HE WAS the savior you didn't see coming, unless you put much stock in words spit out in disgust and amid utter futility.
"We got to get [in] our minds that this is a beatable hockey team," Scott Hartnell said after the Flyers were pushed to the brink in Game 3 on Tuesday night. "Right now, I think everyone is thinking these guys are way too good, they have too much skill. Screw that. We have to go out there and play Flyers hockey. We're not doing that."
It was the closest thing to a calling-out this team has received in this postseason, even when they nearly spit up a 3-1 lead in games to the Capitals in the first round, even if you count John Stevens' criticism of Steve Downie for his second costly giveaway in as many games after Game 3.
This, though, didn't come from a captain, a coach, or even a core player, and that made it at once noteworthy and easy to dismiss, especially if Hartnell had remained as un-noteworthy as he had been in the first three games of this series.
He did not, of course. He had three assists in the Flyers' 4-2 victory last night, finishing the game as he had started, by creating havoc and occupying Penguins and by skating, skating, skating.
From his first shift, Hartnell skated as if that bush atop his head was burning. Before the game was a minute old, his shot in the slot had been turned away by Pittsburgh goalie Marc-Andre Fleury. By the time the period was over, he had two assists.
The last goal, Joffrey Lupul's second into an empty net in the final minute of the game, occurred after Hartnell created a mid-ice mess, the puck flipping over everyone's head until it squirted to Lupul.
"I don't know if the line switch up gave everyone a boost of energy or what," Hartnell said. "But it didn't take long for us to all get clicking."
The truth: This game was coming from Hartnell even if he played with Jim Dowd last night. It's what drives you nuts about the guy. There are nights, like last night, where he shows up as if riding a rocket, bashing into people with thuds that shake the building, squirting out pucks from human masses, making tape-to-tape passes that harken to Clark Gilles.
Then there are those other nights where he seems to be late for every meeting, seems to have the hands of Samuel Dalembert and a stick less potent than that of Abraham Nunez.
He was asked afterward if his words Tuesday factored into last night's effort.
