I want you to rewind to a time in which the world was expected of a Pittsburgh Penguins team whose young core had just won their first Stanley Cup while being led by an absolute phenom that basically became the best player in the entire league the second he entered it. A time when those expectations weighed heavily on the shoulders of a somewhat overshadowed first overall pick who played the one position in which postseason performances absolute cannot suffer without sabotaging the entire team's success. A time when the pressure mounted not only with each underwhelming and abrupt exit, but also with each passing puck that all-too-easily made it's way through, over, or around the pads of a goaltender whose resume was starting to tightly squeeze it's cold, unforgiving hands around his reputation. Think back to the burden that player must have felt as he became a playoff punchline while repeatedly letting down one of the most dominant 1-2 punches in the league when it mattered most. Now, feel free to record right over a sports' narrative that we all believed to be so undeniably true that even a non-planner like myself would buy a calendar just to mark it as an annual event with footage of that same player confidently-but-casually carrying a franchise to within two wins of the Stanley Cup Finals during its first season in existence. Marc-Andre Fleury did a a fantastic job of temporarily filling in for the guy that took his job en route to his third Stanley Cup last season, so it would be disingenuous to act like all it took was some casino air to breathe life into the concept that he's clutch. That said, at the expense of forcing a corny gambling pun, what we are currently witnessing is a professional athlete playing with house money for the first time in his playoff career. I don't know that the stress of undelivered promise is entirely responsible for haunting postseasons past. However, you can't possibly watch him interrupt his now regularly scheduled excellence only to amuse himself by treating an unsuspecting opponent like a toddler during a conference finals game and say that it wasn't a factor. The tale of tape is one of a player having such a Grand ole' time shutting down (and out) the best that the Western Conference has to offer that he's liable to instill FOMO in someone who happens to catch a quick glimpse of the game while poppin' bottles in a VIP section at the MGM. I'm pretty sure Marc-Andre Fleury is just eating it out of the tub with his fingers at this point, because the Golden Knights' cake is so far beyond iced that even an NHL official couldn't botch the call. As evidenced by the juxtaposition of him smiling through a tickle fight to him sprawling across the crease to maintain a late lead with by turning a save that was damn near cinematic into a double feature, both his personality and performance are currently carefree in all the best ways. Just as importantly, you can see that same approach reflected up and down an under-appreciated lineup that honestly doesn't look as though they realize they are making history on a bi-weekly basis. The Vegas Golden Knights aren't just happy to be there...but you wouldn't be able to tell from the ear-to-ear smile seemingly plastered across the face of their Conn Smythe frontrunner. P.S. Impossible not to cheer for the guy. Just impossible...
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