The three men approach the door with trepidation, like three kids sent to the principal’s office. Scottie and Kimmo give each other looks as G knocks gingerly and a voice from within growls "It’s open. Come on in."

There seated at his desk is Clarkie. Hair now white, he looks back at them. "How may I help you gentlemen?"

G clears his throat. "Ah, we’d like to ask your help…with the team…you know…advice on how to get this team winning."

"You do, eh? Well, I’m not in the business of handing out advice. However, I just might have some things here that may prove helpful. Lord knows, it can’t hurt."

And with that Clarkie gets up and opens up a closet door. There sits a weathered, wooden hockey stick and on the shelf, a puck.

"Scottie", he says, handing him the stick, "This may sound funny coming from a former Broad Street Bully, but one of the things this team lacks is discipline. You gotta know when to whack a guy’s ankle but, more importantly, when not to. When to fight, when to skate away. When you look at this stick, think discipline and live it as an example to this team, especially the younger ones."

Turning to Kimmo, Clarkie puts his hand on his shoulder. "I don’t think you need any wisdom on defense from me, old friend. But I do have something you will need." Taking the puck down from the shelf, he gives it to Kimmo. "Offense. The best defense is a good offense. Pronger is gone now. But with those that are left, we can take the play to the other team. Keep the puck in their zone. The scoring will come."

Wistfully, G looks down. "I haven’t forgotten you, Claude", says Clarkie as he removes something from his sleeve and places it on Claude’s. "Your heart!", exclaims G. "Commitment", responds Clarkie. "60 minutes. Every game. For the fans. For your teammates. For the game you love to play. Now get out of here. I want to see the real Flyers on the ice tonight!"