He is, however, the fallen angel of Hockey Philadelphia, which is akin to housewives turning on Oprah. For so long, forever in my life, Bob Clarke has played ice icon, on it, off it, levitating above it, embodying the Flyers and the success of the Flyers and the notion of the Flyers as family. Of course, that was before a feud with a concussion-prone franchise player and before a coach got cancer and before the Flyers fell one game shy of making the Stanley Cup finals. Now Bob Clarke sits in a sterile office above an empty ice rink in the Flyers' new practice facility in Voorhees, the summer winding to a nervous close, next season soon to be this season, acknowledging a growing sentiment of unsentimental disdain toward, of all people, himself. People have called me an asshole, I know.
Nobody likes criticism.
But it doesn't keep me up at night. It comes with the territory, I know. The territory he means is management. The Law of Sport says fans will always side with players over management, whether management is former player or great former player. They don't know us.