This is the text of the comment. Analysis and positions of the writer.
I went to Hovet to watch some ice hockey, but on the ice below me and in the surrounding stands, something completely different was unfolding.
Obsession.
VM i Argentina 78-tifo.
A shredded phone book, toilet paper, rolls of receipts from Grandpa’s old general store.
There, in those minutes just before the game came out when the game had not yet lost its chastity, we should have understood that this was not going to be an ordinary ice hockey game, an ordinary ice hockey night.
The lame and silent Marcus Krüger, the Djurgården captain who would soon have to play with wooden legs and a supportive collar, made it 1-0 by directing the puck with something hanging loosely from his scarless body, a piece of flesh in which he might have lost feeling.
MoDo looked small and wrinkly, it was incredibly sloppy and weak going forward but there has been an upgrade.
Theodore Niederbach equalized in the second minute and with ten minutes remaining in normal time, Mikkel Agagard made it 1-2.
Every now and then MoDo was standing on the SHL’s front porch and knocking, SHL athletic director Johan Himmelin came and opened the door and told MoDo to come up.
With two minutes remaining a passionate David Bernhardt threw a bit towards the open penalty area, the end was not so close, Djurgården took a time out and, in the tie after that snowball, kept the pressure in the attacking area.
Linus Klasen pushed Hemlin away and pulled that SHL door shut with a deafening sound.
With 1.46 left to play, he had to roam unattended from his position on the right outside, straight to the hole, kicking the penalty with a 2-2 goal and taking the game to overtime and sudden death.
Or voluntary mental torture as it is also called.
The Public Health Authority had imposed restrictions
The extension turned out like the extensions usually do, but worse.
It was outrageously exciting, the match undulating, lambada pucks danced blue, chances appeared out of nowhere, sticks snapped like matches in crucial situations, tackles looked like goals, questionable offsides looked as if someone had brought down the Djurgården goalkeeper from behind with a Spade.
The long-simmering ice-hockey match, the air inside Hovett being worse than the poorly set-up and ugly two-person solar-gas tent at the Holtfried Festival in 1996, must have been appalling to everyone with any kind of sympathy for the team, because It was appalling to me as a neutral observer.
At the end of the fourth inning, my palate was so dry that I could have sharpened the knife by pulling it through my mouth, all at once, and before the fifth I thought he might probably play on the neutral ice at Himmelstallund Hall.
Two minutes into the second overtime period, two minutes after the 23rd on Friday night, it was over.
Fredrik Forsberg, who has only scored two goals in the playoffs so far, parried a shot into the box into a gap between Godlevskis and his right post that was barely there.
Had the Public Health Authority been there and measured decibels at this critical target, they would have already introduced restrictions last night.
Djurgården was doomed to another season in Allsvenskan ice hockey, but in a strange way managed to slip out of the grip and take this last stale streak to a decisive Game 7 in Övik on the eve of the Walborg Show.
At 18:30, the infernal May fire arrived at the appointed time.
Just grateful to be there
Hovet’s 8,000 stood still for a long time and shouted directly, old men with knees as soft as tinfoil jumped to avoid being accused of being “rodent pigs,” MoDo’s heel crack stared straight into nothingness as anxiety took a long walk across the section.
They were 1.46 away from boarding tonight, the ice puck (perhaps the most expensive snow puck in Swedish ice hockey history) far from fully liberated.
MoDo had a 3-1 in matches, three match balls turned into two turned into a paltry one, and the remaining one isn’t worth an iota more than the one Djurgården has now.
Because Match 7 and MoDo matches are like Bengan Boys National Team and Olympic Finals.
In the spring of 2016 when MoDo came out they had 3-2 in matches against Leksand but managed to scuttle last chance at home despite excelling, last year they had 3-2 in matches against Björklöven but fell in the deciding game at home with 3-8.
How the hell are they going to pull it off this time?
What happens on Sunday, I do not wish to be my worst enemy.
When I went to bed late last night, I did so with Hovet’s high-pitched growl throbbing through my body, I was so grateful to be there, to experience this crazy match right away.
But perhaps above all because I don’t obey any of the laws.
