Open Ice

The Flyers signed the hard-charging Derian Hatcher to help them win a cup. But with the NHL's new rules in play, they really need him to control his inner nasty

In Philly, mean has always paid the bills.

Way back when—and as recently as 2004—dumping a guy on his butt in the corner or crosschecking him out of the crease or pasting him to the glass in the neutral zone was how the Flyers did business. And Bob Clarke, who broke Russian sniper Valeri Kharlamov's ankle with one swing of his stick in the 1972 Summit Series, loved every minute of it. Hell, he was bedlam's architect. Since becoming Flyers GM in 1984, each player he's drafted, traded for or signed has been analyzed and probed to see if a mean streak runs to his core.

But Clarke didn't have to dig too deeply to measure Derian Hatcher's nastiness, which is why he signed the 13-year defenseman as soon as the postlockout smoke cleared. The 6'5'', 235-pound freight train used to leave remnants of meanness lingering so obviously in his wake that even after his shifts ended, opposing forwards were leery of the crease. As testimony to his success over the years, Hatcher's résumé includes a Stanley Cup, a nomination for the 2003 Norris Trophy and an esteemed collection of teeth, forcibly donated by NHL stars Jeremy Roenick, Teemu Selanne and Sidney Crosby, among others.

Such a presence was what Clarke felt his club desperately needed after, in an affront to all things Philly, the Flyers were outmuscled and outwitted by bigger Lightning forwards (namely Freddy Modin and Vinny Lecavalier) in seven games in 2004, the last time hockey held an Eastern Conference final. "They were getting to those scoring areas way too easily," Clarke says. "We needed some bigger defensemen to combat that. And meanness. We like that in a player."

Hatcher developed his ice nature while playing in Dallas under current Flyers coach Ken Hitchcock, ruling the Western Conference with a ferocious style that Hitchcock clearly misses. "Derian used to move across the ice, put the stick out, ride the guy out hard and pop him," the coach says wistfully. "He eliminated people." In Philly, the elimination of Eastern Conference snipers-Jaromir Jagr, Eric Staal, Mats Sundin, Alexander Ovechkin-was to have been Hatcher's No. 1 job. Then the NHL gave him a more urgent priority: reinventing his game.

When Clarke signed Hatcher last August, he knew that NHL commissioner Gary Bettman would be enacting rules changes that would do away with scoring impediments of any kind-clutching, grabbing, hooking, holding, tripping and threatening gestures included. But Clarke, like his fellow GMs, had no idea how strictly the rules would actually be enforced.

Welcome to whistle shock.

With NHL referees putting teams down five-on-three as easily as five-on-four (a sacrilege in the old days), Hatcher has had to reverse decades of habit to expel the mantra "clear the body" from his head. He's had to (gasp) play the puck. Instead of charging incoming forwards with the recklessness he built his career on, he now has to deal with smaller, faster, more agile forwards swarming at him with abandon, empowered by the new antiobstruction rules and without fear of retaliation. Through the neutral zone, their speed is virtually unchecked; this season it's the defensemen who are taking a beating. "They're getting hit harder than I've ever seen them hit," Hitchcock says. Which leaves Hatcher between a rock (his own goal) and a hard place (an untouchable left wing with a head full of steam). "You see a guy in front of the net and you want to hit him, crosscheck him, slash him," Hatcher says. "You used to be able to juice guys in front of the net. Now you can't do anything. Sometimes I just feel kind of helpless."

Hatcher can still be tough, but he must be cautious. He can still hit, but he must be wary of what part of the body he targets and how hard. He can still be mean, but only when the ref is looking the other way. He's learned volumes about positioning and control from veteran Flyers blueliner Eric Desjardins, but with the playoffs looming, Hatcher is still finding his way. In a mid-March game at Tampa that could have tied the Flyers with the Rangers for the division lead, Hatcher was twice called for high hits in the corners on the penalty kill. Both put the Flyers down two men and resulted in Lightning goals; one earned Hatcher a five-minute boarding penalty and a game misconduct. The Flyers lost 6-3 and went home frustrated.

"Derian still gets licks in," Hitchcock says, "but not on the shift-by-shift basis that he did before. He's had to become a shotblocker, get in the lanes. He has to play smarter." Hatcher can still be a bull in a china shop-he just can't break as many plates.

The Flyers sit fifth overall in the East, but the crackdown on cracking skulls leaves Clarke and his troops in an odd place. The last time Philadelphia won the Cup was 1975, when Clarke and his Broad Street Bullies successfully defended their championship. Because the Flyers' success came with a team known for its nastiness, Philly fans have always valued grit with the same fervor that Oilers fans, who grew up with Gretzky & Co.'s four Stanley Cups, value grace. GMs of newer clubs, like Nashville and Carolina, unencumbered by history and still chasing that first Cup, are free to build teams however they choose to best take advantage of the new rules. Not Clarke. "Our team has been built similarly over the years because this is what our fans want," he says. "They like hitting and fighting as much as they like scoring." And the Flyers, who like dollar signs, happily oblige.

But Clarke, Hitchcock and Hatcher have never approached the playoffs with more uncer tainty. Historically, the postseason is more emotionally charged, more grueling and more intensely physical than the regular season. But with the new rules-and with interpretation and enforcement that change day-to-day and ref-to-ref-raw physicality could be a thing of the past. The Flyers, despite their thickness up the middle and the presence of Hatcher and fellow behemoths Mike Rathje (6'5'', 235) and Joni Pitkanen (6'3'', 213) on the backline, could be overrun by a smaller and speedier team. Or they could use the positioning of their bigger bodies to dominate the playoffs. This season, it's a shot in the dark. "My job has never been so hard," Clarke says with a chuckle.

Clarke admitting that his job is "hard"? Hatcher confessing to feeling "helpless"? Not words we're used to hearing from the nastiest of men in the toughest of towns. But in this new NHL postseason, speaking Lord Stanley's language may require a whole new vocabulary.

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