“All of Canada Is Disappointed in You”: Stuart Skinner Turns Game 7 Heartbreak into Redemption Journey as Oilers Close In on Stanley Cup Glory

Stuart Skinner stood frozen in the crease as confetti rained down in Sunrise, Florida. The scoreboard above him burned like a scar—2-1, Panthers. The final buzzer had sounded. The dream was over. Game 7 of the 2024 Stanley Cup Final had just slipped away, and the bitter taste of heartbreak was all too real. Florida’s Sam Reinhart had delivered the dagger, the goal that ended Edmonton’s miracle run and denied Canada its first Stanley Cup since 1993. For Skinner, who had fought through ups and downs to be the man in the net for that very moment, it wasn’t just the end of a game. It felt like the weight of a nation had fallen on his shoulders—and crushed him.

As the Panthers celebrated and the Oilers slowly skated off the ice, Skinner’s emotions were concealed behind a blank expression. But inside, a storm raged. Not just the pain of losing, but the deeper ache of believing he had let down an entire country. The Edmonton native, raised just minutes from Rogers Place, didn’t need anyone to tell him what this loss meant. Canada had been watching, yearning, aching for a Stanley Cup. And in his mind, he had been the final barrier between them and the drought-breaking glory.

“All of Canada is disappointed in you.” That wasn’t a message he received. That was the voice in his own head. In the hours after the loss, Skinner tried to escape the pain the only way he knew—by pretending it wasn’t there. He told his wife, Chloe, that he was “fine.” But she knew better. She knew her husband well enough to see through the deflection. And it was Chloe who became the first spark in his healing process, gently but firmly encouraging him not to bury his emotions, but to face them head-on.

So he did. Slowly. Painfully. Honestly.

He started journaling, putting pen to paper and letting the flood of thoughts, doubts, and raw emotion pour out. He wrote about the glove save he didn’t make. He wrote about the rebound that popped out too far. He wrote about the silence in the locker room, the sympathetic pats on the back, the overwhelming sensation that he had failed—not just his teammates, but his city, his province, his nation.

In those private pages, Skinner faced truths most athletes try to run from. That sometimes you play your best and still lose. That sometimes you play your worst when it matters most. And that sometimes, you need to break before you can rebuild.

Talking with teammates helped too. Leon Draisaitl, always stoic and blunt, reminded him that it was a team loss—that no game boils down to one moment or one man. Connor McDavid, the captain and face of the franchise, offered something softer: reassurance. McDavid knew exactly what it felt like to carry the hopes of a city. He also knew the fine line between personal disappointment and public scrutiny. But more than that, he knew Skinner wasn’t done.

Neither did head coach Kris Knoblauch. Despite fans and media dissecting every goal Skinner allowed in the Final, Knoblauch made it clear: the organization still believed in their homegrown netminder. The Oilers could’ve easily turned the page, looked to trade, or chased a big-name free agent in the offseason. But they didn’t. They stuck with Skinner. And maybe more importantly, Skinner stuck with himself.

When the 2024-25 season began, he wasn’t trying to erase the past. He was trying to learn from it.

It didn’t start perfectly. He had stretches of inconsistency early in the season. But as the Oilers pushed toward the playoffs, Skinner’s game solidified. He worked tirelessly with goalie coach Dustin Schwartz on lateral quickness, puck tracking, and staying mentally calm under pressure. He studied film not just of opposing shooters but of himself—seeking every edge, every habit he could improve. And when the playoffs began, a new Stuart Skinner emerged.

After dropping the first two games of the Western Conference Semifinals against Vegas, the Oilers were in trouble. Critics whispered. Was it happening again? Would Skinner crumble under pressure? But Game 3 became a pivot point. With the season teetering on the brink, Skinner delivered a 38-save masterpiece. From that point on, he was electric. He went 7-2 over the next nine games, boasting a .928 save percentage that silenced even his harshest critics. The glove was sharp. The rebound control was disciplined. The body language was calm, composed—no longer haunted.

Every game felt like a step toward redemption. Every save, a piece of his broken confidence being restored. Edmonton surged past Vegas, rolled through the Western Final, and punched their ticket to a rematch with destiny. Another Stanley Cup Final. Another shot at the Panthers. Another chance to rewrite the ending.

But this time, Skinner wasn’t carrying the weight of Canada. He was carrying his own growth.

Behind the scenes, he remained grounded. He kept journaling. He stuck to his routines. Meditation, visualization, breathing techniques—tools he’d once shrugged off as “mental fluff” had now become weapons in his arsenal. Not to silence the pressure, but to navigate it. Because pressure doesn’t disappear; it only becomes manageable when you stop fearing it.

By the time puck drop arrived for Game 1 of the 2025 Final, Skinner looked different—not just in stance or stats, but in energy. He didn’t look like a man haunted by last year’s collapse. He looked like a goaltender who had burned through the fire and come out tempered.

The Oilers didn’t just play for revenge. They played for redemption. And Skinner led the charge. Key saves in clutch moments. Controlled rebounds. A poise that radiated outward to his defensemen, giving them confidence to activate offensively. And when adversity hit—like a bad bounce or a tipped puck—Skinner didn’t crumble. He reset. He breathed. He responded.

His record since Game 3 of the Vegas series—7-2 with a .928 save percentage—wasn’t just a stat line. It was a testament to the transformation. The narrative that once plagued him had flipped. No longer was Skinner the weak link. He was now the backbone of a team three wins away from lifting the Cup.

And in the locker room, the tone was different too. No one talked about last year’s heartbreak. They talked about lessons. They talked about growth. They talked about the resilience that Skinner had become the face of. For a player once branded as “not ready for prime time,” there was now an unmistakable air of confidence in everything he did. Not arrogance. But earned belief.

Skinner’s story is one rarely told in sports—not just the comeback, but the emotional depth of the journey. Too often, fans forget that these athletes are human beings. That behind every goal allowed is a man grappling with guilt, doubt, and the fear of letting people down. That behind every press conference smile might be a storm brewing. Skinner’s willingness to confront his mental battles, to admit that he wasn’t “fine,” has not only made him a better goalie—it has made him a stronger person.

In a hockey-mad country desperate for glory, Stuart Skinner carried expectations that no young man should ever have to shoulder alone. But he didn’t run from them. He faced them. And in doing so, he transformed pain into purpose.

Now, as Edmonton sits just three wins away from completing their long-awaited return to the summit of hockey, Skinner is no longer trying to prove anything to the critics or the fans or even to Canada. He’s already done that. He’s proven that failure isn’t final. That redemption is real. And that sometimes, the greatest victories are not the ones celebrated in front of cameras, but the ones earned in the quiet spaces where no one is watching.