It was a valiant effort. Our sixth game of the tournament. We made it to the semifinals. Italy, Holland, France, England, Germany and now the Swiss. Every game was a battle. If we didn’t know it when we went in, we knew it now. Nobody likes Americans. Really. Especially while playing against us in hockey. Like we are the perennial Broad Street Bullies. The Europeans play a wide out open skating style in a huge rink. We play a hard hitting, kind of nasty style, dump and chase, in a small rink. Tough to adjust too that big surface, but we did our best. Our best wasn’t good enough as we bowed out to a slick skating Swiss squad that showed us the locker room and an end to our week. No worries, it was a great time and a good showing from the boys from the USA. We had four days to kill now. We’re going to London!
A three day, two night trip across the Channel would be our move. Four tired puck players from the states. Should be good times. Our first task was to secure hotel rooms which we completed with the help of our hotel concierge in Holland. Next, we packed up a small bag and headed to the train station in Amsterdam. A huge facility bustling with a massive flow of travelers headed out to various locations throughout Europe. At the ticket counter we spoke with a Danish teller. Her broken English was less than capable as was her attitude. It would be $120 US dollars for a round trip through Belgium and then the Chunnel train into London and back. Non refundable. We purchased our fares and asked her for directions to the terminal. We were on our way. NOT! Wrong directions, wrong platform and wrong time. We missed our train. The beginning of a crazy three days. Back at the teller window, our ticket girl told us sorry, no refunds. Was she kidding! Our wild man Chris took the lead. That led to our almost being in a brawl with a few KAL Dutch Airlines pilots standing up for their countrymen. Chris got right in the lead pilots face, nose to nose, and told him how it was going to end up. Pretty funny. Top Gun backed down while I took over and averted our first international incident. Requesting the manager, I politely excused my friend and was able to restore our passes and head on our way. The trains we started on were like Septa commuter trains. Plastic seats, Aluminum bodies, swaying back and forth. We crossed into Belgium in about an hour, passing through many brick and stone neighborhoods adjacent to the railway. Pretty sad though, almost every home had graffiti sprayed all over them. Not what I had envisioned. In about another hour, we pulled into the Chunnel terminal for our high speed, underwater ride under the English Channel into the city of London. And the famous Tube. The Underground.
The Tube was awesome! The underground subway train that ran all throughout the city stopping in every neighborhood and historic district. You had to master it. The timing, the entrances, the maps inside the trains, how to stand on the platform amongst the masses. The platforms were very thin too. Same as they were since World War 2. Pretty cool. Just needed a pass for the three days to get us around. Our first stop was to check into our hotel. It was literally right near where they filmed that movie Notting Hill. Cool area, lots of brick paved streets and pubs. First problem though, English food sucks. Literally inedible. The Chinese and Thai and Indian places were the go to eateries. We made the usual trips to Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, London Tower, etc. Then back to the hotel to rest. It was a long day.
The next day we planned to check out another part of the city, Piccadilly Circus. A lively part of town with entertainment, restaurants, arcades, shops and shows. It was a lot of fun…but pretty cold and rainy. I saw a sporting goods store with young Pakistani teens playing soccer in the doorway. I went in and grabbed a really cool lime green Fila jacket that was perfect for my trip. I hadn’t planned on the English rainy weather. I still have that jacket! Wish I could still fit in it! We ventured into a side neighborhood to check out how the real folk lived. Nice clean tightly knit homes. All brown brick and cobblestone streets. Fancy cars that traverse the wrong side of the road. I still don’t get it. We came upon a class of about twenty Kindergarten age kids walking with there teachers in a single file line, all holding hands, and dressed in very professional looking uniforms. I struck up a conversation with their teachers and told the kids that we came from America on a very special quest. With that, I asked them if they could point us in the right direction to where the Teletubbies lived. That we wanted a picture with them to take back to our kids. The looks on their faces was priceless! They laughed and laughed and told us good luck…we were crazy! It was great. Now, back to the tube again to get back to the hotel. Got lost and had to ask a BFI garbage man how to get to our destination. He drove slow and said follow me. Worked for us!
Back to the hotel area for more Chinese and some rest as tomorrow would be our last day to explore. We would only have a few hours before heading back to the train station. Our destination was the World Famous Harrods Department store to experience it’s so called majesty and grab some souvenirs to take home to our families. We packed up or backpacks, checked out of the hotel and headed to the store. It was not far, walking distance, and I had my nice new Fila jacket to keep me warm. We entered Harrods and were immediately taken by the huge size. Ten floors at least full of luxury clothes, furniture, shoes, electronics, jewelry, you name it. Some items were millions of dollars! So Expensive!! I picked up a few knick knacks for the boys and Lor, some t-shirts and snacks for the ride back. The department clerk was a beautiful young lady dressed like a bell hop Barbie Doll. Knee length skirt, white tailored shirt and blue matching jacket with a fancy hat. She was very proper and a bit snobbish. After all she could probably spot an American tourist a mile away. I payed for my gifts, like two hundred dollars of nothing with nary a thank you. I asked her for a favor though. Bad move. Here comes another International incident. The clerk in Piccadilly Circus had forgotten to take the security tag off from the inside of the jacket. I asked her if she could help me out. She had the removal device right on her counter. She called security. In a moment, a huge British mate in a police style uniform came and asked me for a receipt for the jacket. I told him that I bought it the night before and that I had thrown the receipt away at the hotel. Can you help me? Hard no. Treated me like I was a thief and were going to escort me out! Chris to the rescue. “Are you calling my fine friend a thief??” They then called the main head honcho, Chief of Security of Harrods! Now we’re scared! Here comes this Heavy, short, really short dumpy guy with round rim glasses and bald head and his sidekick Ultra Girl. OMG! I said to the guy that we were gonna have a real issue if he couldn’t simply and courteously just take the freaking tag off of my jacket! They finally said, after a cold stare down, “Certainly Sir”… with that condescending British accent and escorted us to the main entrance. I gave them the jacket and these two monster guards struggled with it before Ultra girl stepped in, finished the job and handled it to me. “Your jacket sir”. Humpty Dumpty said to me. USA-2/ HOLLAND/GREAT BRITIAN-0.
We made it to the Chunnel train for our high speed ride back to Belgium. The boys were wiped including me. It was early afternoon and hardly anyone on the train. Chris and I sat caddy corner across from one another. The seats faced each other like booths, four to a section. He put his feet up on the opposing seat, tilted his hat over his eyes and handed me his ticket and ID for the conductor. Goodnight. Other passengers on the train, mostly locals, assumed the same position. About thirty minutes later, this long haired, skinny, Conductor hat wearing French guy around our age came to collect our tickets. I handed Chris’s ticket and mine to him. He looked at me and said “Please ask your friend to remove his feet from the chair.” I said that he was sleeping, we were very tired, and there were many others in the train that were in the same position. He began to tell me how rude and disgusting we Americans are. That we think we can come to his country and do as we please. Chris’s eyes started to open. Here we go. I told the guy to apologize for his rude remarks and ask Chris politely to remove his feet. At that point my boy got up and in true fashion, got nose to nose with him and of course, the guy took off with a huff and some French expletives…we assumed. Great trip. USA 3/ EUROPE 0.
We made it home to the states in one piece, a little banged up, but proud of our accomplishments nonetheless. I couldn’t wait to see Lor and the boys! It was a trip of a lifetime. I’m very sad to say though, Chris, Tom and Steve, have all passed away since our trip together. I am the sole survivor. The guy with Leukemia. Unbelievable. Tom passed in the forest near his home in Minnesota. He had gone out alone in the woods to cut down trees for firewood in the winter when a tree inadvertently fell on his leg. Breaking it and trapping him. He died of exposure. Steve, I heard from Chris…died of a heart attack a few years after. And Chris, well Chris found his dream job out West for years in hospitality. Working for ski resorts from Sun Valley to Tahoe. I got a call one day from his brother that they found him dead in his bed with his two Pugs guarding him. Otherwise, he was alone in his apartment and to this day I never found out what happened to him. Chris and I were great friends and hockey teammates for many years. Very sad. All were great men. And great hockey players too.
Next Up: I Get to Use My Christmas Gift!