Hockey Night in Finland

Ever wondered what European hockey looks like?

So had I, even though I've spent most of my life in Europe.

Apart from the Olympic tournaments and some TV highlights from the British leagues (a sad spectacle dominated by third-rate Canadian players -- a far cry from the sophistication of the continental European game), I had only seen NHL hockey, first during a three-year stint in the USA, and then on British TV.

So, on a short trip to Helsinki, curiosity got the better of me, and I just had to see some Finnish Elite League hockey if it was at all possible.

Luckily, on my first night in the city, IFK Helsinki was hosting the Espoo Blues.

First, I needed to find the arena.

Having just arrived in a country that I'd never been to before, armed with a few very basic words and phrases in the native language (a language which is almost totally unrelated to English), and checked into the hotel barely an hour before game time, and not being sure where the arena was -- this wasn't going to be easy.

The city map showed a building named "Jaahalli" in Finnish, and "Ishallen" in Swedish.

Now, Swedish may sound just as otherworldly to anglophone ears as Finnish does.

The Swedish chef was no exaggeration -- Muppet fans.

However, a lot of its words at least look vaguely familiar.

This is quite handy when visiting Finland, where most public signs and tourist maps are in both languages.

"Ishallen" looked like "Ice Hall" ... no problem.

The Jaahalli/Ishallen was at the north western corner of a huge sports complex a mile north of my downtown hotel, near the Olympic Stadium and a pristine new soccer venue, the Finnair Stadium.

Then again, an address for IFK Helsinki, which I'd found on the Internet, was on a street called Mantytie Tallvagen, about a mile further out of town (although the map didn't show anything looking at all like a sports arena there).

And IFK isn't the only hockey team in Helsinki.

So I was far from certain that the Jaahalli was the right place, but, being a male of the species, I mindlessly refused to ask anyone for directions, or any other kind of help.

I headed out of the hotel into the rainy gloom, then along the street to the main thoroughfare, Mannerheimintie, and strode out confidently -- in the wrong direction.

A couple of hundred yards further on, I realized my mistake, turned around, and eventually reached the southern end of the sports complex.

With game time approaching, and not many people around, I still wasn't sure, but I soon started to see clusters of people who looked very much like sports fans (you can tell by the way they walk), and before long I was among a crowd of hockey fans in a concourse in front of the ticket office.

The game-night experience was a mixture of things that were familiar to me, from both North American hockey arenas and English soccer stadiums.

On the one hand, pauses in play were greeted by bursts of AC/DC and dumb commercials on the Jumbotron.

On the other hand, there was a fairly raucous "home end" of the arena where the most vocal IFK fans did their chanting, and a quieter "away end."

The most depressing similarity with English soccer venues was the beer situation.

First, you have to find your way to the front of a loosely formed throng of hopeful drinkers, in an attempt to get some service.

Then, if you've managed to get a beer, you're not allowed to take it into the seating area.

All this, just for a beer called "Koff?"

I gave up.

On a brighter note, there were cheerleaders, stationed in the aisles of the stands (only in the more expensive sections, of course), getting up to do their thing to AC/DC during the breaks in play. (Gary Bettman, please take note!)

So, what about the hockey?

Maybe it's unfair to judge an entire league on the basis of one game, or even a game and a half (I saw half of another game on Finnish TV a few days later in Estonia, featuring two presenters wearing day-glo orange jackets that would make Don Cherry blush) -- but that's all I've got, so here goes.

As expected, the players were quick and skilful; and the wider rink, along with a less combative style of play, allowed the game to flow much more than in North American hockey.

There was a physical element to the game, but there was noticeably less hard hitting, and nothing even close to a fight.

For the record, it was a 3-2 win for the home team.

I badly wanted to enjoy the game at least as much as I had enjoyed NHL games, having become a little irritated by the constant denigration of European hockey by North Americans.

In all honesty, although it wasn't a bad way of spending a couple of hours, I missed the intensity and nastiness of the NHL.

Of course, most of Europe's best players are lured across the Atlantic, so the NHL generally has a higher standard in terms of individual talent than the leagues that these players leave behind -- although it could be argued that their talent is largely wasted because of all the clutching, grabbing and body checking.

So, the next time a North American hockey pundit growls something along the lines of "we don't want European-style hockey here", during the next big debate about "The State Of The Game And What Should Be Done About It" (there seems to be one of these every couple of weeks), part of me just might be thinking -- You know, maybe he's right...