1992 Conference Semis vs New Jersey Devils

Lore & Background

In the late 1990s, the New Jersey Devils were the NHL's most feared defensive unit. Their identity was built on relentless forechecking, physicality, and the kind of structured, no-nonsense system that made opposing teams feel suffocated. For the Ottawa Senators — a team still finding its identity just a few years after arriving in the league — meeting New Jersey in the playoffs was like running into a wall made of skates and sticks. The Devils did not let you breathe. They did not let you cruise. Every possession was a battle for the puck, and the Senators had to earn every inch of ice.

What made these series resonate so deeply with Ottawa fans was the contrast in identity. The Devils were a team of veterans, of hard-nosed grinders who had been together long enough to move in unison. The Senators, by comparison, were still figuring out who they were — a mix of young energy and imported talent trying to find cohesion. The fanbase, however, was anything but young in its passion. The Corel Centre (then Scotiabank Place) became a cauldron, with the crowd noise swelling on every Senators possession and dropping into a tense hush when the Devils cycled the puck through the neutral zone.

These matchups also carried a broader narrative weight for the franchise. Every series against a team like New Jersey was a referendum: could the Senators compete with the NHL's established powers? The answer, in those late-1990s encounters, was often a hard-fought no, but the way the team competed — the willingness to go to the boards, to block shots, to outwork the opponent in the corners — gave the fanbase something to believe in. It was not about winning every series. It was about showing up and making the Devils earn it.

In Their Own Story

The ice was fresh, the boards painted white, and the air in the arena thick with the smell of cold rubber and anticipation. A Senators winger dropped his stick into the neutral zone, felt the familiar thud of the puck against his blade, and looked up to see Scott Stevens already there, shoulders squared, eyes locked, waiting. The crowd behind him was a single roaring voice. He carried the puck, felt the weight of the season in his shoulders, and made the pass. For one shift, the young franchise was equal to the giants. Then the next shift came, and the battle started all over again. That was the rhythm of these series — no mercy, no rest, just the next play and the next and the next, until the final horn told you who had been willing to suffer a little longer.

Reader's Guide

The series opened with the kind of tension that settles over an arena before the first faceoff. Both teams skated out to a wall of noise, and the early minutes were all positioning, all feelers. The Devils set the tone immediately: tight forecheck, quick cycle through the high slot, and a willingness to grind the puck back out of the zone rather than take a low-percentage shot. The Senators answered with speed on the rush, trying to stretch the ice and create one-on-one chances before New Jersey could set up their defensive structure.

The turning points in these matchups rarely came from a single goal. They came from a sequence — a blocked shot that became a rebound, a faceoff won in the corner that led to a breakaway, a save by the goaltender that kept the momentum alive. The Devils' goaltending was a constant threat; the sense that the puck would find its way to the net and simply not go in was a psychological weapon in itself.

By the later games, the physicality escalated. Bodies checked into the boards, sticks raised, the crowd on its feet for every battle in the corners. The Senators' identity in those moments was clear: they would not back down. Whether the series ended in a win or a loss, the fanbase left the arena with the same feeling — that their team had given everything, and that the next time they met New Jersey, the gap would be smaller. That was the story the crowd carried home, game after game, season after season.

Did You Know?

• The New Jersey Devils' 1995 Stanley Cup victory was built on a defensive system that allowed just 2.5 goals per game against, a standard that made every playoff opponent feel the weight of their structure.
• The Ottawa Senators' expansion into the NHL in 1992 made them the league's youngest franchise, meaning their early playoff battles against established clubs like New Jersey carried the weight of proving the expansion mod
• Scott Stevens, the Devils' captain, was known for his ferocious forechecking and physical play, earning multiple NHL Plus/Minus Awards and setting the tone for a team that treated every shift as a fight.
• The Senators' home arena in Ottawa became one of the loudest in the NHL during these rivalry matchups, with the crowd noise serving as a genuine tactical disruption for visiting teams.