Option 1:

...

What the hell was I supposed to do, the entire team has gone down with a food born illness which is closer to the black plague leaving me all by my self. With 1 hour to source replacements I did the only responsible thing an adult in my position could do. I called up the legends of SFP and told them to lace up some skates and get their asses over to the arena for one more moment in the sun.

Being a fairly significant playoff game most of these living legends were already in the arena. We found extra skates and equipment that fit them. They marveled at how light it had become. We went over some quick strategy on how to close out the game. We had mercifully built a 6-3 lead. All I needed out of these geriatric old timers were 10 minutes of game time, about 2 minutes from each of them.

We came up with a simple plan, and the plan was to play as if we were on a PK. We would take pot shots on net and retreat filling the box and give them no shooting lanes.

Simple enough, right. Wrong. The moment these senile windbags got on the ice and had a chance to relive glory from the past a light twinkled in their eyes and they started to make plays. They rushed the net, tried to drive for goals and hear that crowd roar one more time.

This was not a successful plan, as we were playing against competition thay was younger, stronger, and disciplined in their game plan.

A 6-3 lead dwindled to 6-4,5, and eventually 6-6 tie with only 45 seconds left on the clock. I went to hop the boards to take one last shot at winning this game but a glove pushed me back as Sven Svensson said, "I got this kid."

He looked like he had not lost a step as he danced into the opposing zone. He weaved some magic back and forth as the clock ticked away. And with an amazing forehand fake to back hand shot he put that puck top blocker side corner for the win!

Never doubted those legends not for a moment.