Game six. Another do or die, now or never situation. If the Habs managed to pull off a win, we'd be done; they'd be the Stanley Cup Champions. If we won, we sent it back to Montreal, for the game seven every hockey fan and expert swore we wouldn't need.

Half of wanting to win was to shove it in their faces. The other half, of course, was because I wanted to win that damn Stanley cup. There are so many players that never win the cup; lots that don't even make it THIS close. I couldn't ruin the opportunity; we needed to win this.

The dressing room was a little tense, every player absorbed in their own thoughts. Each player had their own superstition, or game day ritual; and this time it was done in mostly silence. We all knew what we had to do; we couldn't screw this up.

The warm ups were nerve racking. I don't think I've ever been as nervous as I am right now. I felt a little at ease when I looked up into the crowd and saw Haley sitting there with Erica, clad in my jersey. I felt my smile grow wider when I noticed the guy to her left; her brother.

They were going to talk this morning, right after I left for practice. I guess it must have gone well; otherwise they wouldn't be currently sitting next to each other, chatting animatedly back and forth.

Before I knew it the opening draw was under way.

End of the first period- scoreless. Shots on net – ten a piece. The play was generally back and forth; not many mistakes were made. It was a pretty tight game from both teams; nobody wanted to be the one to make the huge mistake that would cost them a goal, or the game.

We kept our eye closely on Phil Kessel; if there was one person we needed to hold goalless and pointless tonight it was him. So far so good.

It wasn't until halfway through the second period the scoring was opened; and I'm happy to announce it was us that opened it. Tyler scored on a breakaway, getting the crowd even more in the game then they were previously; if that was even possible.
The period ended this way; us being ahead 1-0.

“We're doing great” Ruff spoke up gruffly. After Tyler had his intermission interview, we all sat around silently in the dressing room, getting our pep talk from coach. In twenty minutes we could be one win away from the Stanley cup. In twenty minutes we could successfully tie the series despite being down three games to none. “But we can do better”

We all nodded.

“I know there are a lot of things I could say right now. I'll just keep it simple” he was cool, calm, and collected as he spoke. “This teams got a lot of heart. From the way you guys composed yourself after being embarrassed the first two games, to coming back and winning the past two games. You never gave up; you kept pushing. You've dug deep to get this far. It's time to dig even deeper”

“Keep pushing yourselves. There are more than half of the players that make it to this level win a Stanley cup. You guys can be one of them. Keep working hard; keep pushing; trust each other; talk out there” he paced around the room, pausing thoughtfully. “Any words of encouragement, captain?” He turned to me, waiting for me to say something.

“You pretty much covered it all” I confessed, taking a stand in front of the team. “I'm incredibly proud of the way all of you have played after the first three losses. Nobody thought we'd be here. So let's show them what kind of team we really are; let's finish this game off strong!”

There were whoops and cheers throughout the room, the entire team getting pumped up for the final period.

Ten minutes had passed in the third; we were feeling the pressure. Kari was holding us in the game; we were being outplayed, out battled, and out shot.

With nine minutes remaining, Phil Kessel tied the game, despite our best efforts to keep him off the score sheet. It seemed to bring a new life to the Habs; they were laying it on harder than they had all period. I was nervous.

After our second penalty kill in a span of five minutes coach called a time out; we needed to get our heads out of our asses.

“It looks like you guys want your season to be over” Ruff reamed, disappointment written all over his face. “Get back to the basics! Don't be fancy. Don't try to be the hero. Were a fucking team here, start acting like it!” He was pissed. I couldn't say I blamed him.

We looked terrible out there; and if we didn't shape up quickly we'd be watching Montreal win the Stanley cup on front of our home crowd.

One minute to go in the third. Tyler, Spezza and I flew up the ice into the offensive zone. I wanted to pot one right now; I didn't want this to go into over time. In overtime with one mistake and our fate would be settled; I wanted this done now.

Forty seconds; time was ticking down. We cycled the puck around, trying to find an angel to take a decent shot at Price. We only felt we had one shot at this; it was now or never.

Thirty seconds; Tyler's shot went wide, flinging around the boards and back to our D. He paused for a moment, passing it back to Tyler to took another shot, right off the blocker of Price.

Twenty seconds; the rebound came right to me. I swatted at the puck mid air, surprised when my stick came in contact with the puck. In slow motion I watched the puck fly right last his left skate, and into the back of their net.

We were winning; with less than twenty seconds remaining.

“CHUBBS” I heard someone yell, as we jumped into a hug. The crowd went wild; I didn’t think there was any Stars fan in the building that were sitting down.

“We need to hold on!” I yelled, not wanting to get to ahead of myself. Remember Boston and the Hawks a few years ago? All it took for them was 17 seconds to tie the game and win; I didn't want to be another Boston story.

I watched the replay from the bench, Montreal calling a time out in hopes to tie the game with a limited amount of time left. If everything went well, game seven was going to happen.

Ruff went over our game plan, a serious expression on his face. Just a moment ago that face had a smile a mile wide; hopefully in twenty seconds we'd all be smiling once more.

I was told to stay on Phil Kessel. He couldn't get the puck; he was the most dangerous goal scorer on the ice; I had to stop him.
The face off was won by Montreal. PK Subban skated down the right hand side, dumping the puck as four of their players chased it. Carey Price was out of the net, the extra attacker on the ice.

Ten seconds.

Time was running out for them. They passed it around, trying to find a shot.

Five seconds.

Subban took a slap shot from the point, the entire city of Dallas’ hearts stopping for a moment as it rung loudly off the post and then into the far corner.

And just like that the game was over; we were headed to a game seven

Notes

sorry it's more of a filler!