WASHINGTON _ Alain Vigneault virtually pranced down the tunnel that led from the Flyers' dressing rooms behind the team's PR man, Zack Hill, who delivered the coach to an especially large assemblage of press types 2 hours before game time.
"Somebody told Zack it was a big game today," Vigneault said. Pause. Smile. "That was me!"
Vigneault jokes a lot, but this time his demeanor was different. This was in playoff mode. A win would bring the Flyers to within a point of first place of the Capitals in the Metropolitan Division. The coach was hyped.
He rocked back and forth on his toes. He clapped his hands together once, then twice, then he clasped them one on top of the other, fingers writhing in nervous agony. He wore the brown vest and slacks of his three-piece suit, with a slim brown tie that had a thin blue stripe and matched the brown and blue lines on his shirt.
He looked like a Southern Baptist preacher who'd had five cups of coffee before his 11 a.m. sermon.
"It's a big game," he said. "And we're ready for it."
Were they ever.
