Tall, dark and handsome – as the rum, he is now gone.

Today ended on a somewhat sad note for me. I want to curl into a pile of sadness and cry with long, loud HUUHUUHUUHUUHUUHUUHUUHUUUUU-noises, like a 5 year old whose bike has been taken to Germany for no goddamn good reason. I mean no disrespect for my eastern neighbors. They’re good people. Perhaps should not have made the bike joke as my kind takes those matters rather seriously, and before you know it they’ll be at the border with pitchforks, tomatoes and whatnot.

Anyways.

I read something tonight. It shook me to the very core. It almost made my eyes bleed. It made me sad. I ran through the house like a headless chicken before I realized there were two more minutes to make it to the supermarket to get a beverage. Of course I have the stamina of a chainsmoker ( I might as well start…), despite biking to work every day, but still I reached the fridge just in time. A small, futile victory. Allow me to elaborate.

The kamikaze-king of hockey minded Finland has flown the coop. The beer is gone and the rum, the rum is gone. The one and only source of unlimited inspiration for many a school paper has turned off the sauna to find his luck elsewhere. Germany has just become a little more awesomer-er. Tall, dark and handsome – as the rum, he is now gone.

Hockey  (and rabid fangirl behavior) is something new for me. My affiliation with sports is that I dislike it. When something comes flying at my face, I duck (right?). Then  along came this magical troupe from Finland. They played something called ice-hockey. My affiliation with this thing was that I had heard of it. According to my brother it was the reason why the Dutch Olympic team was so small.

However, these folks played sports like I had never seen it before. There were shirts in black and yellow. There was passion and fire. There was a ruggedness – in this sport one guys can bash into another guy, and they both remain standing. There is no room for divas on the ice. Where teeth get knocked out and limbs smashed asunder, egos seemed to remain unbruised. This one dude always did a fantastic job at the smashing around.

The name is Sami Venäläinen and the amount of games he played within this great nation is over eight hundred. In China the number ‘8’ is considered to be the luckiest of numbers, and perhaps also here. The man has been a fixture on the Finnish hockey scene and maybe it’s about damn time his epicness is being rewarded elsewhere. It makes me, however, sad. A marvel of human engineering, he always managed to be everywhere. Zooming from one far end to the other he’d leave some poor bugger at the receiving end of his charge a shivering mess. He’d score  and co-score the most beautiful goals last season -the ones I mime (still) until exhausted.

It’s the end of a era. Tall, dark and handsome – as the rum, he is now gone. Sadness, all around. He will be missed, this beacon of handesomeness and badassery. The ice will be a little less epic on this side of the Baltics. I’ll keep my eye out for another kamikaze but am doubtful I’ll find it. Little aspiring hockey dudes can look up to this man for guidance.

edit: the ‘legend vs. fixture’  debate will open up soon. 

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