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Kern: When the Flyers turned us into winners

GROWING UP in Northeast Philly, I played everything. Football, basketball, baseball. Only trouble was, all I knew as a young fan were bad times. The Eagles stunk. So did the Sixers. Ditto the Phillies. Then, in 1967, we had something else - the Flyers. Th

GROWING UP in Northeast Philly, I played everything. Football, basketball, baseball. Only trouble was, all I knew as a young fan were bad times. The Eagles stunk. So did the Sixers. Ditto the Phillies. Then, in 1967, we had something else - the Flyers. The new game in town took only a couple of years to win us over. Soon we were into street hockey as well. We embraced our Broad Street Bullies, who seemed determined to fight their way through the NHL. These guys from Canada became our heroes. And the fact that the rest of the universe couldn't stand them only made it that much better.

I remember the empty feeling when the Sabres scored with four seconds left in the regular season to keep us out of the 1972 playoffs. And how exhilarating it was the following spring when we beat the Minnesota North Stars in the first round before losing to eventual champion Montreal. But still, did anyone really think that what would happen next was possible? It remains arguably the most indelible chapter in our sports history.

I still think the semifinal series with the Rangers in 1974 was the best ever, capped by Dave Schultz hammering Dale Rolfe at the Spectrum in Game 7. Then Bobby Clarke's overtime winner in Game 2 of the finals in Boston. And Kate Smith, in person, singing "God Bless America" before the Game 6 clincher.

I was working at the Mayfair Diner that Sunday afternoon. My busboy shift started at 5. The game ended, as I recall, just after 5. I was late. Nobody cared. Of course, I'm the same kid who called in sick for Game 7 of the New York series. (The statute of limitations has expired.) We watched as Frankford Avenue turned into a come-as-you-are party. The intersection with Cottman Avenue, a few blocks south, became the place to be. Nobody knew how to react, because we'd never done it before. At least not like that. It felt almost life-changing. We no longer stunk.

I went to the parade with my mom. I don't know why she went. Maybe she was worried. Maybe she wanted to be there, too. I stood on the ledge of a bank window on Market or Chestnut Street to catch even a glimpse. A bunch of folks, including the Flyers, were feeling no pain. Joe Watson Sr., father of defensemen Joe and Jim from Smithers, British Columbia, became an instant legend just for being there to get lost in the moment. He was one of us.

The next year was different. We were expected to win. Still, you never get tired of ruling the world. We thought it might never end. We were wrong. The Canadiens got real good. Then so did the Islanders, followed by the Oilers. And it was never the same. The second parade was much more choreographed, and ended at JFK Stadium instead of Independence Hall. This time I was there with a handful of friends. I'd also been in the house for Game 7 of the semis against the Isles, when Kate made her presence felt once more. How could we lose with Kate on our side?

We went down in four straight in the '76 finals. But maybe the best symbol of what the Flyers meant occurred four months earlier. The Russian Red Army had gone undefeated on its NHL exhibition tour before arriving in Philadelphia for the finale, well aware of the Flyers' reputation. And everyone in North America was rooting for the Bullies to restore some pride. That was the game when Ed Van Impe left Valeri Kharlamov prone on the ice with a body check, the Russians left the ice and Ed Snider told them they could pretty much go to hell. And the Flyers won, 4-1. That, to me, was when the team truly proved what it was made of. That day wasn't just about us. We were playing for something way larger.

After all this time, those are snapshots nobody can ever take away. And soon after, the Phils started getting to the playoffs and eventually won a World Series, Dick Vermeil arrived and took the Birds to a Super Bowl and Julius Erving came along to make the Sixers a title contender/champion. Easily the greatest era we've ever experienced.

To think it all started with a puck.

@mikekerndn