NHL Short Stories

beyond the net - ilya samsonov

WC: 1808

"How big is hockey over in Russia?" My friend Molly asked as we continued to wait at the south gate to ScotiaBank Arena for the gates to open into the venue. She wanted me to come with to attend a Toronto Maple Leafs game after she had won the tickets as a prize to some sort of raffle, and the Leafs' opponent was fellow Atlantic Division rival Boston Bruins, who were currently on a three-game winning streak.

I chuckled. "Well, Canada produces the most players, right," I started, giving her my thinking face, "then I think Russia falls second or third. Hockey is huge over there."

She nodded her head. "Well, the KHL exists over there, right? That's practically the Russian version of the NHL," she responded.

I shrugged. She kind of got it.

"You could say that," I said. "Typically if a player is drafted into the NHL but they have an ongoing contract with the KHL, they must finish their contract in Russia before going over to North America to play in the NHL. The KHL is kind of like a development league if you're drafted. Much like the WHL and OHL here in Canada," I explained.

She nodded her head again. "Oh, I see," she responded.

I was currently in Toronto for an exchange year to fulfill my required credits for an English major as a foreign language, then over this next summer I would take all of my stuff back to Moscow to finish my senior year of university. I loved Canada, and I would hate to leave, but unfortunately, all good things must come to an end at some point, this being no exception.

My dream job has always been to be a translator of some sorts for a professional job, whether that be in sports, politics, the military, or somewhere that would maybe require a translator to be present where a native Russian speaker would try to speak to a native English speaker. I can speak and understand both languages fluently, as obviously I'm a native Russian speaker and have been studying English since primary school.

"Oh, fuck," I muttered as I dropped my keychain that I was twirling on my finger that had my transaction cards inside.

Molly giggled. "I think it's still so funny when you swear in English and not scream 'blyat' on the top of your lungs," she said jokingly, lighting punching me in the bicep.

I rolled my eyes. "Извините?" I asked her, flicking her forehead with a smirk on my face. "Is that a stereotype?"

She smirked, crossing her arms. "Not sure what that first part you said was, but no, it wasn't a stereotype. Russians are just aggressive when they speak," she chuckled.

"I said 'excuse me', for your information," I retorted, "and it's the men you've got to worry about speaking aggressive Russian." I told her to correct her.

She rolled her eyes. "Right, considering I've heard you scream Russian at your computer when you just had to fit the right word in the sentence,"

"Sorry that English has too many words!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands into the hair. "Who thought it was a good idea to have four billion adjectives for 'awesome', hmm?"

She chuckled, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm the wrong person to ask, Anya. I didn't invent the English language," she giggled, smirking wider, "and I'm not the one majoring in English."

I laughed, twirling my keychain around on my finger again. "I know, I know, but you deserve to hear my rants," I assured with a wink and a soft giggle.

She giggled along. "And you deserve to hear mine," she said, pushing her finger into my arm with force.

I smiled back at her. I'm glad I had made a good friend like Molly, someone who I could relate to as I was thousands of miles away from home and my family as she entertained me for the next six months.