Well, it's unofficially official. If you whisper the words "seventh man" around the marketing brass at Canucks headquarters, you will probably hear a chorus of, "What? Never heard of it."
The rest of the team will probably take the fifth for fear of self-incrimination.
Never to be acknowledged in public again, the #7 banner will be silently brought down one night in the off-season when the doors to GM place are locked. The banner will be buried and the person who buried it will probably be shot so that its location remains forever secret.
The #7 banner will join Rasputin and Jimmy Hoffa, never to be seen again.
And I almost feel a little bad, because somewhere deep down, I think the masterminds behind the short-lived phenomenon actually meant well. Too bad Cliffy and Gino had to be briefly sullied by the whole experience, but the mud will dry and flake away in a matter of months. By the time the Olympics roll around, if you mention the words "seventh man" anywhere in Vancouver, you will probably hear a chorus of, "What? Never heard of it."
Let's hope nobody got fired over this thing. It really could have been worse. Not much, but it is theoretically possible.
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