Travel partner Rob Simmer and I headed out into a night that was a combination of Buffalo and Grand Forks, only more severe. 20 mile an hour gusts driving rapidly accumulating snow, single digit temps. In other words, winter in Ufa, Bashkortostan, Russia. Most cars have metal studs in their tires and electric plug-in starters. Those that don't are often meat.
Our routine has been too much straight line hotel-rink-hotel, or hotel-rink-rink#2-hotel, so we needed to get out. Our research gave us a spot called Watson's, an alleged British style pub only a mile or two from our hotel. We exited the cab, survived a 20 foot walk to the entrance, and entered a Russian male sports den. Cigar smoke in the corner, wood and red felt throughout, with big screens that allowed every patron to see the Russian national junior team take on Slovakia. The only women in the joint were either servers or apparent ladies of the night who paraded by every few minutes like ring girls at a prizefight. Hockey was the main course here, and it was opening night of the WJC. We arrived midway through the first period of home team Russia's debut, and it was scoreless. Yummy. Mother Russia's national team, Juniors or Seniors, are significantly more popular than the professional league teams, and you could feel the adrenaline spiked sports buzz as soon as you walked through the door. I knew almost enough Russian to order and our waiter knew almost enough English to fill in the gaps, so between the two of us we were golden. For hockey junkies and international sports lovers, we were at the right place at the right time. Rob and I tucked into our pints, cow and fish, respectively, and took in a wonderful game.
Russia took a 2-0 lead, each goal by the Big Red Machine a skilled gem which ignited rousing applause in the saloon. But the plucky Slovaks fought their way back, and as the coffee and cheesecake arrived, Slovakia scored a last minute power play goal to send this compelling game into overtime. I was delighted to have an extra session to accompany my dessert, but Rob wisely cautioned against any exuberance. We were, after all, behind enemy lines, surrounded by passionate fans who were losing their happy buzz. A quick look around revealed a high testosterone bunch that was decidedly nervous. Team "Ross-SEE-ya" would start the extra session short handed. This teenage Red Army had several star players back from their silver medal team of last year, excellent goaltending and were favorites to win the gold. They were now in danger of losing to a weak sister in their bracket on opening day that could lead to disaster. I followed Rob's advice and restrained myself.
In overtime, a powerplay is a much grander advantage, 4 on 3 instead of 5 on 4, and the Slovaks nearly crashed the party, narrowly missing a tap in that would have had us scrambling for the door. But Russia survived, their penalty expired, and the master ice craftsmen went back to work. Two defensemen, left handed shooting Nikita Nesterov and righty Albert Yarullin demonstrated some puck magic 10 feet in front of their offensive blue line. Nesterov offered and faked and twitched and finally sold a slapshot. Defenders went for the block, and Slovakia's brilliant young goalie Adam Nagy set himself for the blast. At the point of sale, however, Nesterov slid a perfect pass back to his partner Yarullin for a one-time rocket that beat Nagy to the glove side.
BOOM!
Knockout punch. Sudden death resulted in sudden explosion of beer, adrenaline, tobacco and testosterone as the fight crowd got more than they expected. A final standing ovation. On the screen I saw the International sports TV money shot: a country's flag being raised to the rafters and the anthem playing proudly. I looked around; no one in the joint gave a hoot about the ceremonu. I happen to love the song and embraced the moment, by myself. No problem, it was sublime.
Nagy got the Slovakia player of the game gift; he will be a formidable obstacle for the Americans in six days.Tonight team Russia had dodged a bullet, and for all you Miracle fans, Yarullin's blast echoed USA D Bill Baker's tying tally against Sweden on opening night in Lake Placid a generation ago. Although the home team lost a point in the standings, they could now exhale and continue their tournament journey with a mere flesh wound instead of a stunner, with all of Russia rejoicing instead of loathing.
Rob and I settled up and headed back into the blizzard to find our cab. Three Russian women entered, carrying plastic noise makers into the saloon. They knew enough English to tell us they were positively lit up from having attended the game.
From Russia, with puck love.
Our routine has been too much straight line hotel-rink-hotel, or hotel-rink-rink#2-hotel, so we needed to get out. Our research gave us a spot called Watson's, an alleged British style pub only a mile or two from our hotel. We exited the cab, survived a 20 foot walk to the entrance, and entered a Russian male sports den. Cigar smoke in the corner, wood and red felt throughout, with big screens that allowed every patron to see the Russian national junior team take on Slovakia. The only women in the joint were either servers or apparent ladies of the night who paraded by every few minutes like ring girls at a prizefight. Hockey was the main course here, and it was opening night of the WJC. We arrived midway through the first period of home team Russia's debut, and it was scoreless. Yummy. Mother Russia's national team, Juniors or Seniors, are significantly more popular than the professional league teams, and you could feel the adrenaline spiked sports buzz as soon as you walked through the door. I knew almost enough Russian to order and our waiter knew almost enough English to fill in the gaps, so between the two of us we were golden. For hockey junkies and international sports lovers, we were at the right place at the right time. Rob and I tucked into our pints, cow and fish, respectively, and took in a wonderful game.
Russia took a 2-0 lead, each goal by the Big Red Machine a skilled gem which ignited rousing applause in the saloon. But the plucky Slovaks fought their way back, and as the coffee and cheesecake arrived, Slovakia scored a last minute power play goal to send this compelling game into overtime. I was delighted to have an extra session to accompany my dessert, but Rob wisely cautioned against any exuberance. We were, after all, behind enemy lines, surrounded by passionate fans who were losing their happy buzz. A quick look around revealed a high testosterone bunch that was decidedly nervous. Team "Ross-SEE-ya" would start the extra session short handed. This teenage Red Army had several star players back from their silver medal team of last year, excellent goaltending and were favorites to win the gold. They were now in danger of losing to a weak sister in their bracket on opening day that could lead to disaster. I followed Rob's advice and restrained myself.
BOOM!
Knockout punch. Sudden death resulted in sudden explosion of beer, adrenaline, tobacco and testosterone as the fight crowd got more than they expected. A final standing ovation. On the screen I saw the International sports TV money shot: a country's flag being raised to the rafters and the anthem playing proudly. I looked around; no one in the joint gave a hoot about the ceremonu. I happen to love the song and embraced the moment, by myself. No problem, it was sublime.
Nagy got the Slovakia player of the game gift; he will be a formidable obstacle for the Americans in six days.Tonight team Russia had dodged a bullet, and for all you Miracle fans, Yarullin's blast echoed USA D Bill Baker's tying tally against Sweden on opening night in Lake Placid a generation ago. Although the home team lost a point in the standings, they could now exhale and continue their tournament journey with a mere flesh wound instead of a stunner, with all of Russia rejoicing instead of loathing.
Rob and I settled up and headed back into the blizzard to find our cab. Three Russian women entered, carrying plastic noise makers into the saloon. They knew enough English to tell us they were positively lit up from having attended the game.
From Russia, with puck love.
Pls describe those "noise makers" in more detail. I'm thinking Vagina monologues
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