The last thing I'll ever write about Pelle Lindbergh

by Bob Herpen

Phanatic Hockey Editor

If you believe that words can hurt, that certain phrases once processed can leave a lasting psychic imprint, I have six of them which are certain to haunt me for the rest of my life, even though they really shouldn’t:

Pelle Brain-Dead

Lindbergh: No Hope

The front-and-back-page headlines of the Philadelphia Daily News on Monday, Nov, 11, 1985, the day after Pelle Lindbergh – the first European-trained player to win the Vezina Trophy as the NHL’s best goaltender – made a series of confounding decisions which led to him crashing his Porsche into the wall of an elementary school in South Jersey, killing himself and injuring two passengers.

What followed over the next 120 hours was nothing short of a Greek tragedy, played out minute by minute, day by day, by those closest to him and thousands of fans worldwide, until Lindbergh was publicly memorialized ahead of his burial in his native Stockholm.

What can you say about a 26-year-old goaltender who’s been dead far longer than he was alive, and gone infinitely longer than his presence and impact was felt in this city? All of us who were alive to witness his on-ice greatness and the Flyers’ greatness, were made fans for life. Not everyone on the border between Generations X and Y were lucky enough to see a winner their first time introduced to the team and the sport. 

Flyers broadcaster and future Hockey Hall of Fame member Gene Hart produced the best speech of his career as Master of Ceremonies for Pelle’s remembrance on Nov. 14, 1985, ahead of a Stanley Cup Finals rematch between the Flyers and visiting Edmonton Oilers. In six minutes he did better than anyone else dared:

I don’t care who you are. 

Nobody at 7 years old should have to face the grim reality of loss. No parent or guardian or relative or community leader or doctor should have to discuss in detail to their child medical terms like traumatic brain injury, blood-alcohol content, or the finality of death. 

Not for a friend, a neighbor, a classmate, favorite teacher, grandparent, parent, sibling or sports hero. 

It should be part of the enduring social contract that young, impressionable, innocent minds should get a pass.  I wasn’t so lucky, and neither were hundreds of new Flyers fans, children like me. 

I wonder if it’s a common phenomenon among other impressionable kids firmly situated in middle age, for the sense and scope of the tragedy to be magnified as the years progress as it is for me. The Butterfly effect is a real bitch when you start to look at the fullness in the arc of time.

Still, the resilience of children is amazing. Their capacity to absorb bad news and then go right back into their board games, cartoon watching or learning multiplication tables and discovering the mysteries of the Mesozoic Era should be something genetic and retained well into adulthood. 

Even if I never succeeded in covering hockey at multiple levels, even if I did have a family of my own, the events of those five days are embedded in my DNA because they occurred at a formative time in life and hockey fandom, so they have to be reckoned with. 

It’s better done on the fives and zeros, but how much longer?

Five years ago, upon the 40th anniversary of John Lennon’s murder and the point at which he had been dead as long as he was alive, Paul McCartney admitted to Stephen Colbert that he still dreams of John. But he also said he celebrates October 9 – John’s birthday – instead of mourning December 8.

That’s a tough sell. John had 8 years in the Beatles and another 10 as a solo artist and counterculture icon. Pelle had exactly 4 years and 9 days from his first NHL start until the day he drew his final breath. He would have been 66 years old on May 24. 

It is difficult to fathom celebrating a birthday of someone who, even if he had miraculously survived the accident, may not even be here today. Such is the fate of those who pack a tremendous amount of living into a short period of time. 

It’s not all grim. Sometimes I have a demented laugh to myself thinking that Pelle never got to know a world where the Miami Vice Theme wasn’t the no. 1 song on the pop charts in the US. Or that he never knew about Rick Astley. Or Milli Vanilli. Harlem Shake. Gangnam Style. He’d probably be the first goof on the dance floor at a relative or former teammate’s wedding lip synching and dancing to “Who Let the Dogs Out?”

As with all lasting grief, there are repeated rituals. 

I haven’t lived in New Jersey but worked there at different periods of my life, so I’ve driven by the site of the former Somerdale Elementary School on multiple occasions. Stood out in the pre-dawn warmth and haze on the 20th. Huddled in the bleakness and pouring rain on the 30th. Stood stone still in the silent predawn at 40. 

On the major anniversaries since the book was published in the United States, I flip open “Behind the White Mask” and start reading from random chapters at random intervals until I’m satisfied I’ve read enough. 

Each November 14th, I watch the entire ceremony of remembrance and if I have time, break up the interlude into another portion of the day to watch the whole game itself. 

The VHS was liberated from Long-time WIP radio host and St. Joe’s Prep classmate Joe DeCamara’s parents’ house in June of 1996 and I’m never giving it back; it is simply safer with me than anywhere else on this planet. Joe knows this. If he’s forgotten, I have no problem retelling. The quality of the recording still holds up decades later as I watch on one of the last surviving Toshiba combo VHS/DVD televisions. 

We mourn in our own ways. Some drop pucks. Others drop knowledge. 

I'm dropping a 40-year anvil off my shoulders here.

Courtesy of Tony Catona

Every Flyers alumni I talked to over the years admitted that, although they’ve lived a majority of their life since that moment and have gone on to varied levels of success inside and outside the game, they all take some kind of action to pause and remember. Dave Poulin is on record as saying he retains very little from his past as he moves through the seasons of his life, but keeps a picture as a treasured memento.

I’m not on board with this minor online movement to have Pelle’s number retired on Jan. 31 when the Flyers host the Los Angeles Kings. Why then?

1 = Bernie Parent’s number

31 = Pelle Lindbergh’s number

26 = Pelle’s age at the time of his death.

Talk about reading too much into things. Bernie’s gone and the shock still lingers. He’ll have his own night of remembrance next Saturday night. He said all he needed to say when he was tasked with following Hart.

One passage in the heartbroken mentor’s speech still strikes a chord then and now: “When death defeats greatness, we all mourn. But when death defeats youth, we mourn even more.” 

The English poet A.E. Houseman wishes he had the brevity and soul of a working-class Montrealer.

Maybe it’s time we all let it go. Even Pelle himself, in a summer 1985 interview from a boat that aired on Hockey Night in Canada 40 years ago, wondered if he would be worth remembering 20 years on.

Pelle’s number was last worn on the sleeve of his teammates in the Spring of 1986, taken out of circulation permanently. It will never be worn and maybe we have to be satisfied with that and move along. 

This is nothing you can blame on the corporate restructuring of the franchise. After all, the sainted Mister Snider, his son Jay and others had more than a hand in the decision to handle things quietly. If he wanted to do something different about it, all he had to do was say the word and it would be so. Think about that for more than a second.

It’s sad how longtime fans of this team are constantly sucked into the swirling vortex of nostalgia. 

Sam Carchidi won’t stop posting daily pics from the 1970s on social media to sell his book about the 1970s. Key figures on those Cup teams such as Bob Kelly, Don Saleski and Orest Kindrachuk have told me in conversation more than a decade ago when I roamed the press box they desperately hope another Flyers team wins it soon because it’s not healthy to fixate on the distant past. 

Those flashy, gritty clubs that caught my attention from the 1980s are four decades past. The Legion of Doom’s peak was 30 years ago, the year I graduated high school. The years before the NHL crashed out in 2004 are, effectively, ancient history.

And if complaining about how the current team skirts the line between the good and bad side of mediocre, so be it. We can sit at the dinner table for the holidays and teach the youngsters. We’ll swap stories -- the good, the great, the bad and the ugly -- including but not limited to this smiling Swede who crossed into our lives, lit it up dramatically, then left us way too soon. 

Phanatic Movie Review: The Swede of Philadelphia

Courtesy of the Philadelphia Inquirer

by Bob Herpen

Phanatic Hockey Editor

Let me start off by saying, there are only two things I didn’t know about the untimely death of Flyers goaltender Pelle Lindbergh’s death 40 years ago today which prompted the documentary, “The Swede of Philadelphia,” from filmmaker Charlie Minn.

The first is that the star of the documentary is Minn himself. The second is that it would be a painful exercise in remembrance that left me and some of my fellow movie-goers stretching and checking their watches. 

I saw “Swede,” which is enjoying a limited release this week in certain theaters in the Delaware Valley, last night at twilight in a movie theater roughly 1 mile from the Lindbergh crash site in South Jersey. It was half full but respectfully silent throughout the 100-plus-minute exercise, which definitely felt much, much longer at times – including a preamble which pimped two of Minn’s other documentaries. 

Excepting anyone under the age of 45 who remembers, or who had an older brother, uncles or father who was into the Flyers at that time and who passed down the story and the lessons from the crash, it’s not really necessary to see “Swede.”

There’s no new information that came to light as a result of Minn’s efforts. Only a certain number of those involved who knew Pelle best or had a hand in the rescue and resuscitation efforts of Pelle and his two passengers, finally spoke on the record for the first time in 40 years. 

That, at least, was a nice touch. Kevin Cady, who knew Pelle since he arrived in North America and played for the Maine Mariners of the American Hockey League, spoke at length. There were multiple testimonials from police officers and EMT personnel who arrived on scene at the former Somerdale Elementary School. 

There was a considerable amount of time and space given to Kathyleen McNeal, who rode in the passenger seat of Pelle’s ill-fated Porsche and sustained the least life-threatening injuries. And it was clear the burdens still carried decades later by Pelle’s backup, Pastor Bob Froese, who would be thrust into the starting role in the worst way imaginable.

Everything a Flyers fan needs to know about Pelle Lindbergh’s impact on the franchise, the fondness and attachment fans of the era have for him, as well as the events of Nov. 10 through Nov. 14, 1985 could be explained in full by doing the following: Reading Jay Greenberg’s Full Spectrum, his later voluminous work on the franchise’s 50th anniversary released in 2016, or from the English version of Thomas Tynander’s book, Behind the White Mask, co-authored by “Swede” speaker Bill Meltzer, which was released in 2010. 

Minn’s effort really didn’t fill in any blanks in a shorter time frame in any meaningful way. 

I found Minn’s filmmaking at times stiff, sensationalist, amateurish, rushed and detached. And that was before it was painfully obvious that the doc, in a noticeable way, was about Minn’s experiences shooting the interviews, asking the questions, driving the routes Pelle drove and visiting the sites germane to that fateful early morning. 

There were two odd sections that I assume were filler but didn’t need to be: one devoted to remembering all personnel from Flyers history who had died before the documentary was produced, as well as a strange interlude where a clip was shown from a December 1984 game against the Pittsburgh Penguins which featured a full-length resuscitation by Flyers players and coaches of “‘Twas The Night Before Christmas.” Both presented without context. 

And then, another section dropped in about the Spectrum that really didn’t expand much on why the venue and Pelle’s play would have energized sellout crowds. This part was led not by Lou Nolan’s or Gene Hart’s voice, tying to the Flyers theme, but by legendary Sixers PA announcer Dave Zinkoff.

The only thing I won’t fault Minn for, was the need to either re-shoot or add on some scenes due to the death of Pelle’s mentor and all-time franchise great Bernie Parent in late September. This addendum was made extra poignant when Parent, on camera, expressed how much fun it would be in Eternity to be reunited with Pelle again…but, as he said, not for a long time.

From the perspective of someone who was alive and aware of these events, Pelle’s position in franchise history and who also understands how the accident affected the club and its fans four decades on, it’s a shame that Justin MIrigliani couldn’t finish off his planned doc, “Keenan’s Kids.” 

Mirigliani, born in South Philadelphia and raised in South Jersey, poured a considerable amount of time and effort into interviewing as many principals as he could over the years, even completing a trailer and some live documentary footage with several of Pelle’s teammates, before the project stalled prior to COVID.

It would have been much more interesting, and dare I say it…comforting…to have a local, one of us, like Mirigliani tackle a subject as sore as Pelle’s death. Such is the provinciality and parochiality that still defines a corner of the Philadelphian blue-collar mindset. 

When I started planning on pieces to mark the 40th anniversary of Pelle’s accident and death, I encountered resistance from certain former members of the organization who knew the situation firsthand. 

More than one admitted to me, straight out, they refused to speak to Minn when asked to contribute.

They wouldn’t speak to me, either, for anything I planned to write to mark the anniversary. I respect their consistency.

Although Rick Tocchet, Murray Craven, Mark Howe, Brian Propp, Dave Brown, Froese and former Inquirer Flyers beat Al Morganti added their perspective, I couldn’t help but think where things might have ended up if team captain Dave Poulin – referenced multiple times by his former teammates – could weigh in. Or to hear from Brad Marsh, by all accounts the player who bonded closest with Pelle, so much so that Marsh's first-born son was named after him.

Or if Minn might have tracked down Pelle Eklund or Thomas Eriksson, the only other fellow Swedes on the club at that time. It was Eriksson who had to provide comfort and support to Lindbergh's family once they landed in the US, and accompanied Pelle's body back to Sweden for burial.

Whether due to a need to narrow the focus of the piece or just poor research, Minn chose to hone in on the man in the moment and the decisions he made that led to his demise. Telling the whole story is worth so much more than what was committed to celluloid, but I figure it would have meant a more painful, rather than poignant, cinematic experience.

Regrettably, I have to say “The Swede of Philadelphia” is a skip. I paid $15.50 so you don’t have to.

If young casuals, sons and grandsons, daughters and granddaughters don’t know the tragedy of Pelle Lindbergh, it’s time to sit them in front of YouTube and revisit history, video by video. Or buy the book. Or maybe even resurrect the ancient art of verbal storytelling face-to-face. That kind of investment is a better use of your time.

The Fates were with Trevor Zegras, for now

From NHL.com

By Bob Herpen

Phanatic Hockey Editor

Lost in the narrow 2-1 defeat the Philadelphia Flyers suffered at the hands of the Ottawa Senators on Thursday night in Canada’s capital was a play that took mere seconds to unfold but could have had drastic consequences for both the player and the franchise.

In the third period, with the Orange and Black trailing, winger/center Trevor Zegras was attempting to gather a loose puck in the area between the goal line and the top of the faceoff circle on the left-wing side. Defending Zegras was Sens forward (and Alex Trebek fave) Tim Stutzle. 

As Zegras attempted to follow the path of the puck, he turned awkwardly – as an outfielder might when misjudging the path of a fly ball – and fell to the ice. Stutzle, unable to react accordingly and adjust his own path as Zegras fell, brushed the toe of his skate over Zegras’ left wrist.

The angle of the blade was not perfectly flat and flush. Thank the hockey gods.

A close call as a skate blade comes near Trevor Zegras' wrist, but no damage was caused. pic.twitter.com/rU6FDkGWtu

— TSN (@TSN_Sports) October 24, 2025

Zegras was acquired in the offseason from the resurgent Anaheim Ducks, a young talent in need of taking flight to new horizons. Before the weekend, he had yet to score this season, compiling five assists in seven games thus far, but still showing flashes of the brilliance – practice rapport with Matvei Michkov notwithstanding – which led him to compile career bests of 23 goals and 42 assists in a healthy 2022-23 campaign. 

Limited to just 88 games the previous two seasons for the rebuilding SoCal franchise, the change of scenery to the East Coast offered a chance to put these troubled years behind him. Last year, it was a torn meniscus in his right knee and recovery from subsequent surgery. Two years back, a lower-body injury and a broken right ankle cost him almost two-thirds of the season. 

Despite a 3,000-mile relocation, it only took seven games for the Devil’s magnifying glass to find him again, ready to fry him in the blistering sun like an ant. Zegras’ contract runs out next year, with an AAV and cap hit of $5.75 million. 

We’d like to have him back in one piece, please.

For his part, after a tentative first half of the game on Saturday afternoon against the New York Islanders, Zegras shook off the cobwebs and registered two regulation goals -- his first with the club -- and contributed a shootout marker in the Flyers' eventual 4-3 shootout decision. He made the most of his chances, clocking in with a 66.6% shooting percentage (2G on 3 SOG).

I’ll say it once, then never again: can’t we have anything nice? Light a candle, put the lock upon the door. Break out the bubble wrap. It’s one thing to be stuck in a perpetual cycle of rebuilding, but who did we collectively anger that the spirits want to call down the thunder so often? Atkinson and Couturier. Ryan Ellis. Ristolainen.

Stranger still, despite twittering of the most mundane of circumstances night to night, the incident eluded every press box denizen of every major outlet which covered the game. You'd think a close call like this *might* pick up some additional coverage in Flyerdom alongside the "What's Wrong With Matvei?" chorus.

I know it's been happening more than usual. Jordan Eberle two years ago. Evander Kane and Jakob Chychrun this calendar year. Brock Nelson of the Colorado Avalanche just sustained a cut wrist in practice about 10 days ago.

I still can't shake the image of the first time a wrist cut sustained during NHL action received prolonged coverage: Canadiens forward Donald Audette dazed and shakily attempting to leave the rink while holding his limp and bloody left wrist in his right hand after Rangers forward Radek Dvorak's skate slashed it during a 2001 contest in Montreal.

The monster lurched around the continent for a while, but it managed to emerge from hiding and find the Flyers organization again.

On Apr. 7, 2013, prospect Eric Wellwood, then playing for the Adirondack Phantoms in the American Hockey League, did the job on himself during a game against the Bridgeport Sound Tigers. 

Those of us around the franchise at this time thought it could have been more likely to happen to his brother, Kyle, who could skate like the wind but had immense trouble stopping and altering his course. Somehow, while skating his shift, Eric fell. Somehow, while falling feet first into the boards, his left skate crossed with his lower right leg, slicing through the protective sock and resulting in a nasty, deep cut which bled all over his skate. 

Courtesy of Yahoo! Sports

The damage was as significant as it was horrific: a partially-severed Achilles tendon and a severed artery, plus two less significant severed tendons in his right leg. Following two surgeries and time spent in a cast, Wellwood pondered his fate.

“I had six minutes before I bled out,” Wellwood said to the Windsor, Ontario Star. “My trainer (Greg Lowden) later told me you usually have four to six minutes before you have lost too much blood.

“Once I learned how close (it was) a couple of days later, how severe it was, it sent a chill down my spine. (I’m just) happy to still be breathing,” he added.

Wellwood, then 23, never played again.

In Los Angeles, and of all days on Apr. 1, 1978, the late, great Rick MacLeish almost made “the ultimate sacrifice” in playing Fred Shero’s brand of Flyers hockey.

Diving to knock down a pass from the King, MacLeish fell face first towards the Forum ice, where his neck was cut by the skate of future Hall-of-Famer Marcel Dionne. Escorted from the rink with virtually every available towel on the bench pressed to his neck, doctors acted swiftly to get the bleeding under control. The final tally: two gashes requiring 80 stitches to close. 

Typical of the era, the seemingly-unperturbed MacLeish quipped, as reported in Full Spectrum, “I didn’t realize I was in trouble until I took a drag of a cigarette and the smoke came out my neck.”

MacLeish, the first of two certified snipers of that era, recovered and went on to play another six years, compiling another 103 regular-season and 21 playoff goals for the club. 

And lest we forget, another soon-to-be Flyer is the reason the NHL in the mid-1980s switched from the World War II-model heavier iron nets fitted with a bar in the middle and flush against the ice to keep the puck from rebounding outward.

Just after Christmas in 1980, during a game between the Islanders and Hartford, New York’s John Tonelli drove then-Whalers defenseman Mark Howe, butt-first, into the protruding prong. The metal lifted off the ice, pierced Howe’s backside at such an angle that caused significant blood loss, but miraculously avoided penetrating anything more vital to daily function. It still took 3 1/2 years to officially remedy the situation.

Zegras was lucky, as a hundred other players in professional hockey over the decades have been on plays that end up being of little to no consequence. Until they happen and the ripples of the aftermath trigger deep consequence while affecting everything in its path.

Flyers fans, take a deep breath. And try not to think of what didn't happen.

Spectrum Memories: When Legion of Doom dominance became a Hab-it

Courtesy of the NY Times

By Bob Herpen

Phanatic Hockey Editor

When the Philadelphia Flyers raised the curtain on their 29th season in the NHL and their last in the Spectrum, 30 years ago tonight in Montreal, the hockey gods and schedule-makers couldn’t have provided an opponent more ripe for the plundering.

The Montreal Canadiens missed the playoffs during the previous, lockout-shortened season, the first time they hit the links immediately following the completion of their regular-season schedule since 1970. Head coach Jacques Demers’ hot seat became even hotter as the club had backslid three seasons in a row from a Stanley Cup title, to a first-round elimination, to sixth place in their division.

The Flyers, meanwhile, were looking to prove their own five-year climb out of hockey’s also-rans that culminated in a surprise run to the Eastern Conference Finals, was no fluke. First-year head coach Terry Murray had previously reached the third playoff round five years earlier as bench boss with the Washington Capitals. 

Since the landmark trade 240 days earlier which netted John LeClair, Eric Desjardins and Gilbert Dionne in exchange for Mark Recchi, the Flyers simply owned the Habs. Won three straight games to finish the season series 3-0-1, outscoring their Gallic foes by an 18-6 count. 

Adding insult to injury, only 16 days after the deal, LeClair ran roughshod over his former club with a hat trick in a 7-0 shellacking that stands today as the largest margin of victory for the Orange and Black in the hockey Mecca. 

After compiling 25 goals in 37 games after the deal (equivalent to 55 goals over a full 82-game schedule) then adding five more scores in 15 playoff tilts, Johnny Vermont charged into the new season fresh from inking a $7.5 million, 5-year contract and amidst plenty of press speculating how the Legion of Doom would fare for a whole season. 

Team captain Eric Lindros entered his fourth NHL season as the reigning Hart Trophy winner, robbed of a scoring title due to finishing 2 goals shy of Pittsburgh’s Jaromir Jagr and losing the league-mandated tiebreaker. 

In June, after being handed the award by Canadian writer Scott Young, father of the godfather of grunge Neil Young, the 22-year-old burst into tears. He told millions across North America “Thanks to the fans of Philadelphia who supported us when we weren’t so good. We’re getting better, and we’re gonna do it!”

Big E cried all the way to the bank after the Hart honor triggered a clause in his contract which raised his yearly salary by a whopping $600,000 as reported by Jay Greenberg in Full Spectrum. 

“When we’ve got the best player in the league, he’s worth it, don’t you think?” Greenberg reported then-Flyers owner Ed Snider responding to questions that the extension to Number 88 could have his wallet weeping.

Desjardins also reaped the windfall with a new $6 million pact over 4 years as did third-year sensation Mikael Renberg ($6.4 over 4 seasons).

“I think this group of guys wants to stay together,” Clarke noted. “And we want to keep them together.”

Finances secure, the game was essentially over before 15 minutes elapsed from puck drop. Four different Flyers punctured future Hall of Famer Patrick Roy, including Lindros, LeClair and two guys needing to secure regular roster spots in Patrik Juhlin and Rob DiMaio. Philly won the fights, too, during the 7-1 rout.

It wasn’t just the glow of a brand new season for the players.

The familiar voice you hear on the local Channel 17 broadcast in the above video is Jim Jackson. With the retirement of Gene Hart following the last of the club’s broadcasts during the Eastern Conference semifinals the previous May, the torch was passed and Jackson was promoted from the radio booth to the TV side. The pairing with former Flyer Gary Dornhoefer as color commentator would last the next 10 seasons, interrupted only by the washed-out 2004-05 campaign.

"You can't be unhappy with 28 years," Hart mused as he continued his role with the organization as a team ambassador.

In all, eight different players tied to the Flyers organization the year before lit the lamp (including Brent Fedyk, Rod Brind’Amour, Renberg for the visiteurs and Recchi for Montreal). Roy was pulled less than 23 minutes in after yielding 5 goals on 15 shots, lowering his career regular-season mark vs. Philly to 1-10-7.

The rout foreshadowed the sharp and dramatic inverse relationship to success between the two franchises during the latter half of the 1990s. 

The Flyers went on to win four straight to start the year and ended October with a 7-1-3 mark. The Canadiens scored just 4 goals in their first 5 games – all losses – while the skid finally torched Demers for good. The hiring of former Habs legend Mario Tremblay out of the broadcast booth led to a sudden 12-2-0 turnaround, but his abrasive personality caused some trouble a bit later on with Roy.

When the Flyers returned for their last Forum go-round 9 days before Christmas, the visitors rudely wore out their welcome, but this time with the Legion taking a back seat. Two narrow home victories -- 3-2 on Feb. 1 marred by an ugly incident involving Marc Bureau and Petr Svoboda and another 3-2 score during the final regular-season contest at the Spectrum in April -- meant a clean 4-0-0 season sweep vs. Montreal for the first time in franchise history. 

The Habs did not beat the Flyers again until October 26, 1996 at the spanking new Molson (now Bell) Centre and did not win in Philadelphia until well after the Orange and Black's new building was long-since christened, in January 1998.

A Child's Garden of Flyers Captaincy Chicanery, continued

Courtesy of Crossing Broad

by Bob Herpen

Phanatic Hockey Editor

The second of two parts examining the troubles, issues and unavoidable nonsense surrounding the state of the Flyers' captaincy, now focusing on the 21st Century.

We left off with the untimely ascension of Eric Desjardins to the Flyers’ captaincy in the wake of the Eric Lindros situation and the former's willingness to give it up all too easily. “Rico” loved being captain so much due to the added pressure, he up and quit, in October, 2001. As many veteran beats would quote the 1993 Cup winner both on and off the record, “aye yi yi.”

No less a respectable rag such as the New York Post reported at the time there were rumblings of disenchantment with then head coach Bill Barber – who himself endured an Icarean fall from Jack Adams Award winner the previous spring to being booted off the bench less than a year later.

The grim reaper not named Stu Grimson came next for Keith Primeau, for whom it took a long time to receive the good graces of the fanbase after being acquired from Carolina in January 2000 for the beloved Rod Brind’Amour. A veteran centerpiece by his fifth year here, Primeau looked to turn a scalding-hot 2004 playoff run into longer-term success with the Flyers. Alex Perezhogin – the only way fans would ever recall his name – permanently put an end to those dreams with one ill-timed elbow in October 2005 at Montreal.

That set the stage for Derian Hatcher. Hatcher was the first American-born captain to win a Stanley Cup (with Dallas in 1999) and became the first U.S.-born skater to take the role in Philadelphia, albeit on an interim basis initially since it was unknown if Primeau’s concussion was serious enough to end his career. 

Once Primeau was officially cooked, the mantle passed to Peter Forsberg in September 2006. A first-round draft pick in 1991 who went onto fame and fortune in Quebec and Denver, Foppa came back to adoring crowds the year before and established himself as a dominant center – when he was healthy. Forsberg played exactly 100 regular-season games as a Flyer, missing 38 others until being dealt to Nashville on Feb. 15, 2007 in a transaction whose trade tree yielded four players and neatly set up the post-Forsberg era. 

The stain on his tenure was also not his fault. Five days after an embarrassing 9-1 loss at Buffalo dropped the team’s record to 1-4-1, the club’s hockey ops structure fell victim to “Black Sunday.” That morning, Oct. 22, 2006, Bob Clarke was allowed to step down as GM, Paul Holmgren was appointed successor, with head coach Ken Hitchcock being fired and replaced with the player-friendly 2005 Calder Cup champion coach John Stevens. 

That led to Jason Smith. By then skating the 15th of his 16-year-NHL career, Smitty seemed to be the anchor a young roster needed. Until his agent let it slip in the spring of 2008 that his client wanted to test free agency, which signalled the end of his one-year run once the Orange and Black were eliminated by the rival Penguins in the Eastern finals.

So now we get to Mike Richards. One of the two Golden Children who rode that ‘05 AHL title into spots on the NHL roster, along with Jeff Carter. Given the “C” after serving notice during the club’s surprise ‘08 run, he became the face of the franchise heading into just his fourth NHL campaign. 

Richie was initially as tenacious in seeking the puck on the ice as he was seeking companionship off the ice. We were all witness to The Shift.

But then we also were hostage to Dry Island. And those times on camera where he held a Thousand Yard Stare that rivaled those of World War I and Vietnam veterans. The burden, it seemed, was placed on his shoulders too early and seemed too great to bear for the kid from Kenora, Ontario.

And then, just once, on June 23, 2011, we saw Holmgren’s Viking veneer drop when a media member asked if they really could have kept Richards instead of unloading his contract to the Kings to eventually acquire goaltender and amateur cosmonaut Ilya (Humangous Beeg) Bryzgalov.

“It’s disappointing to be traded from a place like Philadelphia where hockey is so big,” Richards said in a piece published the next day authored the LA Times’ beat Helene Elliott. “Decisions have to be made … I think it was more of a business decision than a personal one. Which doesn’t make it easier but at the same time allows you to sleep a little better at night.”

Of note during this era, multiple reports (now hiding behind a paywall) stating both center Danny Briere and franchise cornerstone Simon Gagne turned down the captaincy. Somehow, their reputations remained intact even among the older, more blue-collar-leaning fans who still hold Clarke as the alpha and omega. 

Enter the mainstream media’s best friend, Chris Pronger. Prongs brought veteran savvy and a way of

From CSN Philly

controlling the postgame scrum in the locker room from his 2009 acquisition from Anaheim that served plenty of notice to any unfortunate angle-heavy writers.

“We need to get guys together and camaraderie and chemistry and that flow going early in training camp and then onto first part of the season to get acclimated to one another, get comfortable and get off to a good start and get feeling good about ourselves so that we can get on a bit of a roll,” a prophetic Pronger said in September 2011 to Comcast SportsNet.  

After gathering a good amount of karma in making it a point to consistently defend Richards as team leader during his first two seasons in Philly, Prongs’ inevitable reign lasted all of 13 games.

First sidelined by a scary incident with his eye in late October, 2011, Pronger somehow returned to action after missing only 6 games, only to be permanently felled by post-concussion effects following a loss in Winnipeg in mid November.

We all remember Sam Carchidi’s infamously bold prediction that Claude Giroux had officially announced his presence as team leader after opening Game 6 in 2012 with a thunderous check on the eclipsed Sidney Crosby immediately followed by the game’s opening score? It apparently led to the longest single captaincy tenure in franchise history, one that didn't even officially start until late January due to a lockout.

Did Giroux do anything else that would have justified his remaining team captain for almost 10 full seasons? The man is hockey’s version of the Teflon Don. Nothing sticks. 

The punters will die on the hill that the organ-eye-zation (three GMs worth) repeatedly failed to acquire the proper talent. You *can* make an argument that nobody else fit the bill. That’s actually a solid indictment of the churning brain trust who were allergic to getting this right.

Meanwhile, Crosby helped the likes of Jake Guentzel, Patric Hornqvist, Bryan Rust, Carl Hagelin and Chris Kunitz become Stanley Cup champions.

Looking at the long-term damage the Pronger situation wreaked on the leadership matrix, who could have been a credible long-term stop gap? 

Jaromir Jagr? Well, he followed the money. Briere was at the end of his career content as an alternate. I don’t even want to get into discussing Wayne Simmonds as a taboo breaker. Hartnell Down? Bruh. Kimmo Timonen? His unimpeachable professionalism netted him the captaincy for a young Nashville franchise but his personality was in reality way too taciturn to be a motivator for a legacy franchise loaded with expectation.

It isn’t a ringing endorsement but Giroux was really the choice by de-fault. And if you’re familiar with Homer Simpson, those are the two greatest words in the English language. 

Laude spent exactly 1,000 games with the Flyers and exactly 715 of those with the “C.” How much of a legacy can really exist when exactly four playoff appearances yielded exactly one playoff series win, albeit during the COVID-shortened season? Again, can’t wait to hear from the G-Stans.

Sean Couturier currently holds the job, only having been officially designated on Valentine's Day 2024. But with Rick Tocchet now in charge and the sands in Coots’ hourglass already falling, let’s quote Ecclesiastes. There is nothing new under the sun. The decision for the captaincy hinges on a coach’s ability to tread the line between maintaining old relationships and fostering new ones.

“Had a few conversations with him over the summer,” the cagey Couturier told Jackie Spiegel in an Inquirer piece from Sept. 3. “Met him at the end of last year in person for the first time. Really looking forward to getting going and trying to build a winning team here, get back into the playoffs, and be Stanley Cup contenders.”

Couturier’s usefulness as an NHL-caliber player is bound to expire before the rebuild’s success and definitely before his contract, which is up in 2030. Yet, with his eventual retirement on the horizon and the fact that no head coach since Mike Keenan has lasted four full seasons, here’s yet another impossible leadership crossroads.

History tells us Tocchet’s next “C” change will be one based on necessity and likely won’t be a lasting one.