One winter day nine years ago, I walked four blocks from our apartment to the restaurant where I was supposed to meet a young Finnish hockey player named Tuomo Ruutu. He was 20, had just turned 20, and he was one of the most-sought after prospects in Europe. He played for Helsinki IFK, but had been drafted by the Chicago Blackhawks in the first round, ninth overall in 2001, and he was expected to sign with the team and leave Finland after the season.

I was meeting him for an interview, but not just any old interview. It was my first assignment for The Hockey News, (one of) the most respected hockey publication(s) in the world.

A week before our meeting, I had got an email from Canada.

I remember sitting in our kitchen, Wife sitting across the table from me, typing away on her laptop, when I heard the You’ve got mail pling. (It was actually Homer Simpson yelling, “Mail! The mail is here! Ooooh!”). I read the email, and told Wife, out of breath, “The Hockey News emailed me. They want a story!”

This is what the editor of their Future Watch wrote me:

“Would you be able to file us a 550-600 word feature on Ruutu by Tuesday? I know it’s short notice, but the timing worked out well. I’d like to hear about his injury, how serious it was and how his recovery attempts are coming along. Plus his mental state. This must be devastating for him.”

Yeah, it was devastating for him, but I was delirious with happiness, and the next morning, I called Ruutu’s agent and set up the meeting.

We met at a nice restaurant, and Tuomo was there, nice, polite, and charming, sitting across the table from me, with his agent next to him.

“Don’t mind me, I’m not here to make any comments, I just thought I’d join you for lunch. The salmon soup is excellent,” the agent said.

I put my MiniDisc recorder on the table, ordered the salmon soup the agent recommended, and started to ask questions. And a half hour later, we were done with the soup, and the interview. I had all kinds of ledes and intros and hooks in my head and we hadn’t even got the check yet.

When the check came, I told Tuomo that I’d take care of it. He didn’t know it, but I thought it was the least I could do since he was going to be my big break, and besides, he was a kid, and I was a father of a three-month old baby boy, and it was just mine to take.

“Well, you can’t pay,” said the agent, nodding at me, “because then it’s like you’ve bought the interview.”

“Oh,” I said.

Tuomo said that he’d take care of it.

“No, no, you can’t pay, because it’d look like you’re trying to influence him,” the agent told him.

It looked like a Catch-22 to me, and I thought that maybe we could do the dishes together. Or, we could just pay for our own lunches, go Dutch, of course.

Before I could open my mouth, though, the agent grabbed the check and said:

“And that’s why I am taking care of this.”

I filed the story, and it ran a few weeks later. Like this.

Last May, I spoke with Tuomo in Bratislava, after the World Championship final. He was leaning on the steel fence between the players and the reporters. He was smiling, and laughing – and he was holding the World Championship trophy.

Today, I walked a few hundred meters from my hotel to the same restaurant where I, once again, was supposed to meet a young Finnish hockey player, now one named Mikael Granlund. He’s 19, about to turn 20 in two weeks, and he’s now one of the hottest prospects in Europe. He plays for Helsinki IFK, but was drafted by the Minnesota Wild in the first round, ninth overall in 2010.

He was on that World Championship team with Ruutu, he’s won a Finnish championship, and his goal has also been put on a postage stamp. After this season, he’s expected to sign with the Wild and leave Finland.

The restaurant has been fully renovated after a fire destroyed it a little over four years ago, but it feels the same as before. We sat down at a table in the corner, next to the one I had interviewed Ruutu at.

I’ve filed stories to many magazines since that Ruutu one, MiniDiscs are gone, and my baby boy is now a nine-year-old Harry Potter fan and a big brother. I ordered the salmon soup, put down my Olympus digital dictaphone, and began the interview. Mikael was nice, polite, and charming.

And the soup was delicious.

This time I got to pick up the check, too.