This morning was going fine. It's game day, we're taking on the Capitals later tonight, Giroux is out of the lineup but according to Paul Holmgren's announcement yesterday it was never a concussion. Instead it was "whiplash" that had Claude curbed.
That all changed in the blink of an eye after the Flyers press released a statement from Holmgren earlier this morning --
"Claude reported not feeling very good today. Over the past few days, his symptoms have gradually gotten worse. He will be out indefinitely with a concussion."
It's like a punch to the gut. A tear to the heart. And a sick, sinking feeling in the pits of our stomachs.
Just another day as a Philadelphia sports fan. News like this is what's fed our calloused souls and exteriors. Another high hope this city united on, bolstered by our blue collar, strong emotions.....and for who? For what?
As Giroux goes down with no estimated date of returning, our emotions follow bottomward towards the basements of tribulation and poignancy. The heads that stretch the collars of millions of orange and black jerseys.....simultaneously hang at their lowest today.
Another leader, victim to head injury, is stricken from the roster like a colonel watching his men fall one by one as they take the beach.
They said we'd be nothing without Carter and Richards.
They said we'd be nothing without Pronger in the lineup.
They're saying we're nothing without Giroux.
In a moment like this....I like to go back to my roots for inspiration --