I don’t usually remember my dreams, but this one? It felt like a message.
It started somewhere weird , not in a real rink, but on a frozen lake in the middle of a pitch-black night. Pines stretched high into the sky, and the only light came from the moon reflecting off the ice. The Oilers skated out of the mist , McDavid first, then Draisaitl, Bouchard, Ekholm — like warriors returning from some ancient war.
But something was off.
Their opponents wore Panthers jerseys, sure, but they moved like shadows , glitching in and out, like they weren’t really there. Like the dream was warning: This isn’t just a team ,it’s something else. Something meant to break you.
The puck dropped , and from the start, nothing made sense. McDavid scored on the first shift, a coast-to-coast highlight that should’ve blown the roof off… but the goal was called off for “temporal interference.” Yes , temporal. The ref whispered it and then disappeared into a fog.
Then it got worse.
Second period, Oilers down 3–0. Bobrovsky is a wall. Stuart Skinner looks haunted. Evan Bouchard fans on a power play one-timer. The cameras pan to Jay Woodcroft, who isn't even the coach anymore, and he just shakes his head slowly, saying, "They’re not awake yet."
And then everything shifts.
Midway through the second, Draisaitl wins a board battle with three defenders draped on him and somehow finds Ryan Nugent-Hopkins, who rifles a wrister top corner. The arena — which suddenly is Rogers Place now — comes to life like it had been asleep the whole time.
Third period. 3–1. Panthers start sitting back. McDavid turns it on. First, a ridiculous solo effort where he splits the D and roofs it with one hand on his stick. 3–2.
Then, chaos: a puck bounces in front, no one can find it — until Ekholm charges in like a freight train and buries it through a sea of legs.
Tie game. 3–3.
The building starts shaking — literally. The dream is glitching. I look down and realize I’m sitting between Wayne Gretzky and my fifth-grade gym teacher. No one says a word. They just stare straight ahead.
Overtime.
The dream slows down. McDavid and Draisaitl skate out, but then — a turnover. Panthers rush. Skinner makes a save that feels like it comes from another dimension.
Then: a rebound. Bouchard clears it. Draisaitl scoops it and feathers a no-look saucer pass.
McDavid is gone. Alone.
And just as he nears the net, he turns — and looks directly at me. Like he knew I’d already seen this happen.
He fakes forehand, cuts backhand — and lifts it under the bar.
Oilers win. 4–3. OT.
The horn blares. The roof cracks open. Fans don’t scream — they sing. And for a second, everything freezes, and I swear, even Bobrovsky smiles.
Then I woke up. Heart pounding. Sweat on my neck. And somehow I just knew…
It’s gonna happen. Game 3. Oilers take it. It won’t be clean. It won’t be logical. But it’ll be legendary.
Higupin niyo lahat na malas ko - atiya
Hot Forum Topics
