Translated excerpts from the book
Quote:
Prologue
Friday, February 13th 2009. Last night a plane crashed just a kilometer away from my home. Directly onto a single family house. 50 people were killed in the crash. My mind is racing – there’s not one I can get a hold of. Dozens of monotonous flashing police-, ambulance- and firefighter-lights, a big cloud of smoke, the smell of kerosene in the night air. It’s hard to find words for the shock that all this happened just hours ago and only minutes from my home.
Yet, the HSBC Arena in Buffalo hosts another sell-out crowd. Nearly 19.000 people are chanting, calling our names. I’m standing in the aisle leading to the rink. Some of my teammates live even closer to the crash site than I. The club and the league have debated if they should postpone tonight’s game against the San Jose Sharks. In the end they decided to go through with the game. Immoral? Distasteful? I don’t think so. Bucky Gleason, a columnist for the “Buffalo News” has this to say: “NHL-honchos wondered if the game should be postponed. Good heavens no. Game 56 was needed Friday night more than ever. The Sabres are a communal treasure. People might be cheering or they might be jeering throughout the season, but there's little disputing that they bring people together. On Friday night, the Sabres are a diversion from the real world, an escape.”
A moment of silence
0.00: “At this time we ask that you stand for a moment of silence to respect those we’ve lost in the tragedy of flight 3407”
My mouth is wired shut and still hurts. It’s been six days now that a puck hit me in the face. It happened in the game against the Ottawa Senators when Anton Volchenkov ripped a slapshot from just a few feet away and broke my right jaw. I underwent facial surgery the next day. To help heal the injury faster the doctors had my mouth wired. I can’t even talk. It hurts not being on the ice in this emotionally charged game, only watching from above and crossing my fingers for my team.
[…] That’s why it’s so important to win tonight – or at least to give our very best. We want to help the people in the arena to forget the tragedy. We want to entertain them for an evening, detract their thoughts and lessen their suffering. It’s not so different from any other given night, people from all social stratums unite during a game. No matter if they are bankers or construction workers, they are all one in their suffering. Just like they are one in their exultation when we score tonight. There is no place like a rink or a stadium to break down social barriers.
It’s nearly game-time. There is tension in my team mates’ eyes. Everybody wants to be part of this game tonight, everybody wants to give his best. Even Jaro Spacek is more composed than usually. The reporters love him because he is always in a good mood and his interviews are just hilarious. Maybe they also like him so much because his English sounds – how shall I put it – a bit awkward.
Our goalie, Ryan Miller, is calmness personified. That’s no change to his usual behavior before a game. His eyes are glassy, his chin held high, his gaze directed at the ceiling. He is “in the zone”, only concentrated on the game. Ryan is one of the best goaltenders in the world and everybody here is glad that he’s on our team and not tending the opponent’s goal. A world class goalie can win games all by himself. Ryan has done that more than once for us.
The music coming from the loud speakers in our locker room is more muted than usually. Normally, the team listens to loud and pounding rhythms before a game to build up the necessary tension. Every game night a different player plugs in his iPod and chooses the songs to fire up the team’s spirit. I have no idea who’s turn it is today. The song, however, fits perfectly. Pearl Jam, “Alive”.
I walk over to Tim Connolly and Derek Roy, the Centers I play with most of the time, and give them a friendly slap on the shoulders. Most players are already standing, anxiously waiting to get out in the rink. I give a nod to Ales Kotalik, one of my best friends on the team, and then leave the locker-room. I want to be up in the players’ box when the game starts. On my way out I pass the box with our sticks, ready to hand for the players taking to the ice. I can’t help it but my arm twitches toward my “Warrior”-stick. After a moment’s thought I put it back in the box. I won’t be needing it tonight. Wistfully I push open the heavy, chrome-plated door with the Sabres logo on it.
A few reporters are waiting outside in the hallway. They want a short comment from me. All I can do is point to my swollen jaw, shake my head and walk on. After 50 meters I come to a branch in the corridor. To the right the way leads to the parking deck where my Land Rover is parked. To the left the corridor continues on to the public area of the arena and the elevator that will take me up to the second level. I give a nod to Stan, the security guy, who guides me through the security door. Most fans are already in the arena by now, so I’m all by myself in the elevator. Everyone who visits HSBC Arena for the first time feels more like in a hotel than a sports arena. What a difference to the mostly sterile and purely functional arenas in Europe.
[…] When I look to the right I can see the brightly illuminated sheet of ice. The original logo of the Buffalo Sabres is set into center ice. The fans love the crossed sabres above the charging bison. Quite contrary to the new logo, which shows a stylized bison which – as some fans say – looks more like a horned banana or a slug on the run. As a player I don’t have any preferences regarding the logo, I like them both. The original logo on the ice is a concession to our faithful fans, just like our third jersey, which also sports the old logo with the crossed sabres and the charging bison. Puck drop is only moments away. The fans have calmed down and take their seats.
[…] The lights in the arena go out, even the gigantic Jumbotron goes black, only the emergency lighting gives off a faint trace of light. “At this time we ask that you stand for a moment of silence to respect those we’ve lost in the tragedy of flight 3407. Our thoughts are with all the family members and loved ones involved.”
19.000 people in the arena rise from their seats. It’s so quiet you could hear the proverbial pin drop. I look down to the players benches. Sabres and Sharks players alike stand with their chins on their chests. I’m not sure, but I believe I can see some players murmur a quiet prayer. The dampened light, the mixture of quietness and tension makes the mood in the arena haunting. I close my eyes and hear my heart pounding.
[…] It’s 19.38, the moment Buffalo has been waiting for hours. Everybody is looking down on the 12 players on the ice. There are exactly 18,690 people in the arena, hundreds of thousands more are watching at home or in bars on television. My thoughts go out to my comrades. I can think my way into everyone of them. I know what Tim Connolly thinks, waiting for his first shift, I can feel the energy when our backup goalie Lalime gives a high five to every player returning from a shift. I can feel the tension and the camaraderie which is more pronounced in our sport than in any other. Hockey is the fastest game in the world and also one of the most exhausting. You can’t be on the ice for more than a minute and give your best. Then you have to get off and have a few moments to talk to your line mates about the last shift. This welds guys together.
We have one goal tonight and that’s to send off the fans in the arena with a good feeling after the game. They must feel that this city sticks together, that this team – the Buffalo Sabres – have given their very best to make this an entertaining evening.
Derek Roy and Joe Pavelski will face off in the middle of the rink. The referee takes a last look at the clock high up on the Jumbotron, nods towards his assistants and drops the puck.
Game on!
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when I read this.
