We were promised a coronation. Back in 2022, when the "Yzerplan" was still whispered about like a holy text, the 2026 Milano Cortina Olympics looked like the finish line for Detroit’s long, painful crawl through the desert. We’d see a roster littered with Red Wings. It was supposed to be the moment the world realized the rebuild wasn’t just a collection of draft picks, but a functional machine.
Reality, as it usually does, had other plans.
Looking back at the spreadsheets from three years ago is a masterclass in hockey hubris. We projected the 2026 Games as the "Red Wings Olympics." We saw Moritz Seider anchoring a German defense that could actually bully the big three. We saw Lucas Raymond as the creative engine of a Swedish squad. We even entertained the fever dream of a healthy, ageless Dylan Larkin leading Team USA between a pair of high-octane wingers.
The stats looked good on paper. But paper doesn't have to deal with a crumbling power play or a goaltending situation that feels like a game of Russian roulette.
Seider is there, of course. You can’t keep a 6-foot-4 tank off the ice, even if the German national team’s depth chart falls off a cliff after the first pairing. He’s still the workhorse, logging minutes that would make a marathon runner weep. But the "generational" leap we all pegged for him? It’s been more of a steady, grinding climb. He’s the reliable hardware in a system that’s still running a buggy OS.
Then there’s Raymond. In 2023, he was the golden boy. By 2025, the narrative shifted to his consistency—or lack thereof. He made the Swedish roster, but he’s not the focal point. He’s a middle-six luxury, a "nice to have" rather than the "must-have" we envisioned. The friction here isn’t his talent; it’s the expectations. When you’re paid like a superstar, "pretty good" starts to feel like a failure. It’s the $8 million-a-year tax on hope.
The biggest sting, though, is the absence of the "Next Wave." Remember when we thought Simon Edvinsson would be a lock for the Swedish blueline by now? Or that Marco Kasper would be the face of an Austrian Cinderella story? Edvinsson is still fighting for top-four minutes in Detroit, caught in that awkward limbo between "prospect" and "pro." He’s the beta version of a player that never quite got the final patch. As for Kasper, he’s in Italy, but he’s fighting for scraps on a team that’ll be lucky to score three goals in the entire tournament.
And Larkin? He’s the heart of the franchise, but his body is a collection of "Check Engine" lights. He’s on Team USA, but he’s not the 1C. He’s the veteran presence, the guy the younger, faster kids from New Jersey and Toronto look to for "leadership" while they take the high-leverage shifts. It’s a bitter pill. Your captain, the guy who stayed through the dark years, finally gets to the big stage only to find out he’s the backup singer.
We spent years treating the Red Wings’ rebuild like a tech IPO. We bought the hype, ignored the burn rate, and waited for the "exit event" in 2026. Now that the games are here, the valuation feels a bit inflated. The talent is there, but the dominance isn't. The roster isn't a juggernaut; it’s a decent collection of parts that still doesn't quite fit together.
The NHL’s return to the Olympics was supposed to be the grand stage for Detroit’s resurgence. Instead, it’s a mirror. It shows a team that is better than it was, but nowhere near where it promised to be. We wanted a dynasty. We got a respectable mid-tier contender with a lot of expensive contracts and a lingering sense of "maybe next time."
The 2026 rosters are set. The jerseys are sold. The Red Wings are represented, sure. But as the puck drops in Milan, you have to wonder if the Yzerplan was ever about winning, or if it was just about convincing us that winning was right around the corner.
Who knew that "patience" was just another word for "stalling"?