By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Eric Nicholson
It says here the overzealous need to cool it before they wear themselves out, before someone gets hurt or we're all bogged down in their misery. It's irrational to be so frenzied when it's only October, when the kinks are still being massaged and the leaves haven't changed color. (Are there trees that do that here?) There needs to be an intervention. Someone needs to step in, to tell them that nothing good can come from this, that, at the very least, they're acting irresponsibly, prematurely.
"We know this is not the time to panic," Morrow says from the bowels of Reunion Arena, after the Flyers game, where the locker room smells of perspiration--and faith. "I think once we get rolling, things will be fine. Like I said, this isn't the time to worry."
No, not yet it's not. Won't be for a while, if at all.
The junkies should take note, and seek help. They should take two Valiums (or 10 and develop a real habit) and waste away until April.
If not for their sanity, then for ours.
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