Misery on Ice or How Finland Won Olympic Bronze in Ice-Hockey

I know this post is a bit like London buses, you wait for ages for one then two come along at once. Last time I wrote about ice-hockey was in 2011, and here I am writing two posts back to back in 2014!

But as you must know by now, ice-hockey is more than sport to me. It reminds me of my childhood, it's part of who I am, and it makes me proud to be Finnish.

Yesterday's bronze medal match between Finland and the US, where Finns thrashed the Americans, was dubbed by the BBC commentator as 'Misery on Ice', but to me it was just a delight to watch.

Here was a team of players which included Teemu Selänne, the worlds most decorated ice-hockey player, and a veteran (he is 43 years old, in theory far too old to be still active in this, one of the most physically aggressive sports), and two others for whom this match was going to be their national swan song. They weren't easily going to give up on an Olympic medal.

But only a day before this same team (although without the wondrous goalie Tuukka Rask) suffered a dispiriting defeat against our bitter old adversaries, the Swedes, and thus missing out on gold or silver. According to Selänne, the team decided in the dressing room just before going out to face the Americans, that they were going to take the bronze - no messing.

History has shown that when Finns en masse decide something, they rarely fail. 

And what a match it was! I could barely watch when in an unusual sequence of events in the second half, with the score still at 0-0, the Finnish player Kimmo Timonen moved a broken stick left on the ice and it hit the puck being manoeuvred by a US player, resulting in a penalty shot against the Finns. When Patrick Kane failed to score, I had a feeling this was a crucial psychological moment for the US team. I was proved right; Finland scored two goals in quick succession and in the third period made the final score a joyous 5-0!

The Finns on ice looked the better team, but you could also tell that, unlike the Americans, they really, really wanted to win.

As if Teemu Selänne, who scored two of the five goals, wasn't a complete star in Finland already, he will be now. Here is an interview with him and some of the other team members after the match. Even if you don't speak Finnish, you'll enjoy watching these tough guys get emotional in front of the camera - except for the hero of the day, Selänne of course. He just makes the reporter weep, saying, 'I promised myself I would't cry, so I won't.'

That's Sisu for you!

Are you enjoying the Sochi games?

I know there's been a lot of controversy over these Winter Olympics in Russia, and I understand how many people feel they want to boycott the games. I totally abhor Putin's politics and can only image what horrors people have to endure merely because of their sexual orientation, or because they want to have the (basic!) right to free speech.

But as a Finn, I am completely hooked on winter sports. I don't believe that by watching the games I approve of Putin, or condone his actions.

I love skiing of all sorts, but get especially excited about ice-hockey. As a child, growing up in Tampere, known in Finland for its strong tradition in the sport, I went to matches regularly and used to be a passionate Ilves supporter. In winter, I'd wear my Ilves woolly hat and scarf with pride.

Ice-hockey has even infiltrated my fiction. In my story of immigration and family drama, Coffee and Vodka, Pappa takes Eeva to see a Nordic derby match between Finland and Sweden in Stockholm. I won't tell you what happens, but it's quite a crucial moment in both Pappa and Eeva's feeling of displacement.

Courtesy of Sochi Games

In Sochi this year, Finns have not done as well in the medal tables as they used to. Still, I'm enjoying watching them in action in cross-country skiing, snowboarding and of course ice-hockey where they beat the mighty Russians to get into the semi-finals. Sadly, though, that is where their Olympic Gold medal dreams were crudely taken away - you guessed it - by the bloody Swedes.

Though absolutely gutted, I'm pleased that we'll still have the chance of a Bronze.

Pappa's Girl: Jävla Finnar

It was exactly four weeks after our move to Rinkeby in Sweden in the autumn of 1971, when Pappa took me to Stockholm Stadium to see Finland play Sweden. I’d not been to an ice-hockey match since Ilves played Tappara in the Jäähalli in Tampere the previous winter. My team lost to their local rivals. The boys at school who wore the black and orange Tappara scarves laughed at me. But I didn’t give up my green and blue Ilves scarf just because of one game.

In Sweden nobody knew of the Finnish league, but this annual tournament was a question of pride for the two countries. Pappa had been given the tickets by his boss in the factory because he couldn’t go himself.

‘You have no idea how expensive these seats are,’ he said. ‘And how difficult to get hold of,’ he continued. He was talking to Anja. ‘And I’m not going to waste them on a person who ruins beautiful new sofas.’

My sister Anja just shrugged her shoulders. ‘It wasn’t me,’ she said, and looked down at her feet. A few days ago Pappa had found a cigarette burn on one of the velour cushions. I looked at Anja and wondered how she could be so brave. If Pappa found out about the party she had in the flat he’d hit the roof.

‘What did you say?’ Pappa said, taking hold of Anja’s arm.

‘Ouch, you’re hurting me!’ Anja freed herself and ran out of the hall.

‘Hadn’t you better be leaving?’ Mamma said.

I was very proud to be taken by Pappa to the match instead of Anja. In Tampere I went to ice-hockey matches with my friend, Kaija. We both played on the ice-rink two blocks from our flat with the boys from our school. To be allowed to play, we had to wait till there weren’t enough boys to make up a team. One boy, Jussi, who was in my class and had curly brown hair and short stumpy legs, shouted, ‘Do your figure skating in the corner, girlies!’ He had all the latest gear, fancy leather gloves much too large for his hands, pads for his knees and a shiny new stick, which he rolled around with one gloved hand often dropping it with a bang on the ice. Kaija sat next to Jussi in class and said he was really sweet, but she only said that because she had a crush on him, had had for ages. They lived close to each other too, and often walked home together. She’d told me that if there were no other boys around Jussi would hold her hand. Kaija was a short girl with round face and straight thin hair. Pappa called us ‘Pitkä ja Pätkä’ after a Finnish version of Laurel and Hardy. Getting ready for the match I decided to write to Kaija about it later that evening. I wondered who her new best friend might now be. I’d received one letter from her but she said nothing about school in it. It was already October so she must have found someone by now. I wished Kaija would be coming to see Finland play Sweden with me.

The match was played in the evening in the large stadium in the centre of Stockholm. We wore our warm coats and I put on my Ilves scarf and hat.

‘There’ll be lots of people but very few Finns, so best keep together, OK?’ Pappa said as we parked the new Volvo. Pappa had washed it earlier that morning and its bonnet gleamed under the streetlights. I turned to look at the dark, round building in front of me. There were people hurrying towards it. We were late. Pappa took my hand and we started running. He looked at the tickets and then up at the signs on doors. I held tightly onto Pappa’s hand when we walked up steps and saw the vast ice rink in front of us.  People had to stand up to let us in, we were right in the middle of the row.

‘Tack, tack,’ Pappa said and I smiled. But nobody looked directly at us. They just stared at the rink in front of them.

The players were already out warming up. They smashed the bucks against the solid white edges, snapping their sticks fast and hard.

‘There’s Harri Linnonmaa, look, number 75!’ Pappa said pointing at a player in blue and white with a picture of a lion on his chest. ‘The Finnish Lions will beat the Swedish wimpy white-bread men,’ he whispered into my ear when the players skated up to the side and disappeared underneath us. Soon after they all came out again in a line and stopped dead when the Swedish national anthem was played over the Tannoy. Everybody stood up. Pappa and I were the only people not singing. After the Swedish anthem I felt awkward knowing the words to ‘Our Land’, but Pappa sang loudly, clearly pronouncing each Finnish word.

When the Finnish national anthem was over, the game started with the two attackers fighting for the puck in the middle of the rink. Pappa rubbed his hands together and muttered, ‘C’mon Finnish Lions!’

The Swedish players wore their blue and yellow shirts with an emblem of three crowns on them. They all had very blonde, long hair which escaped from underneath their helmets. Pappa had told me the crowns represented the three monarchies Sweden had once ruled.

‘Now they don’t even dare take part in wars, let alone win them, the cowards!’ he’d said. He told me Finns had earned their emblem through having to fight for their independence. ‘Like lions we are fearless and proud,’ he said.

‘I think we’ll win, Lissu, because the Swedes are scared,’ Pappa now said. ‘Finland won the first leg of the tournament in Helsinki. If only they can hold until half time, they’ll win.’ He smiled and nudged me with his elbow.

The whole of the stadium exploded when the first goal came. But Pappa and I sat still. By the end of the second period, Finland was 9 goals down and Pappa had an Elefanten beer in the dark, cold hall downstairs. People around us were standing in groups laughing and smoking. They were mostly Swedish men, like my father drinking beer.

‘Can I have a tunnbrödsrulle Pappa?’ I said. He looked at me and without saying a word gave me the money. I ran to a food stall and back again as quickly as I could. Thankfully Pappa was still there when I came back. He’d finished his beer and the bell was sounding for the start of the third period.

‘Never mind,’ Pappa said when we sat down again, ‘We have time to come back.’

But it got worse. Time after time Finnish players were sent to the sin bin, leaving the Swedish blondes free to score more goals. Three more times the buck ended up in the Finnish net. The Swedish players hugged each other and the crowd cheered. Pappa said nothing. The Finnish goalkeeper hung his head, while his teammates got angry with the Swedish players. Yet another Finn was sent to the sin bin. At one time there were two Lions sitting there, holding their sticks between their knees, staring ahead at the terrible result on the board opposite them.

‘Let’s go,’ Pappa said suddenly. The game wasn’t finished yet and people looked angrily at us when they had to move up from their seats. One man with a huge belly and a round face said, ‘Jävla Finnar’ when I passed. I didn’t look at him.

The dark streets outside were completely empty. We heard another loud cheer rise up from the vast stadium. Pappa walked fast to the car and quickly started the engine. He was quiet all the way home. When we pulled into the car park outside our block of flats I said, ‘Can we go again?’

Pappa looked at me and said, ‘No.’

This is an excerpt from my novel Pappa's Girl. If you liked the story, you can find more here.

Finland are ice hockey world champions!

The silveware. Picture YLE

Growing up in Tampere I was an avid follower of ice hockey. My team, Ilves, were Finnish champions and I saw many matches in the newly built jäähalli. 

Since moving here, I've lost touch with the game, but could not miss the wonderful news that Finland, after first beating Russia in the semi-finals were going to play Sweden - their old arch rivals - in the world championship finals.

It didn't start well; Sweden took the lead in the 28th minute. Here we go, I thought. In the days when I used to follow the game, Finns were famed for snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. Especially when playing against Sweden, or The Three Crowns, the players never failed to disappoint. I had to witness one crucial match with my father in Stockholm where we lost 13-0 to the Three Crowns.

But last night The Lions, as Finns call themselves, fought on. They have a lucky break when a Swede misses our goal by a whisker in the 39th minute. They go on to equalise just seconds before the end of the 2nd period.

Finland wins the face-off at the start of the 3rd period and take control of the game. Second and third goals come in quick succession. At 3-1 the commentators start to talk about winning the championships. Sweden crumbles. Three minutes from the end the Lions score again, making the it 4-1, and just a minute later there's another goal for Finland. The match ends at 6-1 when the Lions steal another goal just under a minute before full-time.

Picture Tomi Hänninen

Picture Tomi Hänninen

What a match - what champions!

Picture Tomi Hänninen 

Miracle on Ice - Mark Two

I had a really early start with a client this morning, but instead of being good and going to bed early last night, I couldn't resist sitting up to watch the battle for the last Olympic Gold, an ice-hockey match between two giants of the game, USA and Canada.

The original Miracle on Ice occurred when at Lake Placid in 1980 the Americans beat the Soviet Union, the overwhelmingly dominant country in the sport at the time. Of course then it was much less about sport and much more about politics. And about what was right and what was wrong. In those days the Americans were the country of democracy where natural justice prevailed, whereas the USSR was a Communist Dictatorship where human rights didn't exist. Beating the Russians in ice-hockey at Winter Olympics was a victory against oppression.

We may view the world rather differently today and last night's match between 'Team USA' and the hosts, Canada, was by no means comparable. But it mattered. It mattered a lot to a smaller country to beat their neighbouring super power. This is something I, as a Finn, can relate to.

Finland lost so many ice-hockey matches against the Soviet Union in the 1960's, 70's and 80' that rumours began to circulate that we weren't allowed to win. It would be politically too damaging. Whatever the truth, we didn't just lose matches against the mighty USSR, but were also regularly beaten by the Swedish team. The Swedes, who still wear an emblem of Three Crowns on their shirts, to show their reign over other countries, such as Finland, are about the same level in talent as we are. But as we border each-other, the contests are invariably bitter.

Watching the match last night, I was sorry I'd missed so much of the Olympics. I didn't even see Finland win ice-hockey Bronze, beating Slovakia in a seemingly nerve-shredding match. (Sweden, just for the record went without medals...result!) The fast and furious game played on dangerous-looking skates and often involving gratuitous violence took me back to my childhood. Not so romantic, you may think, but as we lived close to a newly built ice-hockey hall, I was often taken to matches by my Father, or went to see one with a friend. I supported a local (best) team, Ilves. I had the green and yellow scarf, bobble hat and gloves. And I wore them proudly.

Until, that is, we moved to Stockholm and I became more interested in girly things. My Father's last ditch attempt to reinvigorate my interest in the game was to take me to 'Maa-ottelu' a Derby match between Finland and Sweden, staged in Stockholm. We were one of the few Finns in the audience, in a sea of blue and yellow Three Crowns -shirts. Finland lost the game 13-0 and ice-hockey was never again mentioned in our house.