by Jack Kerwin  |  ydkjack1@gmail.com

He’s in.

Not a question of whether he deserves to be or not anymore. With the ballots cast and tabulated, it was announced Monday that former Flyers center Eric Lindros had received enough votes to find a spot in the Hockey Hall of Fame.
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Case closed. Circle complete. Or something like that.

Thing is, you could make a case – a good one – as to his worthiness or unworthiness of receiving such an honor. Yes, he was the face of a franchise the better part of a decade, he was, at times, a dominating performer, a player ahead of his time with a combination of size and skill not really seen before. Yes, he had success, both individual and team, winning the NHL’s MVP in 1995 and leading Philly into the Stanley Cup Finals two years later.

But, really, be you a fan of his or not, Big E’s storyline on the ice reads the same: promise largely unfulfilled.
Considering he was viewed like a mythical Greek god on skates even before stepping on the ice for the Orange & Black, the judgment deck was hardly stacked in his favor. It’s doubtful anyone could have lived up to the expectations that were draped around his neck like prison chains.

Frankly, it would have been impossible for anyone had they endured the injuries Lindros did during his career, the scariest being a collapsed lung that almost cost the 6-foot-4, 240-pound powerhouse his life.

Again, though, he’s in … so why debate his merit?

Perhaps, instead, we could look at current or former Philly athletes who most deserve to be in their sport’s respective hall.

For me, two stand above all others. Both are former Eagles, and, amazingly, neither is named Brian Dawkins.
Yo, he’s a fave of mine, too, but …

Gotta say, the best players of any sport in town the past, oh, say 35 years, who have not been elected despite being eligible are Seth Joyner and Donovan McNabb.

Neither were faves of mine, but they were the best players. The best Eagles, for sure. With Joyner actually taking top billing. Especially as it pertains to being a Hall of Famer.

The best comparison for him fellow impact linebacker Derrick Brooks, who starred the better part of 14 seasons for Tampa Bay. Why? Because Brooks was deemed a no-doubt-about-it selections years before he even retired … and, if anything, his numbers don’t quite measure up to what Joyner did in 13 seasons, eight of ’em with the Eagles.

In 29 less games – and 49 less starts – Joyner had more sacks (52 to 13.5), fumbles forced (26 to 24) and fumbles recovered (12 to 4) and just one fewer interception (24 to Brooks’ 25) and two fewer touchdowns (5 to 7).

McNabb? He’s a tougher sell in general, just due to the statistical standards that have been outlined in shades of gray and typically altered by that ridiculous “championships won” measurement for individuals in a team sport, and most likely a no-sell in this area, where the majority sees him as some pampered weird dude who really wasn’t as good as Randall Cunningham as a quarterback here or as legit as Chase Utley as an icon in these parts.

So, not gonna bother with any pitch for him.

Joyner, though, is a different story. He deserves to be in the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

Certainly every bit as much as Lindos does in hockey’s hall.
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Can’t claim to have been a fan of the man, and, really, can’t say he fell under the “can’t stand the man” category for me, either.

Buddy Ryan, contrary to that mind-numbing, ceaseless axiom affixed to him that you either loved him or hated him, never evoked that much passion in me, one way or the other.

But he did in others, and for them, the ones who got the positive vibes about him, and his family members, the feelings of sadness attempted to be expressed here are genuine with the news that the former Eagles head coach and two-time Super Bowl champ while serving as an assistant with the New York Jets and Chicago Bears passed away Tuesday morning.

Am sorry for your loss.

A coach for 35 years in the NFL, Ryan, 82, had been diagnosed with cancer and suffered a stroke in recent years, leaving him far removed from the fiery and feisty character who won the hearts of so many. Most famous for his stints with the Eagles and Chicago, where he served as the architect of the Bears’ legendary “46” defense that propelled the team to a title following the 1985 season, he was beloved by a great deal of his former players.

Anyone with a smidge of affection, or even disdain, for the man would be wise to watch ESPN Films: 30 for 30 on that Bears squad to get an idea of why.

No doubt, he will be missed.

by Jack Kerwin  |  ydkjack1@gmail.com

Don’t want Kevin Durant.
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Don’t care what Screamin’ A has said about him, including the positively laughable statement that he, the Overbearing Voice of Nonsense, would take the Oklahoma City forward, a 6-9 beanpole of a roller-coaster ride between money stroke and choke artist, ahead of player for all ages LeBron James.

Don’t even care what someone “local” who actually has displayed a lot of sense at times, WIP sportstalk’s Brian J. Haddad, has said about him, either, such as Durant being the type of “whale” the 76ers need to land in the free-agent market, the kind of star who could ignite a nothing-to-something rebuild by Philly’s NBA franchise.

Just not a fan. At all.

So, thanks, but no thanks to KD coming to town.

For all the success he has enjoyed as a pro, and there has been plenty for him to enjoy, individually and as part of a team, winning four scoring titles on his own and being a key factor in the Thunder reaching one NBA Finals (2012) and four Western Conference Finals (2011, ’12, ’14 and ’16), Durant just does not give off any clutch, “killer” or winner vibe.

Yeah, great scorer, better defender than credited with being, but he’s just paper-thin soft. Just like the guy being compared to him and pushed as a viable for the Sixers with the No. 1 pick in next month’s draft. Which is yet another reason why you’d never see me touting Brandon Ingram as the guy they should take.

Can’t stomach the idea of one KD type on their roster. Absolutely shudder at the possibility that two of them may exist on it when camp for the 2016-17 season opens in the fall.

Yeeesh …

Not for nothing, but the Sixers have an opportunity now to create their own identity, with their own players, and, frankly, that prospect, as daunting as it may be for most of us to consider after three years of tanking, is much more appealing than paying Durant more money than he’s worth to do what we already know he’ll do, which is, ultimately, come up short.

He’s not held back in OKC. Heck, if anything, his game is highlighted by playing with another star, and his burden is alleviated for the same reason. Sorry, rip Russell Westbrook all you want for being a crazy man out on the court, but he gets the ball to KD in some wonderful, easy-to-bucket situations most of the time and then takes over at others.

If you ask me, he’s the far better player on the Thunder. KD had been for a while, perhaps even the first 4-5 years of their pairing in the Big Friendly, but Westbrook’s “force of nature” drive/talent has been too dynamic to play second fiddle. Not just in OKC, either.

Put it this way, Golden State’s Steph Curry was a worthy MVP this season, unanimous or not. He had no biz being honored as such last season, though, ahead of Westbrook.

But back to KD …

His arrival, if it ever occurred in Philly, would be met with wide-eyed hope leading to wild proclamations … and result in a lot of disappointment. He is a supplemental piece. An often electric supplemental one due to his ability to rack up points, but supplemental nonetheless.

He is not a foundational-type entity, the guy you get in place and then start putting supplements around him. Just doesn’t have that kind of all-around game. Never did. Never will.

If he’s not scoring, he’s not factoring.

Sorry, have seen enough of those one-dimensional players in town.

So, spare me on signing another, and while we’re at it, spare me on drafting another, too.

Drifted from the sport a long time ago.
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So can’t claim a special connection to the sport he played, or for the team he played … but, push come to shove, truth being told, Rick MacLeish was an all-time favorite athlete of mine.

If anything, his talent on the ice, what we witnessed here in Philly for 12 seasons, was enough to teach me to recognize what happens beyond the hype to see what was real. Loved Bill Barber. Loved Bernie Parent. Loved Bobby Clarke most of all. But, really, when the city’s NHL franchise was at its best, no one was better than MacLeish. No one.

He was the first Flyer to score 50 goals, had another with 49 and five more with at least 30, and, without a doubt, was a critical figure in the team winning Stanley Cups in 1974 and ’75 and cultivating a love affair with hockey fans and beyond around here forever.

Has there ever been a more majestic display of speed, power and focused brilliance than MacLeish racing from one end to another, his dark hair flowing in the breeze with each leg push against the ice, setting up just inside the blue line, getting hold of the puck and then whipping it past the goalie with a pin-point wrist shot?

Today, unfortunately, all we have of MacLeish are memories. Felled by multiple illnesses, he passed away at 66 on Monday … and many will feel a sense of loss.

Including me.

by Jack Kerwin | ydkjack1@gmail.com

It’s always been a pretty distorted view.

Every time we step in front of the mirror, individually or as a representation of collective Philly fandom, and proclaim our awareness and keen insight into the world of sports, it stares back at us with a confident, knowing look that states, in Kramer-like certainty, “You got that right, Mojambo.”

Umm, actually, we don’t.

For all the hoopla and hysteria and outrage over what transpired in Monday night’s reign of error with disgruntled and dissatisfied fans throwing bracelets onto the ice at the Wells Fargo Center late in Game 3 of the Flyers’ first-round playoff series with the Washington Capitals, the cold, harsh reality of the deal is, this is exactly who we are.

We are not better than this.

We have not been immune to committing acts such as this.

We have not set a new standard of “low” with this most recent display of piss-poor sportsmanship.

So, please, PLEASE, stop the insanity of ignoring who we are while simultaneously spewing the nonsensical “we’re really good, it’s just the world is against us” BS that bases its legitimacy solely on outsiders calling us out on what we deem as dated material.

Doing the ol’ misdirection with “oh, yeah, well, look at what they did” rants isn’t exactly healthy, either.
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Just stop the madness and own it. Recognize who you are, what you do, and if you feel that a change needs to be made, take the measures required to do so.

The irony of this latest example of Philly fandom is that it drew such critical disdain for ruining a night that the team, and the city, honored the iconic Ed Snider, the longtime Flyers owner and chairman who brought NHL play to Philly for good back in 1967, exactly one week after his death.

That the actions of a proverbial few – it’s always just those damn few – would forever be a black eye to the franchise, Philly and the greatest sports mover-and-shaker ever in town.

Really? Seems to me that Snider, wherever he may be in the afterlife, would be looking on, nodding in approval at his fan base showing their disapproval at an official’s call and that their Flyers were getting smoked by a vastly superior squad.

Heck, the fans’ bully tactics were so Snider-like in being emotionally charged and mentally challenged you’d have thought the Spirit of Ed had egged them on from the grave.

Not for nothing, but with how things were going and what happened in regards to them reeked of an Ode to Ed if anything. Even PA announcer Lou Nolan’s anti-bracelet-throwing comments weren’t a condemnation of the fans’ actions, but, rather, that they were costing the Flyers a penalty.

How perfectly Philly. How exquisitely “Snider.”

Screw the screw-up. It’s the fact you were caught doing the screw-up that was the real problem.

Nice.

You have to wonder if the only “real” issues with Flyers fans beating a New York Rangers fan to a pulp less than a half-decade ago at Geno’s Steaks in South Philly were that they did so while being videotaped and that they didn’t realize he was an off-duty cop and decorated Iraq War veteran.

Good thing fellow Orange & Black-supporting nitwits only sent a 17-year-old kid to the hospital a year later for having the audacity to wear a Devils jersey to the Wells Fargo Center, and that another “core” group only verbally assaulted another Devils jersey-wearing fan two months ago on a road trip. To Toronto. For a Flyers-Maple Leafs game.

Frankly, don’t have any pious, “now, now, you must do this” speech for the unwashed among us, who comprise a large part of us in Philly fandom. They do what they do, and they never learn.

The bigger problem is those who deny this stuff happens, or get up on their high horse to announce how this is some uncommon, never-seen-before practice. That it doesn’t represent Philly and its fans at all.

Actually, it does … and until you admit it and own it, Philly, nothing is going to change.

Can we give it a rest on the concept of the Phillies and Mets as being a great rivalry, how the two have some inherent bitterness due to proximity to one another that, combined with heated competition, has cultivated some sort of Major League Baseball backyard brawl?

​Talk about lack of awareness and insight.

Aside from Philly’s insecurity issues with big brother New York City, there is nothing to this.

For starters, you kinda need to be good for a long time, and good together at the same time, for any great rivalry to exist. The Phillies and Mets are staring at an oh-2 hole on that.
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In the 54 years the two have been facing one another, only five seasons have included both being good – 86 wins (10 games over .500) or better – at the same time: 1976, 1986, 2006, 2007 and 2008. If you wanna cling onto the latter two seasons listed there as evidence of some great rivalry, with only one game separating the two in ’07 and three in ’08, that’s fine.

You’re just looking through a peephole is all. Even those other “competitive” seasons yielded runaway NL East Division titles that saw 15-, 22- and 12-game differentials between the two.

Since the Mets were born in 1962, they’ve only qualified for the postseason eight times. The Phillies have done so 12 times over the same time frame. Plus, even in today’s expanded playoff system, they’ve never met once the regular season ended.

The Phillies have had far greater rivalries with the Pirates, Reds, Cardinals, Dodgers, Braves and Nationals, especially when they were the Montreal Expos, since the Mets have been in existence. Granted, realignment has changed a few things, but the Phillies still can claim playoff history with the latter five noted there in the past five decades and change. Not so with the Mets.
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Would a real rivalry with the Mets be great? Sure. But verbally pounding it home as one the last couple decades, while reality be damned, has grown beyond tiresome. It’s annoying … and, to be blunt, incorrect.

Cannot claim to ever have been a fan of the man.

With much of Philadelphia mourning the loss of Ed Snider, the founding father of continuous NHL action in the city – the Quakers only performing in the 1930-31 season – and ruler of all Flyers things for half a century who passed away Monday morning at the age of 83, it kinda disappoints me that he never earned a special place in my heart.
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Respect, though, has been another story. Even if it has been given grudgingly.

By the time Snider came into my stream of consciousness and awareness that some people – some important, game-changing people – in the sports world affected things from behind the scenes, my last hockey itch had long since been scratched.

As a teen whose athletic interests had drifted far away from youthful days spent idolizing the likes of Bobby Clarke, Bernie Parent and Rick MacLeish, the Chase Utley, Jimmy Rollins and Ryan Howard of their era in Philly, sticks and pucks and nets and missing teeth meant about as much to me as the next biology test or high school classmates’ whines about peer pressure.

But even the evolution of an all-consuming apathy for a sport the man loved and the team he was so passionate about couldn’t stop an appreciation ultimately emerging for what Snider brought to the city … once it started to sink in that Clarke, Parent, MacLeish, back-to-back Stanley Cups and, good or bad, South Philly serving as an epicenter of area stadia wouldn’t exist if not for him.

If nothing else, Snider showed Philly it could be home to a winner and, perhaps even more important, a winning swagger. With ghosts of the Phillies’ 1964 collapse, the Eagles’ consistent drudgery, and the Sixers’ brilliant 1967 championship memories all but washed away by Boston’s dynastic waves and their own 1973 all-time laughingstock of an NBA squad casting a soul-sucking pall over the city, his creation rapidly morphed from “expansion franchise” born in 1967 to an intimidating force known as the Broad Street Bullies that put the fear of the Orange & Black in fellow NHL squads for much of the 1970s.

​He and his team gave the city a pulse at a time it was touch-and-go with flatlining, and continued to pump life into it.

Not for nothing, but the Flyers didn’t just win cups in 1974 and ’75, they also made the Finals in ’76 and paved the way for one of the most incredible years for pro sports any metro region as ever enjoyed – a 4-for-4 with franchises reaching their championship round in 1980-81 to earn Philly the title “City of Champions,” a moniker it richly deserved even though it batted just .250 on the trophy front only courtesy of the Phillies claiming victory.

Anything after that, including four more trips to the Finals, stretched beyond my interest, but there is no denying the man’s impact on Philly sports and the Philly region in general. That tough, hard-nosed, never-quit edge often attributed to Philly teams, if not first seen with his Flyers, certainly was cemented by them. The tight-knit, almost cult-like community he impressed upon his teams can be witnessed even today on the ice, in the locker room and throughout South Jersey, which might as well just secede from the rest of the Garden State and rename itself Flyers Nation with all the current and former players residing there amongst their most loyal supporters.

Indeed, some, including yours truly, may be justified to criticize him for unearthing one of the most annoying fan bases in all of sports, it ranking right up there with St. Louis Cardinals fans, Michael Jordan worshippers, LeBron James haters and Nouveau Riche Patriots blowhards, but the fact of the matter is, there is something to be said, if not admired, for someone being able to engender such unyielding faith and support by others in him and/or his organ-EYE-zation.

Decade after decade, no matter how many have passed since Snider and his Flyers warranted a parade in town.

A 1999 Philly Daily News poll revealed that Snider was viewed as the city’s greatest sports mover and shaker, as he beat out the likes of Connie Mack and Bert Bell … and, frankly, like him or not, nothing has changed since then.

To me, he was an arrogant, elitist bore, and often fell prey to his own hero worshipping of certain players, but there is no denying that.

Even by me.

Rest in peace, Ed.

Jack Kerwin  |  ydkjack1@gmail.com
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It’s the giving time of year.

So, in keeping with that spirit, how about we wish the best for everyone, and maybe a little something special for those who seem to need it on the Philadelphia sports scene?

Perhaps, say …

• Truth serum for the higher ups in the 76ers corporate conglomeration, so the likes of owner Josh Harris and even newly minted Yoda Jerry Colangelo, who was hired to oversee or overtake (your call) previously minted Yoda Sam Hinkie, can keep a dwindling fan base somewhat informed and, hence, engaged. Or even remotely interested.
• A roster list and neon-bright highlighter pen for Temple coach Matt Rhule, so he can quickly identify quality options not named “Jahad Thomas” to share with offensive coordinator Marcus Satterfield when it comes time to set the tone on offense or kickstart it when it is lifeless or on any fourth-and-short situation.
• A couple receivers with quality hands for Eagles quarterback Sam Bradford to have at his disposal, so we can legitimately end this debate of reality vs. excuses when it comes to judging arguably the most important figure in the city a good portion of each year.
• A personality for new Ruler of the Phillies Universe, Andy MacPhail, so he can cut back on the slow-talking, highfalutin snobbery that will distance the club from those who support it faster than any clueless moves or comments by former GM Ruben Amaro did.
• A spine for Eagles owner Jeffrey Lurie, so he can actually pull the trigger on Chip Kelly as either coach, GM or altogether and not let another decade drift on by after an expiration date clearly passed.
• An interpreter for Sixers coach Brett Brown, so the rest of us can grasp the points he’s trying to make in some convoluted Boston accent mixed with big words.
• Reality checks for Flyers and Phillies fans, so they can be crystal clear that title runs will not be in the offing this year, next year, and even the one after.
• A football stadium on Temple’s campus for James Kenney, so the city’s new mayor-elect can have a blast explaining to constituents how he’s all about that school on North Broad.
• A retirement by the Fanatic’s Anthony Gargano for all, so his cheesy, cherubic and forced, if not phony, “Philly, cuz” intonations that come across the airwaves never have to pierce any ears again.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

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​- Jack Kerwin  |  ydkjack1@gmail.com
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