A pox, a pox, I say to thee it is a pox!
The curse of Clarkie shall strike whoever shall don that damned C for the Flyers of Philadelphia!
If we can lift it. IF! Then, our magical Ginger will return to his scoring ways. But if we can not, than the net shall remain empty. The C’s weight holds him back, and only the C’s weight. Certainly not injuries, or impure wingers.
Alas, Claude, alas. We are lost without the true thee. Perhaps the pox can be placed on the shoulders of Vincent the Cavalier. He is indeed a strong man with broad shoulders. Or, perhaps it can go to Kimmo the Timo. His speed hath regressed to the point of nonexistence already, what is the weight of the entire city of Philadelphia to boot?
Or perhaps it should be given to the Scott of Harts. The man is clearly cursed already, what with the falling and such, that the adding pressure would be nothing. The brothers Schenn could split the C like a locket. The wild Rinaldo could wield it like a hammer. Just anything but our poor, fragile Claude!
If Berube knows what is wise, he will scatter the C to the wind and be rid of its foul presence soon, rather than later.