Category Archives: Heroes

Hometown hero

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SOLLENTUNA, Sweden – About 35 years ago, a fair-haired boy got off bus 520 at the Sollentunavallen stop, walked through the gate and down the stone stairs to the outdoor rink, to attend Edsbergs IF’s hockey school.

Even if he had given it any thought, maybe he would have seen himself come back to the rink as an adult, and maybe a child could even imagine an indoor rink where the old outdoor rink was, and a practice rink next to it, and a full-size bandy rink next to that one, but he most likely didn’t think he’d be back at “Vallen” to unveil an image of himself on the wall of fame of the new rink.

Sudden + Daughter

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He always came back

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It’s funny how one’s senses can go into hyper speed in a fraction of a second, he thought. Just a second earlier he had been leaning back in his boat, watching his two buddies pull the fish out of the water, and now he was in the water, his body and brain working overtime trying to figure out what was going on.

The water was cold, they said. It was dark, and he could hardly see anything. The lake didn’t smell, but he heard sounds of struggle behind him. He spat out the water that had got into his mouth when the boat had capsized.

In the water

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Skeleton frames of burned-out Chevrolets

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The screen door slams, Mary’s dress sways. Except that it’s not a screen door, and there’s no Mary around. Instead, it’s the door of our microwave oven. I put a Finnish meat pie in there and sit at our kitchen table with a comic book. It’s cold and dark outside because it’s winter in Joensuu, Finland, a provincial city in eastern Finland, just 102 kilometers from the border between Finland and the Soviet Union.

I could go to the outside skating rink just outside our house but it’s difficult to find the motivation once I’ve got home from school. The thermometer on the roof of the bank at the market square said it was minus-30 degrees today, just like yesterday. I had wrapped my scarf around my face but it only helped for a short while, until my breath made it wet so it froze. Every time I inhaled, my nostrils seemed to freeze up as well.

No, I’ll just eat my pie, read my comics, and then put on some Springsteen. Born To Run.

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Valeri’s last shift

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Nobody else was yet up, not even the sun, when he got up from the bed he had shared with his son, and walked to the kitchen to make some tea. On mornings like these, he felt like an old man, even though he was just 33, and he hated it.

He had slept poorly. Partly because his son had been fidgeting all night, waking him up several times. He had got up a few times and just walked around the room. His father-in-law had offered to lift his son to the sofa so that he could sleep in the bed by himself, but he had said he was fine.

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There’s that Valeri again

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A few weeks ago, I got an email from a fellow hockey fan. Mike, whom I’ve never met, but who’s been my email pal for years, wrote simply that he was forwarding an email to me because he “thought you might be interested in it.”

Below Mike’s message, there was a link to a hockey memorabilia auction site which had a brand new Valeri Kharlamov collection up for sale.

Mike was right. I did find that very interesting. Valeri Kharlamov, the fantastic Soviet forward, was my biggest childhood idol.

17.

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Stefan Liv

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When Son was born, almost nine years ago, I used to see his small, wrinkled face in my mind whenever I closed my eyes. I could be lying on a bench at the gym, and his face would emerge in front of my eyes. It’s hardly surprising since most of the time when I had my eyes opened those first few weeks, I would see his little face, too.

I didn’t want to be one of those pushy new fathers, so I didn’t carry photos of him to show to people. The one image I carried with me, of him, wherever I went, was that mental one. And maybe that’s the one I will always have with me, and maybe that’s why he will always be my baby – even now when he’s a genius almost trilingual Ph.D of Harrypotterism.

But last night, and today, when I close my eyes, the image that I see is of a smiling Stefan Liv, the Swedish goalie of the Yaroslavl hockey team that was wiped out in a plane crash yesterday.

Number one.

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Jarda

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The huge metal door to the main arena was closed, so I couldn’t see which team, if any, was on the ice. I had come to the arena to see if Russia’s goalie was on the ice, or whether he had really got injured the night before.

I was about to open the smaller door, the one that’s meant for people, not Zambonis, but just as I put my hand on the handle, it went down on its own. I pulled and the door flew open, but not all the way because the person on the other side was holding it. The first thing I saw was a dark blue jacket. As I looked up from the Czech logo on the jacket, I saw the man’s face. I recognized him.

His name is Jaromir Jagr.

Jay Jay.

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The original Näslund

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STOCKHOLM – We all love winners, and many a book has been written about what exactly makes a winner, without a definite answer. They come in all shapes and sizes, and they come from the east and the west. They’re nice guys and they’re tough guys, and they’re forward, defensemen and goalies.

Looking at a young player, it can be difficult to predict, or tell, who the true winners will be. They’re competitors, sure, but a lot of people compete without winning. There’s something special about the players who always seem to be able to win.

Naturally, they’re easy to spot after the fact – just look at their records – but none as easy as Mats Näslund, the former Tre Kronor and Montreal Canadiens star, who turns 50 on Saturday.

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