The United Center in Chicago was a roaring cauldron of pure hostility.
Twenty-two thousand fans packed the arena, the vast majority of them screaming for the Vipers to dismantle us. The historic rivalry between the Tigers and Chicago was legendary—defined by dirty hits, relentless bench chirping, and unadulterated hatred on the ice. Tonight, with Logan McAllister back between the pipes, the tension in the air was electric.
I watched from the sterile cage of the press box, my heart lodged firmly in my throat. On the ice, Logan was a force of nature. His massive six-foot-five frame dominated the blue paint like it was his personal kingdom. Every time a Viper forward dared to crash his net, he cleared them out with violent, mathematical precision—his stick chopping at ankles, his blocker de
