I see that Brian Burke is in the news again. I wish him good luck at the new job, even if, to me, he’ll always be best known for this:
»This is a must-read for the hockey fan, whether hard-core or casual. The tales are well-told, whimsical and thoughtful all at the same time.« – Brian Burke, GM, Anaheim Ducks
“What?” said the taxi driver after he picked up his phone and made the sound of a Formula One car engine finally go away.
“Is it Ben? Yeah, I missed your call earlier, tried to call you back just now,” he then went on, even though he hadn’t.
“What?” he said again. “A rat? In the Volvo? In the garage? Are you kidding me?” he said, getting more upset with each question. And then he paused, for a second or so.
“The rat ate the journal?”
I guess nobody believes a cat or a dog eating the homework anymore.
So yes, Cookie, I did spend more time trying to get the visa than I did in Russia. And in hindsight, I realize that in my eagerness to get a visa I may have rushed things, more than necessary.
Or else, I wouldn’t have had this conversation with Igor:
The Magnitogorsk hockey crowd was one of the rowdiest I have ever seen. They were loud, they were loud, and they were loud.
The press box happened to have another row of seats behind it, so I got to see (read: hear) the fans enthusiasm first hand. The guy behind me had a horn, a whistle, four cups of beer, and a voice that would have given him a front row place in the Red Army choir back in the 1970s.
They also had the most aggressive “wave” I have ever seen. Not violent aggressive, just aggressive: fast and rowdy. And they spilled a lot of beer on the floor. Their wave went around the rink in two seconds. A world record, I’m sure.
This morning, I decided to leave my smokey room, and go for a walk. Curious about Russia, I boldly ventured out all the way to the end of the parking lot of my Hotel Europe.
Just as I was about to pass the huge Volga, I saw a tiny little cat run across the parking lot. OK, yes, I thought it was a rat at first, even as I tried to get closer to the cat, to take a photo of it.
I saw the guard watching me, so I decided to act natural. I stopped, and took a photo of the big old Volga, then admired the photo for a second. Then I heard the cat move again, towards the fence, so I took a couple of steps to the left. Glanced at the guard, he was looking the other way, I proceeded to find the kitten.
And then I saw it at the fence.
I snapped the photo, and confirmed that it was a cat and started to walk back towards the front end of the parking lot, towards the guard, guarding the gate, that was the only entrance to Hotel Europe, surrounded by a black, metal fence.
“It was a cat,” I said.
“Przua hjuede,” said the guard.
“Sorry .. um, yeah, it was … meow,” I said and smiled.
“Da, da,” said the guard and smiled back.
I just hired a cab driver for an hour – 300 ruble, or nine dollars – and went on a sight seeing tour in Magnitogorsk.
I can’t say that I saw everything – I don’t even know what “everything” would be here – but I did cross the border to Asia, said hi to Lenin (a statue), admired the statue of the Soviet Worker handing the sword that he has forged to the Soviet Soldier, and found out that there’s no McDonald’s in Magnitogorsk, for reasons that I still don’t quite understand.
Something to do with territorial rights, and McDonald’s getting Russia only west of the river Volga.
And somebody else getting the rest. Who? No idea. Tomorrow.
I’ve never understood why anybody would smoke in bed. Any romantic notions that people have about it are wrong, OK? It’s just wrong.
After having slept last night in a room where somebody secretly took a puff or two, I understand it even less. OK, it’s not a puff or two. It’s like there’s an old Russian guy sitting in the chair in the corner, smoking away.
Which is why it’s nice to have a balcony. With a view:
What a fascinating country. And I don’t understand a word. That said, I’ve only been here for a few hours, and have only met Evgeny, Elena, Vladimir, and Igor, and those four just briefly at the airport.
The passport control took a while, because apparently, there are only two daily flights from Magnitogorsk, and both to Moscow. Our charter was one of the first international flights, at least this year.
Not knowing the language is a little scary. And here’s a room you don’t want to enter.
And what are the odds of you watching a junior hockey game in 1994, and have a lady screaming, “PASI!” behind you throughout the entire game, only to find yourself face to face with Pasi, the TV commentator in Magnitogorsk in 2008.
Not sure, but the odds for me are 1:1.
What are the odds of your hitching a ride to Russia on a plane chartered by your old coach, now the GM of the team that you’ll be covering?
I don’t know, but right now, mine are about 1:1.
Off to ‘Gorsk.
(The guy in the photo is that old coach of mine, Juha Junno, now the GM of Kärpät).
