Salon Wanderlust | Cold war

- - - - - - - - - -
A L S O++T O D A Y
Are you a crystal vase?
By Joyce Millman
If you can answer these 20 questions, you've watched way too much of the Olympics
PLUS
By Cintra Wilson
The Christlike and redemptive powers of hockey
- - - - - - - - - -
T A B L E_T A L K
Women who travel solo give tips and swap stories in Table Talk's Wanderlust area

R E C E N T L Y
Plastered in Nagano
By Koya Ide
Olympics sponsors' ads are everywhere
(02/17/98)
Passionate and penniless in Paris
By Maxine Rose Schur
A magical memory
(02/13/98)
Retro burger
By Gary Kamiya
Our Olympics correspondent muses on women's hockey, Japanese English, the quest for tosto and other cross-cultural oddities
(02/12/98)
Stoned on ice
By Gary Kamiya
Curling heats up Nagano
(02/11/98)
Après moi, de luge
By Gary Kamiya
Getting a half-second high from the sport that gives a whole new meaning to the expression "balls out"
(02/10/98)

Browse the
Feature archives

COLD WAR +|+PAGE 2 OF 2

Sergei Fedorov of Russia in action during his team's 9-2 destruction of Kazakhstan Friday.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This evening, we went to my last hockey game, and it was tremendous -- Russia vs. the Czech Republic. I had been so impressed with Russia's artistic, fast attacking when I'd seen them dismantle Kazakhstan that I idly thought I'd root for them. Then we walked into the arena.
It was bedlam. Our seats were right next to dozens of impassioned Czech fans -- there were hundreds in Big Hat -- who were yelling, playing horns and waving their red-white-and-blue pennants. Looking around, I saw sophisticated, oddly careworn faces, faces out of a Kundera novel.
Two rows in front of us, a group of large, red-faced, intensely Slavic-looking men was yelling even louder. They were pock-marked, thick in the body and neck, with bushy eyebrows, loud Russian hockey shirts and Nagano souvenir towels wrapped around their heads like do-rags. They had massive gold chains and Rolexes and huge rings. At least one of them was missing most of his teeth. Another one looked just like a thuggish version of the Three Stooges' Curly. They were waving the Russian flag -- oddly, also red, white and blue -- and shouting Russian slogans. I looked at the Czech fans and saw utter passion, real hope and fear on the faces of people who looked like they might normally care more about Chopin than hockey. And all of a sudden I remembered the Prague Spring in '68, and the Russian tanks in the streets, and Alexander Dubcek, and I realized this wasn't just a hockey game -- this was a way of symbolically settling some ugly history.
And then, wouldn't you know it, America stuck its big foot in it, too. A large, oblivious contingent of Americans, a dozen or more, in matching red sponsor jackets, marched in right in the middle of the action and squeezed past the Czechs. One Czech guy said, "Hurry and sit down -- we want to see!" -- at which a sour-faced American glared right at him. It was an ugly moment, but it was brought to an ironically comic conclusion when the Yanks displaced the loutish, scary Russians from their seats. The Russians moved to worse seats closer to the ice. The whole political/cultural relationship between the three countries seemed to be summed up in that one moment.
The Czechs were clearly not as good as the Russians, but despite a sometimes suspect back-line defense they shut down the potent Russian attack. When they scored the first goal, on a power play at 11:53 of the second period, the people sitting next to me went wild.
During the break between the second and third periods, I asked the woman sitting next to me -- she had a kind, worldly face -- when the two teams had last played. "We play them every year," she said. "You know, because we are Czech and they -- how do you say -- occupied our country, we hate them. So every game, this is the big one for us." So this wasn't a good-sportsmanship game? She smiled. "No."
Cintra and I had been wondering about the big, beefy Russian guys in the hockey shirts with Cyrillic characters. I'd seen some really ominous Russian women at an earlier match -- beautiful, overdressed blonds with Slavic cheekbones and icy, don't-fuck-with-me eyes -- and had figured they were the wives of millionaire NHL Russian players. But who were these bruisers? I said, "They've got to be mob. How else would they be able to come here?"
Without being asked, the Czech lady came up with the same theory. "You see those Russian guys? They are mafia. Look at their jewelry, their watches."
Alas for the Cinderella dream, the Russian tank once again rolled over the Czechs. Russia tied it, 1-1, at 3:27 of the third period on a beautiful bit of stick handling by Valeri Bure. The Czechs seemed to let down for a moment, for only 10 seconds later the Russians scored again. The putative goodfellas -- along with Cintra, who had decided that since everybody hated the Russians and loved the Czechs, she was going to cheer for the Bad Guys -- howled. The Czech fans were disconsolate. The Czechs' desperate attempts to come back failed.
They'll have another day, but I won't get to see it in person. Tomorrow I'm off to see team ski jumping -- an event every sadistic, right-thinking American youth has been fascinated by since that agony-of-defeat footage of the guy smashing off the ramp at the beginning of "Wide World of Sports." Plus, there should be some major Japanese national pride on display, with two of the world's best jumpers being Japanese. Adding to the drama is the fact that their best jumper, Masahiko Harada, who just won bronze in the large-hill event, blew it on his last jump at Lillehammer and cost his team the gold. I can't wait.
SALON | Feb. 18, 1998

PHOTOGRAPH BY AL BELLO/ALLSPORT
Archived images are provided by Allsport Photography USA, Inc. all rights reserved, any redistribution, resale, re-print or other use is strictly prohibited without written consent from Allsport Photography USA, Inc. directly.


- - - - - - - - - - A L S O++T O D A Y Are you a crystal vase? By Joyce Millman If you can answer these 20 questions, you've watched way too much of the Olympics PLUS By Cintra Wilson The Christlike and redemptive powers of hockey - - - - - - - - - - T A B L E_T A L K Women who travel solo give tips and swap stories in Table Talk's Wanderlust area R E C E N T L Y Plastered in Nagano By Koya Ide Olympics sponsors' ads are everywhere (02/17/98) Passionate and penniless in Paris By Maxine Rose Schur A magical memory (02/13/98) Retro burger By Gary Kamiya Our Olympics correspondent muses on women's hockey, Japanese English, the quest for tosto and other cross-cultural oddities (02/12/98) Stoned on ice By Gary Kamiya Curling heats up Nagano (02/11/98) Après moi, de luge By Gary Kamiya Getting a half-second high from the sport that gives a whole new meaning to the expression "balls out" (02/10/98) Browse the Feature archives		COLD WAR +\|+PAGE 2 OF 2 Sergei Fedorov of Russia in action during his team's 9-2 destruction of Kazakhstan Friday. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This evening, we went to my last hockey game, and it was tremendous -- Russia vs. the Czech Republic. I had been so impressed with Russia's artistic, fast attacking when I'd seen them dismantle Kazakhstan that I idly thought I'd root for them. Then we walked into the arena. It was bedlam. Our seats were right next to dozens of impassioned Czech fans -- there were hundreds in Big Hat -- who were yelling, playing horns and waving their red-white-and-blue pennants. Looking around, I saw sophisticated, oddly careworn faces, faces out of a Kundera novel. Two rows in front of us, a group of large, red-faced, intensely Slavic-looking men was yelling even louder. They were pock-marked, thick in the body and neck, with bushy eyebrows, loud Russian hockey shirts and Nagano souvenir towels wrapped around their heads like do-rags. They had massive gold chains and Rolexes and huge rings. At least one of them was missing most of his teeth. Another one looked just like a thuggish version of the Three Stooges' Curly. They were waving the Russian flag -- oddly, also red, white and blue -- and shouting Russian slogans. I looked at the Czech fans and saw utter passion, real hope and fear on the faces of people who looked like they might normally care more about Chopin than hockey. And all of a sudden I remembered the Prague Spring in '68, and the Russian tanks in the streets, and Alexander Dubcek, and I realized this wasn't just a hockey game -- this was a way of symbolically settling some ugly history. And then, wouldn't you know it, America stuck its big foot in it, too. A large, oblivious contingent of Americans, a dozen or more, in matching red sponsor jackets, marched in right in the middle of the action and squeezed past the Czechs. One Czech guy said, "Hurry and sit down -- we want to see!" -- at which a sour-faced American glared right at him. It was an ugly moment, but it was brought to an ironically comic conclusion when the Yanks displaced the loutish, scary Russians from their seats. The Russians moved to worse seats closer to the ice. The whole political/cultural relationship between the three countries seemed to be summed up in that one moment. The Czechs were clearly not as good as the Russians, but despite a sometimes suspect back-line defense they shut down the potent Russian attack. When they scored the first goal, on a power play at 11:53 of the second period, the people sitting next to me went wild. During the break between the second and third periods, I asked the woman sitting next to me -- she had a kind, worldly face -- when the two teams had last played. "We play them every year," she said. "You know, because we are Czech and they -- how do you say -- occupied our country, we hate them. So every game, this is the big one for us." So this wasn't a good-sportsmanship game? She smiled. "No." Cintra and I had been wondering about the big, beefy Russian guys in the hockey shirts with Cyrillic characters. I'd seen some really ominous Russian women at an earlier match -- beautiful, overdressed blonds with Slavic cheekbones and icy, don't-fuck-with-me eyes -- and had figured they were the wives of millionaire NHL Russian players. But who were these bruisers? I said, "They've got to be mob. How else would they be able to come here?" Without being asked, the Czech lady came up with the same theory. "You see those Russian guys? They are mafia. Look at their jewelry, their watches." Alas for the Cinderella dream, the Russian tank once again rolled over the Czechs. Russia tied it, 1-1, at 3:27 of the third period on a beautiful bit of stick handling by Valeri Bure. The Czechs seemed to let down for a moment, for only 10 seconds later the Russians scored again. The putative goodfellas -- along with Cintra, who had decided that since everybody hated the Russians and loved the Czechs, she was going to cheer for the Bad Guys -- howled. The Czech fans were disconsolate. The Czechs' desperate attempts to come back failed. They'll have another day, but I won't get to see it in person. Tomorrow I'm off to see team ski jumping -- an event every sadistic, right-thinking American youth has been fascinated by since that agony-of-defeat footage of the guy smashing off the ramp at the beginning of "Wide World of Sports." Plus, there should be some major Japanese national pride on display, with two of the world's best jumpers being Japanese. Adding to the drama is the fact that their best jumper, Masahiko Harada, who just won bronze in the large-hill event, blew it on his last jump at Lillehammer and cost his team the gold. I can't wait. SALON \| Feb. 18, 1998 PHOTOGRAPH BY AL BELLO/ALLSPORT Archived images are provided by Allsport Photography USA, Inc. all rights reserved, any redistribution, resale, re-print or other use is strictly prohibited without written consent from Allsport Photography USA, Inc. directly.