There’s a pile of newspapers on the table here in the coffee shop. I’m looking at them because this happens to be my table. It’s a pretty big table, seating six, except that my suitcase takes up one seat, and the piles of newspapers two.
Cainophobia or Cainotophobia, Cenophobia or Centophobia, Kainolophobia or Kainophobia, or Neophobia is defined as the persistent and abnormal fear of anything new; things, ideas or situations, of novelty. In its milder form, it can manifest as the unwillingness to try new things or break from routine.
Anybody wanting to spread some fear into any organization – sports team, company, army – only has to say the following sentence, and panic will ensue: “There will be some changes made around here.”
But, it’s not really change we’re afraid of, is it? We can’t live without change. For example, most of us living up in the northern hemisphere like having different seasons. Aha! But we know what the seasons are, don’t we? We know what to expect. In fact, we love different kinds of clothes, food, we like variation. (Unless you suffer from food neophobia, and only eat things you’ve had before).
FADE IN.
GROCERY STORE – INT. – DAY
A man is standing at the sausage counter, trying to choose which one to have as a younger man appears behind him, with two children in tow.
“Why don’t you put on your coach’s coat?”
– Son, on our way to his bandy practice.
It’s cold out there. It’s cold standing by the side of a huge bandy arena, with the winds blowing the full length of the ice, when the temperature is already in the double digits below zero. My new winter coat is a precious memento from the Vancouver Olympics that I covered for the IIHF, but that’s not the coach’s jacket that Son meant. That’s the 21st century version, but Son was talking about my other winter coat.
Dad used to use old military tricks on us kids on the hockey team. At one point, he would try to create peer pressure so that we’d police each other, instead of him coming after whoever did something silly. And, yes, kids do silly stuff.
“Remember what the sign on Walt Disney’s desk said: ‘Always be yourself’”
– Dad, all my life
When people hear that I write a lot about hockey, their first question is usually, “oh, what’s your favorite team?” And when they realize I’m a Finn, living in Sweden, writing about hockey, the question gets modified to, “who do you root for when Sweden plays Finland in the World Championships?”
It’s cold in Finland. It’s cold like in Russian hell, as the saying goes here. It’s especially cold for a guy who insists on not wearing socks, but as the Swedes say, “there’s no bad weather, just poor clothing.” So I’m not complaining, because only wimps complain, as my Dad says.
Besides, it’s not like I’ve never seen minus-25 degrees before. Listen up, kids. When I was a kid, I walked to school every day: ten kilometers, on barefoot, uphill both ways. After I had milked the cows but before I went to work in the mines.
On my desk, there’s an envelope addressed to Santa Claus, on its way to Korvatunturi, Finland. Inside, there’s a handwritten letter.
“Dear Santa,
I would be really happy if I got the following things. (NB: All items are Lego). “
The items are listed by category – Harry Potter, Prince of Persia, Toy Story, Power miners, Atlantis, Racers, Space Police, Star Wars, and “Other stuff” – with a product number next to them, neatly copied from a Lego catalogue.
On the bottom of the page, it says “turn”, on both sides of the letter, then signed by Son.
There are few things that make me as happy as seeing Son and Daughter take care of each other. Being an only child, I’ve never had that connection with anybody. On the other hand, having always been just me is the only way I know, so I’ve never really missed it, either.
(Although, Mom likes to tell the story about me hugging our dog, and whispering into his ear my joy about getting a new pair of skates for Xmas.)
Today, I wrote a piece for the International Ice Hockey Federation, about how players returning to Europe sometimes don’t meet the expectations. The transition from one team to another, let alone from one country to another, and from one league to another, can be difficult, and sometimes the high expectations the club management, the fans, and the player himself, aren’t met.
I should know. I was that player once.
