I had made my way to the hotel in Gothenburg via another cab and finally got a driver who spoke a little bit of English. He enlightened me to some local eateries that I might like before reaching our destination. Entering my room, I thought that the last place that I stayed at was small! A virtual kids shoebox, this room had barely a window or view and a bathroom that you could hardly turn around in. I ventured outside to forage for food, following the directions of my cabbie, and to my delight, found a Thai restaurant in walking distance that had a delicious menu. I just made it there before they were about to close and I left with a nice takeout order to satisfy my need for edible food. Swedish TV is a real treat. There are some English speaking stations that play reruns of 1990’s era sitcoms, but mostly it was slim pickings. What really got me though was the fact that the commercial breaks were literally 10 minutes long…or more! Every commercial was about some type of lottery or online gambling site. The Swedes are huge gambling addicts! No wonder! Every morning I would go into a small local grocery store to grab an orange juice and a bagel and there would be huge lines of people waiting to buy lottery tickets or pick numbers. It was crazy!
Laying in my tiny cot, bed, whatever it was, watching endless gambling commercials, I texted Joey to wish him well for his first game of the season. The game that I would surprise him at the next day. I had it all planned. Inconspicuously, I would watch the game in the arena and afterwards. I would make my way to where the players exited to their dressing rooms and yell “Hey 26, nice game!” How special would that be? His text response went like this…” The Canadian player and I will not be suiting up for the opener. Our IIHF transfers won’t be complete until Tuesday. We can play in our home opener on Thursday.” “U’m what?” I thought. You’ve got to be kidding me! I traversed an entire ocean, to another continent, then across the whole country to watch him play in his first Professional Ice Hockey game… and he’s not playing! Is there a plan B? What now?
The game was scheduled for 4 pm. Since Joe wouldn’t be playing, I figured that I would get to the arena just around the time the game was starting so that I wouldn’t run into him. I walked around the town a little bit and after grabbing lunch from a little pizzeria I came across, I hailed a cab to make my way to the arena. It was an electric atmosphere. The team that Tibro was facing wore Detroit Red Wings style uniforms and looked quite impressive. Some big boys out there. European hockey was played on a huge rink, much larger than the typical North American ice surface. Joe would need to make a big adjustment in his game. That was for sure. I bought my ticket and scanned the sections for Joe. There he was. Sitting with the Tibro management and some other players, they were watching from the second level just above the main concourse. I waited patiently for the first period to end and after the horn sounded, walked past where he was sitting like he wasn’t even there. All of a sudden, I heard this scream as I passed… “That’s my freaking Dad!” He ran down the steps giving me a big hug and blurted out, ” What are you doing here?!” I said,”Have I ever missed an opening game bud?”
We watched the rest of the game together, an opening loss, but a great game. Afterwards, he boarded the team bus to return to Tibro and I attempted to call a cab at 9 pm at night in Gothenburg. Good freaking luck. The cab companies didn’t speak English! After a frustrating half an hour, I was able to find someone who understood my dilemma and finally got me on my way. The next morning, I would be traveling another three plus hours to Tibro, Sweden. Luckily, my departing flight out of Stockholm was on Friday. I would get to watch my boy play his first Pro game. I just have to get there first!
Next Up: Pronouncing “Skovde”