Hajra Volan

My excitement knows no bounds! My first ice hockey match, one that I've specially flown in for.... not quite sure an afternoon mastering shockingly rude Hungarian words that involve parts of female anatomy moderated by the makings of lunch was the most appropriate way to psych myself for what I was desperately hoping would be a blood fest. Still, my education did include a few tips about the offside rule and armed with the knowledge that there are 3 thirds, gloves and jacket, we're off to Sekesfehervar to watch Alba Volan in action against the Graz 99ers. We fuss over our seats like persnickety old ladies, but are justifiably smug when every goal happens in our half of the rink and at a closing score of 4-3, that's a lot of goals!

This is the B team, and their pace leaves my breathless and ready to trade death to be able to skate as fluidly furiously as they do. My envy is a tad misplaced given a childhood in the tropics, but just watching them zip past is exhilarating. The pucks start flying, and I feel even more instant gratification, and don't even realise my hands are rubbing themselves together in glee. The whistle blows and we're off... and it's not till Ishtvan points out the swap and explains that because the game is so intense (oh yeah, baby!), that the players can come off and swap at any time they're tired, usually after 5-7 minutes of play, even less. I'll be damned! Another game where the players jump in and out of the fray while the game is in progress. Apparently, each team can have between 15-20 players, and at any given time, there's 7 on the ice, including the goalie and they can tag the others in the box when they're out of breath.... which at that blistering pace doesn't take very long. The home team has brought their band, and the thumping of the drum leads the chanting and rabble rousing cries of Hajra Volan! (Go Volan! to the rest of us..)

Naturally, the first time four of them collide into each other, and slam against the protective Plexiglas, making the cameraman and everyone in the front row flinch reflexively, I squeal with excitement.. the lack of blood spatter does little to diminish my pleasure at the savagery of the game and I bemoan my pointless youth in a warm country. Now this, this is a sport!!! It also makes you wonder, just how fast and brutal the pro league actually is - the NHL an the likes of Russia, Sweden, USA and Canada out for big bucks and national pride. Something to watch out for! While Ishtvan is displeased with the new Hungarian goalie who lets the Austrians slam in not just the equaliser but also go a goal ahead and bemoans the lack of pace, I'm thrilled to be in such a small stadium where you're on top of the players feeling every bone thunk and crunch, the thwack of the puck, the zinging through the air and crashing against the Plexiglas, the ice flying like shrapnel as the blades slice into a turn.

The last 10 minutes or so brings on another revelation and I watch in horror as the goalie saws off to the box, leaving the goal barren... What the fuck?!?! Apparently, standard tactic during the dying minutes for an all out offensive. Replace the goalie with a forward in a last minute attempt to annihilate the opposition. Whoa baby! Do these boys have the right attitude or what?! Although, given the beating the goalie gets, I'm not surprised he left the party early! Unfortunately, we didn't see any more goals or any blood at all and while it's a pity we lost, the adrenalin rush stayed and I had to be cautioned against too much joy and cheesy grin accompanied applause as the game ends. Naturally, I now have a souvenir t-shirt and several extra calories for want of any better way to splurge my excess energy....

Hajra Volan!