This is actually copied and pasted from our IIHF World Championship blog, but it’s been a long day – only 12 hours at the rink today, though – and I have nothing left in my brain. So, I’ll do what I actually like doing best: I quote myself.

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QUEBEC CITY – “Hey,” he says, “what did you think about our line last night?”

He, Petri Skriko, former NHLer and a three-time World Championship player for Finland, flashes a very happy smile. As he should because “their line” was simply amazing the night before. The line is Russian’s Alexander Semin – Sergei Fedorov – Alexander Ovechkin, the “Washington line”.

Skriko is the Washington Capitals’ pro scout these days, and in Quebec City to scan the best of the international hockey before heading out to Halifax to check out the rest of the teams.

Ironically, when Skriko himself was drafted to the NHL – as 157th player, on round 8 – by the Vancouver Canucks, he was never scouted. By a pro scout, anyway.

“I had a teammate called Stu Ostlund on my team, SaiPa, in the Finnish league. He was finishing up his career and when he went back home after the season, he told the Canucks about me, and they just went ahead and picked me.

“The year after, I was elected tournament MVP in the World Juniors. When I then signed my first contract, the GM took me to his office and showed me a sign he had had made. On it, was my face and a text, ‘I AM A GENIUS’,” Skriko told me, laughing.

“Too bad he wasn’t there anymore when it was time to renegotiate my contract.”

Quebec is celebrating its 400th anniversary, so the city is preparing for a big party, with a lot of events. It’s a nice city, in all of its Frenchness, and what seems to be thousands of restaurants.

One of them is this crêperie. It’s a nice place, but not too pricey. At least if you believe the name. Non-Swedish speakers, click here.

Hockey fans of the world are making their way to Canada for the IIHF World Hockey Championship. I was sitting next to a German fan on the plane on my way to Quebec.

Stereotypes are based on something, and I now know whom the stereotype of Germans is based on. It’s a hockey fan with a long hard rock hair, leather pants, an oversized national team sweater, and a posse of five.

At the passport control, the immigration officer asked another German fan to delete the photos he had snapped a few seconds earlier. Unfortunately, the language barrier had no Checkpoint Charlie. Fortunately, he, too, had his posse close at hand, and everything was settled in a peaceful manner.

One of the people in the group then blurted, “don’t worry, he’s Finnish.”

Funny, I used to say my misbehaving friends were Swedes, until I married one.

From now on, they’re German.

Today, at the coffee shop, there was a lady in front of me getting a cup of coffee. She turned her purse upside down looking for small change, so that she wouldn’t have to charge her ice cream and coffee on her card.

I heard her mumble about having it in there somewhere, and told her that I had the ten krona she needed.

“I have it here, if you need it,” I said.

“No, no, I’ll just put it on the card,” she replied, and waved her VISA.

“Thanks, anyway,” she said.

“Sure,” I said, and put the coin back into my pocket.

It was probably the “if you need it” that did it.