Dear Mike Richards: A Fan's Letter to the Former Philadelphia Flyers' Captain

Dear Mike Richards,

My Twitter feed told me the other day that you’ve landed in Los Angeles, and I saw a picture of you online putting on your brand new No. 10 Kings jersey. 

I guess that means you really aren’t coming back to Philly.

I think a lot of us, the fans, were every bit as shocked as you when we found out you were being traded last month. I’ll be honest, I thought you were here for the long haul; I even bought my Richards jersey as soon as you signed your 12-year contract, figuring I would be able to wear it through 2020.

Now if I wear it to games, I’ll get the same looks I give to people who still wear No. 88, won’t I?

For the past month, I have been wondering how we are going to feel on Oct. 15 when you return to town. Former heroes return to Philly from time to time, and it’s hard to predict how we will react.

Maybe you’ll get the Simon Gagne treatment, a standing ovation and hopes that you’ll one day return.

After all, you were the captain. For all intents and purposes, when Peter Forsberg left town, we all knew this would one day be your team. You would be Bobby Clarke, you would be a factor on all parts of the ice and in the locker room, and you would be the first Flyer to touch the Stanley Cup since 1975. 

You were everything that Philadelphia looks for in an athlete. 

You put up numbers without the flash and pomposity that they do in the cities that get the attention. You worked to succeed, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by a city that prides itself on its blue-collar work ethic.

You played defense, and you played it well. At age 24, we saw you set the NHL record for 3-on-5 goals. We were certain that we would get to add to it.

Most importantly, you got your hands dirty, no matter the opponent, no matter the circumstances. 

We saw you go toe-to-toe with perennial goon Matt Cooke after the opening faceoff last October.  We witnessed you persuade hockey’s loudmouth, Alex Ovechkin, to pipe down when facing the Broad Street Bullies. And we even saw you respect David Booth’s demand for satisfaction by dropping the gloves with him the first time you played after his concussion.

In the city that gave us Rocky and Bernard Hopkins, there is nothing we love more than a fighter who has toughness and dignity.

Except, of course, a fighter who has a title. And we never got our title.

Sure, we felt like we were close. We felt like all the pieces were there. That’s why the trade sent a shock wave through the Delaware Valley.

But the fact remains, every hero (and villain) to come through Philly since ’75—Howe, Hextall, Lindros—failed to bring Lord Stanley back. And now, you are one of them, and as fans we think we know why.

Perhaps it’s because you live in the age of mass and social media, but you and that young group of fan favorites could never shake the partying reputation. And over the years, the perception of those players transformed from energetic youths who worked hard and played hard to a few individuals who weren’t willing to give anything for that trophy.

There are those of us who believe we would have won if you (and Carter, Lupul, Upshall and the crew) were straight-laced boy scouts who spent more time shooting pucks and less time shooting Belvedere. By the same token, there are those of us who believe that you took every loss hard and would never want to cheer for a team without the work-hard, play-hard personality.

The truth is, we simply wanted answers. We wanted an excuse for falling two games short of the Cup in 2010, and we couldn’t simply say “Chicago was the better team.”

We’ll never really know what went on behind the scenes in the locker room, but some of us may choose to believe that we do know. Some of us are already jumping on the anti-Richards bandwagon, believing that we would have won in 2010 if Chris Pronger or Danny Briere had been captain instead.

Those fans won’t simply ignore you on Oct. 15; they’ll express their new-found disgust over the playoff failures of the last few years.

They’ll give you the Scott Rolen treatment:  you should have done more while you were here, and we’re glad you’re gone now.

As for me personally, I see you as Donovan McNabb.

You were given one of the toughest jobs in sports: Take a bad Philadelphia team and make it successful, and do it soon.

In almost any other city, fans would say you succeeded. Unfortunately, in Philadelphia, success can only be measured in rings. No number of NFC Championship appearances could make us truly love or appreciate Donovan, and the fact that you made the last four seasons among the most exciting in Flyers history is not enough to make us immortalize you.

We fans are incapable of demanding less from the leaders of our teams. No matter how much we want to praise you for playing for us and putting up with us, we cannot do that without also murmuring that the Wells Fargo Center never got the banner it deserved under your watch.  Those of us who attend on Oct. 15 and see that 2010 Eastern Conference Champions banner hanging over your head will not be able to help but wonder, “What if?...”

I’m writing you, Mike, to tell you that I am truly thankful that you embraced this difficult city even more than it embraced you. I’m writing to tell you that you made hockey in Philadelphia fun again, and that we loved you for it. I’m writing to tell you that I truly believed you would bring us a championship, if given the time.

But most of all, I’m writing to tell you all of this because in just a few short months, I will never be able to admit any of that again.

After all, that’s how Flyers fans are.

See you soon,

A Phan.