All Henrik Lundqvist Needs To Do Is Be Perfect

One of the most memorable images of the New York Rangers' current postseason run came, strangely or not, early in one of their few lopsided games. The Rangers led the Tampa Bay Lightning all the way in Tuesday's Game 6 before erupting in the third period en route to a tidy 7-3 victory. But in a game otherwise bereft of theatrics, there was one indelible moment: goalie Henrik Lundqvist, helmet gone following a collision, stick knocked to the other side of the crease, hair sweaty and askew, looking like someone who had just been mugged.

This was quite jarring mostly because the natural, resting state of Henrik Lundqvist is one of, frankly, unsettling handsomeness. Dude is an actual model, almost impossibly photogenic and put together. He exudes such smooth, effortless, cool that it was disappointing that "Mad Men" somehow concluded without welcoming Lundqvist as a guest-star, playing a rival creative whose charm and charisma drives Don Draper to maddening jealousy; as an added bonus, he'd have given Peggy someone to skate with. It is strange to see any goalie without his mask, but to see a figure as poised and polished as Lundqvist so thoroughly undressed and frazzled was almost embarrassing.

King Henrik is unflappable above all things, and this extends beyond his inability to take an unflattering photograph. Lundqvist has won an NHL-record six consecutive Game Sevens, a remarkable feat that grows more so given that only Patrick Roy and Martin Brodeur have as many Game Seven wins in their entire careers. The Rangers netminder has not allowed more than a single goal in any of those six Game 7's; he has faced 184 shots and kept 179 out of the net.

With yet another Game Seven looming, those unreal numbers can be either a source of confidence (greatest of all time!), or dread (regression to the mean is inevitable!). Either way, the implications of Friday night's game are huge, particularly given how close Lundqvist is to the Stanley Cup, the one achievement that has eluded him in his career thus far.

Much of the dialogue during this Rangers run, in the Greater New York area and beyond, has centered on whether Lundqvist needs a championship in order to cement his legacy. It's an old and mostly silly conversation, and one that has enfolded LeBron James and Peyton Manning, both of whom eventually managed to win a title and send the conversation spinning into even sillier spaces.

There are also those who weren't so fortunate. Charles Barkley once referred to the list of great athletes without a championship as the "shit list," and it's a pain he's obviously quite familiar with. And so the who's-better/who's-best corner of the sports discourse circles talents like Kevin Durant, Clayton Kershaw, and Andrew Luck, and ask, from practically the moment they appear on the scene, when they'll finally break through. The upcoming Women's World Cup is being billed as a "last chance" for Abby Wambach to capture her sport's biggest trophy, with Wambach herself declaring that, yes, her career would not be complete without victory. It is not just the Hot Take Community that cares about this stuff.

But if the conversation is familiar, there is one thing that sets Lundqvist apart from those peers. It's that his position between the pipes affords him complete control over his destiny in a way that none of the aforementioned champions and non-champions can claim. If Lundqvist is perfect for 60 minutes, or longer, if needed—if he makes every save, if he executes at the absolute best of his ability, and outlasts his counterpart on the other side of the ice and everyone trying to get the puck past him—then his team will advance. If he can manage this a few more times in the Finals, than he will lift the most coveted trophy in hockey. No matter how streaky scorer Rick Nash fares, regardless of whether Mats Zuccarello returns, however the Rangers' talented defensemen bear up under pressure, there is a basic truth that Lundqvist himself writes. If he is impregnable, than he will be champion.

This is what a goalie does, and why that brief moment of dishevelment in Game 6 was so startling. For a decade, Rangers fans have come to know their goaltender not only as a supremely capable, poised, impressive man with nary a hair out of place. He is talented, sure, but above all, he is On Top Of Things, a true New York Master of the Universe without the Wall Street creepery. He doesn't have a Stanley Cup, but he has never seemed anything less than commanding.

In Game 7, Lundqvist will put the helmet back on and disappear within it as he has so well, for so long. Barring another big hit, no one will see him sweat, or strain, or show any real feelings. (A fiberglass mask makes for an excellent shield against betraying real emotion.) Fans in the Garden won't have any idea how their goalie is handling one of the biggest games of his career, but they'll likely feel secure. Perception matters, and Lundqvist feels perfect even when he isn't. When he vanishes behind the mask, it's hard to believe anything else.