Two of the cutest moments of my World Championship have involved the same two people: Mikhail Grabovsky, and his father (and in the background probably father’s father, although that’s just my guesswork).

I was interviewing Mikhail after Belarus’s game, when all of a sudden he said something to somebody behind me, in an irritated kind of way. Then he smiled at me, and said, “Sorry. My father.”

I had seen the man in the blue jacket walk around the mixed zone before, and when I turned around now, I saw him snapping photos of Mikhail, his son. So, maybe I’m in the Grabovsky family album now.

Last night, I interviewed Mikhail again, after Belarus’s last game. His father was there, but I guess Mikhail was used to him walking around the mixed zone because this time, he didn’t say anything. Not even when Mikhail and I were the only ones left, and his father came back and said, “My son best.”

Oh, those hockeydads.

Edit: Tonight I bumped into Mr. Grabovsky at our hotel, and he told me that the other man was, in fact, his father, and Mikhail’s grandpa. I helped them find a pay phone in the neighbourhood.