'It's all about heart' my butt

By Steven Lienert

'It's all about heart' was the Flyers slogan to sell playoff tickets to fans this season. Yet the Flyers left both their heart and their pride at home in Tuesday night's season-ending loss to the speedy Sabres.

Perhaps we should all be numb to this kind of thing by now. Maybe we shouldn't care that much; maybe we shouldn't be surprised.

But it was downright depressing watching the Flyers' season come to an end, mostly because of the way the team just packed it in.

They didn't even show up.

It was like watching a condemned prisoner being brought out in front of the firing squad. Except each shooter had extra bullets and just kept firing away for the fun of it.

Coming off the Game 7 loss to Tampa Bay in the 2004 Eastern Conference finals, Bob Clarke had two years to construct a team that would take the next step, if not deliver a Stanley Cup.

Instead, he put together a compilation of big, slow-footed tough guys that love to muck and grind. He left Ken Hitchcock with a one-line team to work with, because without Peter Forsberg, Simon Gagne and Mike Knuble, the Sabres would have easily swept the Flyers.

Hey, Bob -- 1975 called. It wants it's hockey team back.

Remember what Mick told Rocky when he made him chase that chicken around in a lot off Front Street? "First you gotta get speed, demon speed! Speed's what we need, we need greasy fast speed."

How can Mickey recognize that after one fight but Clarkie can't figure it out after 10 years?

This season's death knell was eerily reminiscent of the 8-0 shellacking the Sabres handed the Flyers in Game 6 of their 2001 first-round series.

In both games, the Flyers laid down and died like dogs.

While at even strength against Buffalo, the Flyers generated some scoring chances, but while on special teams -- whether it was on the power play or shorthanded -- Philly played like it was a man down. When the Flyers took penalties, it was because they couldn't catch the Sabres to hit them.

Meanwhile, wave after wave of odd-man rushes came at Robert Esche, who was really only up to the task in Game 1. After that, he somehow morphed into Roman Chechmanek, completely breaking down to the point of losing it at times.

I would love it almost as much as Clarkie if the Broad Street Bullies style of play delivered Stanley Cups in the new NHL. Instead, come April in almost any year after 1990, that style of play makes the entire organization look foolish.

It seems like it's been the same story here after each season comes crashing to an end. Maybe it'll change one day, but we are talking 31 years since the Flyers hoisted the Cup.

Enough of the big guys, Bob. We need greasy fast speed.

Commiserate with Lienert at stevelienert@hotmail.com