The Tampa Terror

Part 3: Tuukka

Never in another thousand years did I expect the Montréal Canadiens to be competing in the championship tournament. The last time they appeared in the final matchup was in the late spring of 1993, when I was six years old and just finishing up preschool. It has been twenty-eight years since the Canadiens team last participated in the Stanley Cup Finals.

Sometimes, the world is a surreal place, and this is no less true for me. Some natural or perhaps supernatural force led me to a unique and beautiful woman. But unfortunately for us, we were both quite careless. Therefore, she conceived a child at eighteen years old and gave birth to a baby girl at nineteen. I took our daughter under my wing when she was eleven years old. I have raised her ever since her mother passed away prematurely from cervical cancer in 2017. She turned out to be a blessing in disguise. She is an intelligent, humorous, and generous young woman, and I am endlessly grateful that she is in my life.

Unfortunately, my daughter's mother was a fan of the Montréal Canadiens. Because of this, she turned our daughter into a Canadiens fan. The Canadiens are the worst rival of the Boston Bruins, the hockey team I have been a member of for multiple years. I am often surprised to watch my own daughter support a squad that despises mine.

Still, fifteen-year-old Sinikka always supports my Bruins and me whenever they are not attempting to defeat the Canadiens. Whenever I am starting in goal for the Bruins, she supports me ardently until the final buzzer sounds. If Boston is victorious, she compliments me and tells me that I am the best Bruins goaltender of the modern age. If Boston loses, she comforts me and tells me that the loss was not my fault. Something incredible is that she never seems reluctant to support the Bruins when I am playing for them. On the other hand, the other followers of her preferred team cannot stand Boston.

Right now, however, I am not playing any games. The Bruins were eliminated from the playoffs by the New York Islanders in the second round, and I exaggerated a severe hip injury from last year. The Canadiens, surprisingly, had no such challenges or obstacles. They are participating in the fourth round of the playoffs for the first time since 1993.

"I wouldn't do this in any other circumstance," I assure my daughter as I pull the Canadiens jersey onto my body. The name on the back belongs to Saku Koivu, one of the best Finnish men to ever play the sport of ice hockey. "Your mother would be rolling in her grave if she saw me at this moment."

"No," Sinikka disagrees. "She would fall head over heels in love with you. Actually, never mind. She was always in love with you, so she'd just fall deeper if she could see you dressed in that jersey."

I blush and quickly insist that I had not at any point fallen for Anja, Sinikka's mother, after I reconnected with her two months before her death in 2017. After all, we were only friends. I will forever insist that that is the truth, no matter how often my friends and family have told me otherwise.

"Enough of that," I dismiss the discussion. "Let's watch the second game of these Stanley Cup Finals. Maybe these Canadiens have the will to be victorious in this game and tie the series at one apiece."

Sinikka nods eagerly and confirms that she wants that to happen. However, I don't honestly believe that the Canadiens will win. As I expect, they perform dreadfully and lose to Tampa Bay, three games to one.

Sinikka shakes her head. "What a disappointment! We have a possibly fatal deficit in this series. It's halfway over already if Tampa Bay wins the next two contests. What must we do to improve, I wonder?"

"Honestly, Sinikka, I don't think there's much the Canadiens can do," I confess. "They are no match for the powerful Lightning of Tampa Bay. I know that they won their other three series despite being heavy underdogs, but this is obviously too much for them to handle."

"Who knows what will happen next, Dad?" Sinikka retorts. "That's what everyone claimed in the first, second, and third rounds. Some predicted that we would get swept by the Maple Leafs in round one, not winning even a single time! However, we came back from a two-game deficit and won the series in seven games. I know that Tampa Bay is excellent, but that doesn't mean that beating them is completely impossible!"

I am still not convinced that the Canadiens will win the championship, but she has a fair argument. "Sinikka, you should be on your school's debate team."

"I participate in enough extracurricular activities already," she dismisses the idea.

"Dad, do you want to get something to eat? Everyone in this city will probably be annoying us incessantly about how the Lightning just won. I am still craving a late-night meal, though."

"I'll brave irritating Lightning fans for a bite of food," I eventually decide. "Do you have any particular restaurants in mind?"

"Let's just stroll around and see what we come across," Sinikka suggests, and I agree that her idea is good. We then leave the hotel room and begin our walk around Tampa.

Almost immediately after exiting the hotel, I hear a shout from behind a nearby bar. The person who just yelled sounds like he is male, and he seems to be scared.

I rush to the scene, fearing the worst, but the man is not being assaulted as I expected. Instead, he rolls around on the floor, shrieking his lungs out. When I move closer to him, I notice that he is injured.

My daughter runs past me in a blur, and I experience a moment of regret for not telling her to wait where she was standing. As she crouches, she carefully turns the man over and takes a closer look, examining his facial features.

Sinikka draws back and gasps sharply. "Are you Cole Caufield?"

"Yes," Cole's voice cracks as he confirms his identity, and now that he is facing upwards, I recognize him. "Yes, that's me. Who are you?"

"I'm Sinikka Rask," my daughter introduces herself as Cole stands up shakily. Despite not being a fully grown adult, my daughter is slightly taller than Cole, who stands at just five feet and seven inches tall.

"And I am her father, Tuukka," I greet the young Canadiens player. "I don't believe we've met before. I play for the Boston Bruins."

"Normally, we would have met by now, but those border restrictions kept our teams from playing each other," he explains, and I nod in understanding.

"What happened to you?" Sinikka questions. "I hope you're not injured. I'm a Canadiens fan myself, and I'd hate to lose you in the Finals."

"The child of the Bruins' star goaltender cheers for their worst rivals!" Cole exclaims in shock. "I'm not severely injured. I just scraped my arm. I was screaming loudly because it hurt. I'm sorry if I startled the two of you."

"It's alright," Sinikka assures him. "Please, go and get bandaged up. How did you scrape yourself?"

"I...fell," Cole hesitates for a moment. It's just a second of silence, but I still notice that there's something he's not saying. And from the look on his face, I can tell that whatever he is hiding has the possibility of ruining or even ending his life.