Cognitive Dissonance – Or, How I Learned to Cheer for Brad in Florida

Let’s kick things off with the good stuff—because you’re going to need the warm fuzzies before we wade into the hockey heartbreak. The latest PET CT? Clean. Bone marrow biopsy? Clear. Final arm x-ray? No myeloma lesions anywhere. I am officially a no-evidence-of-disease kind of guy. Remission feels good. But, because my body loves plot twists, the orthopedic oncologist decided to play medical detective. While reviewing that PET CT, she noticed that when both of my arms went dead (see March 31, 2023 blog post), I actually broke my shoulders. Yep. Both. At once. Without realizing it. Yes, folks, I went full “Mr. Glass” from Unbreakable, except I didn’t even get a cool superhero origin story out of it. Just two busted arms and a lot of awkward attempts at opening jars.

... about those dead arms...

And the good news keeps rolling: my oncologist is grinning like he just won the lottery. In 3-4 months, the plan is to drop two of my meds—Darzalex and Zometa. What does that mean? For starters, my car can enjoy a reprieve from its part-time Uber job to the cancer center. No more monthly marathons of IV drips. Instead, I’ll just continue to be on oral chemo (Revlimid, 21 days a month) and will have periodic lab draws and Office visits. I’m practically going to have free time. Maybe I’ll take up golf. (not.a.chance.) Or pickleball? Or professional complaining about Don Sweeney.

The villain in our story...

Because let’s talk about THAT bombshell. Brad Marchand. Florida Panther. There are things in life you brace yourself for: taxes, root canals, the end of a great Netflix series. But this? My brain short-circuited. How do I wrap my head around my favorite Bruin wearing the sweater of the team that’s made our playoff exit their annual tradition? And skating alongside Sam Bennett—the guy who literally KO’d him last year? If this were a movie, I’d demand a rewrite. But here we are. When the contract talks with "Dumb Sweeney" went south, Brad took that old saying to heart: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. And while you’re at it, win a Cup!

I’m furious. At Don Sweeney. At how it all went down. At the fact that Brad got hurt in that game against Pittsburgh and didn’t even get a proper send-off in the Spoked-B. But what can you do? You press on. When the Panthers came to Carolina for the Eastern Conference Finals, I was there—watching with one of my best friends and Brad’s dad. (Yes, you read that right.) And after the game? We swapped stories until 2 AM, getting Brad stories straight from the source! You can’t buy nights like that.

Just two "cats". One on a Cup Run and one Cheering! (I'm on the right) :P

And when the Panthers were on the verge of winning it all in Game 6 at home against the Oilers? I was there, too. I watched Brad hoist his second Cup, watched him play like a man possessed (Finishing second in Conn Smythe voting by 8 points... to yeah, Sam Bennett), and watched the Panthers put on a clinic. A far cry from the soul-crushing Game 7 in Boston against the Blues in 2019—yeah, I was there for that disaster too. Call me consistent.

Mission Accomplished! 2x Cup Champ ... Take a lap.

So here’s what I’ve learned: If I can survive nearly dying, a bone marrow transplant, and snapping both arms without noticing, I can survive Brad in Florida. (For six more years—because yes, he extended, slamming the door on any Boston reunion fantasies.) An appropriate F-U to Sweeney, never even giving them the chance to make an offer, after proving he had WAY MORE in the tank!

The next six years? Picture this: me standing in an arena that’s half TD Garden, half Amerant Bank Arena, rocking a jersey split down the middle—half Bruins, half Panthers, all Brad. Because if cognitive dissonance is the price of fandom, I’m paying it. And maybe even smiling while I do.