed to “set the tone”, as Shoresy once said.

Jenner and Voronkov served penalties for this scrum, leading to a four-on-four, and then a Tampa powerplay. The wrong man left the box, with Voronkov being the one who should’ve left the box due to his two-minute minor.

The reigning “heavyweight champion of the NHL”, Columbus’s Mathieu Olivier, who stands at 6’1, and Tampa Bay’s Curtis Douglas, who stands at 6’8, fought each other shortly afterwards. Olivier “won” the fight, but both men took five minutes for fighting.

On his twenty-third birthday, Kent Johnson got the scoring started, with his first goal of the season, starting with a substantial hit delivered by Adam Fantilli. Johnson was one of the top scorers on the Jackets last season, with a total of 47 goals in his young career.

The post also haunted the Jackets, with the “ding!” being fired multiple times throughout the first and second period. Tampa scored their first goal during the first period, at 12:42, with the goal being credited to Ryan McDonagh. Anthony Cirelli scored his third goal this season at 16:22 in the first, putting Tampa ahead 2-1 by the period’s end. In a second period with minimal action, Damon Severson scored Columbus’s second goal at 13:59.

Yet again, Kirill Marchenko served as the hero for Columbus, scoring the game-winning goal at a minute and fifteen seconds in the third period. The Marchy Magic is seemingly endless, and like a fairy godparent, comes at the best of times for central Ohio.

The game ended with another scrum, after Hagel fired a shot on Jet Greaves. Ivan Provorov took offense, and both teams found themselves in another cosmic scrum. Greaves described the scrum, stating, “I appreciate it. I think that just shows where our energy was here tonight. That togetherness and sticking up for each other the whole night. I really appreciate the guys having my back there. That was great.”

Severson told reporters postgame, “We needed it (a win) bad, for sure.”

WHAT’S NEXT FOR THE BLUE JACKETS?

Throughout the month of October, the Jackets will be on the road, heading to Dallas, Pittsburgh, and Buffalo. The team will be in Columbus for two games against Washington and Toronto (hopefully without a Zamboni driver in net). Early November marks another road trip, against the New York Islanders, the Calgary Flames, the Vancouver Canucks, the Edmonton Oilers, and the Seattle Kraken.

The Jackets desperately need work. It’s still October, but there are reasons for fans to be worried. The powerplay is not good by any means, with a 9.1% stat percentage. The Blue Jackets are not the only team with a struggling powerplay by any means, but gone are the days of “same old Blue Jackets”. This is a team with playoff expectations. They are not playing like it.

But there are positives to the team’s play. The Jet Greaves/Elvis Merzļikins tandem works. Goaltending, especially in the past several seasons, has been a limitation for the Blue Jackets (as much as I love Merzļikins, and think he often gets an undeserved amount of criticism). Greaves has a .932 save percentage, and a 2.06 GAA (goals against average). Merzļikins has a .954 save percentage, and a .920 GAA (goals against average). The tandem gives both goaltenders adequate rest, which goes overlooked in the modern game (such as Connor Hellebuyck playing 62 out of 82 games, not including playoffs or the Four Nations tournament, where he was Team USA’s starter, in one season). The Blue Jackets have finally found their stars in net, and found the stability that has long been searched for.

This concludes today’s episode of Jackets. We’ll see you next time.