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www.gazzettadelbauscia/eng/sport/altro.org
THE MARANZA DEBACLE
Milan’s ice hockey team, the Maranza, got destroyed earlier this afternoon in a brutal match ended 17-0 for the Canadian guests, the Ottawa Centaurs.
MILANO, 21 febbraio 2024, 18:41
Allegra Lamorte
Captain Ambrogio Giargiani had to be escorted out of the rink by the team medics at the end of the match, after falling in a heartbreaking and concerning catatonic state when the final syren went off.
A bulletin from Istituto Neurologico Besta reassures that he is doing well now but will remain overnight for monitoring.
A weeping Maranza’s fan interviewed outside the Assago Forum, said the match has been the greatest tragedy he had to go through since Piero Angela died…
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Trying to walk on the busy banks of the station whilst carrying his bag and Ilya’s and dragging along his half-asleep husband, who was slumped against his back, hugging him like the biggest and clingiest koala ever, was proving to be quite the challenge for Shane.
It also didn’t help that, as one of the three people with the least raging case of hungover, he was also tasked with the outstandingly complicated mission to direct the wrecked group of still half-drunk and sleepy Centaurs towards the right train, in order to make it to the airport all in one piece and hopefully in time to catch the plane. A commercial Air Canada flight, because they were environmentally responsible.
Luca, who had a snoring Tanner thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, trudged a few steps behind Shane, breathing heavily, a wild and exhausted expression on his face “We should have never drunk that much last night” he whined, mournfully, glancing behind his shoulder to the hoard of living dead his teammates were.
The previous night, after winning pretty easily the match against the home team, they had ended up into in a traditional osteria, where the owner, who apparently had a nephew in Canada, had decide to adopt them and feed them the same way a pious man would have a bunch of starving children.
Of course to shovel down the frankly obscene quantity of risotto all’ossobuco, pizzoccheri and cassoeula they had been served, it had been necessary to down carafe after carafe of wine. And whatever that frankly delicious amaretto liqueur they had been served -seven freaking times- at the end of the meal was.
Honestly, considering all the alcohol they had consumed by the time they had made it out of the osteria, they should have probably just headed straight back to the hotel, but no, of course they hadn’t and had ended up at the Colonne di San Lorenzo on a pub crawl.
And bought weed from the sketchiest guy ever, right in front of a church.
Shane wasn’t religious, but, even as hammered as he was, that had felt somewhat sacrilegious.
Oh, well…
Lost in his thoughts, he stumbled on a foul tile and almost faceplanted on the floor, catching his stepping just a few inches before he crashing into a tall stern woman, with the sleekest and most eerily perfect bob ever, standing on the bank.
Shane murmured an apology, trying his best attempt to a smile, which quickly died on his lips as he met the look of utter disgust the woman sent him “Figa, ci mancava solo la comitiva di americani stamattina” she hissed, scrunching her nose and taking a large step back with her high heels, in a display of athleticism Shane couldn’t relate to at the moment.
Luca peered up from behind Shane and, bless him, tried to put on his best and most friendly smile, which was frankly adorable “Scusi, questo è il treno che va a Malpensa, giusto?”
Apparently, the businesswoman didn’t find Luca as endearing and cute as Shane did, because she looked at him the same way one would at a cockroach, before pointing imperiously at the board hanging just above their heads “Ovvio”.
Not that Shane knew what ovvio meant, but, now that he actually looked at it, which he probably should have done ten metres prior whilst approaching the bank, the board had actually the words MALPENSA T2 written onto it.
In bright, perfectly visible even from the distance, orange lights.
Good, they were so fucked up.
“Grazie” Luca chirped anyway.
The woman looked behind them, slightly horrified as she better noticed the state of the rest of the team. Yeah, asshole, Shane thought, my stumbling and Luca’s cuteness don’t look so bad now, uh? “Ma da dove venite?”
Venite…venir, maybe? Could it be the Italian for to come?
“Ottawa, in Canada” Luca answered and that Shane perfectly understood “Io però sono di Zurigo” and that too.
He should really thank his parents for putting him into a bilingual school...and also that French and Italian were so similar; at least partially understanding the dialogue was making him feel less dejected about his current state.
The mention of Switzerland though, seemed to disgust the businesswoman even more, as she clutched her tailored coat closer to herself “Ugh, svizzeri” she muttered, before stomping away from the group.
Someone’s crankier than us.
Shane sighed, craning his neck to look at Luca, who appeared a little stunned and saddened.
Thank God Ilya was currently mostly unconscious, drooling over his shoulder, otherwise he would have caused an international incident by jumping at that woman’s throat for having dared to be mean towards Luca.
“C’mon, let’s load this lot on the train, before it leaves without us”.
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Evan stumbled back into the carriage the team had been occupying, with a giddy smile “Peeing on a speeding train is so cool!” he exclaimed, way too excited about it “You can feel the acceleration in your bladder, I swear!”
Rising from the depths of his impressively intense sleep, Ilya peered up from where he had been snoring on Shane’s lap, a childlike joyous look in his eyes “I am going!” he declared, rolling off of his husband right onto the floor before standing up, slightly wobbly.
Before he could faceplant against something, Shane’s hands immediately run to his waist to stabilise him “Ilya” he admonished, preventively tired and defeated, knowing there was no way to dissuade him from his newly-set relieving quest.
Ilya opened his arms, looking indignantly at Shane “I am captain of victorious team, I cannot piss myself on train in public, yes? It would not be dignified”
Troy, who was hugging a sleepy Harris curled up in his lap, snorted “That’s a new word”.
Shane could only sigh “Just please don’t fall asleep on the toilet and miss the stop”
“I will not, I am perfectly awake” debatable, Shane found himself thinking, looking at Ilya’s frankly adorable sleep-mussed face and glassy eyes “I will be back before we get to Terminal 1…see, I even remember correct stop!”
Shane watched him stumble out of the carriage with a resigned sigh, shaking his head and smiling at the endearingly disaster his husband was; when his frame moved out of sight, Shane curled up further into his seat and shut his eyes. The announcement speaker was absurdly loud anyway, he’d hear it, when they’d get close to their stop.
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The first bathroom down the corridor of the train, was occupied and two other people were queueing outside, so Ilya kept walking along; the second one’s smell was so disgusting it caused even his strong Slavic stomach to churn and he practically run away from it as fast as he could, almost braining himself on the floor after accidentally stumbling on a massive pink suitcase left dangerously in the middle of the corridor; the third one was an accessible toilet and it felt wrong to use it, especially considering he wasn’t actually in such an urgency to pee, and potentially deprive someone else of it.
Finally, as he almost reached the last carriage of the train, he found an empty bathroom that only faintly smelled of cigarette and entered it.
The first thing he noticed, was that it was small, as in he could almost touch the ceiling with the top of his head and wasn’t actually sure his shoulders would fit in the nook where the toilet was.
He shuffled inside the tiny space, slotting into the nook and he pulled down the zip.
Evan wasn’t kidding, peeing as the train speeded on was sick!
Being practically stuck with his shoulders in the nook surely did help with balance and prevented any accidental mess.
He could perfectly picture Shane exasperatedly rolling his eyes at his giddy and very childish amusement over this, but c’mon! It was fun!
Careful not to lose his balance and fall on his ass in the very restricted space, folding on himself like a garden chair and risking some freakish and embarrassing injury, he stepped back when he was done and carefully turned around to wash his hands, because he might be a hockey player, but he wasn’t an animal and was always ready to break stereotypes.
Having turned around, though, the movement of the train, which had come to a steady pace rather than an acceleration, became different; instead of a steady speeding pull forward, it resembled more a gentle lull, which made him rock slightly back and forward, as much as his tightly slotted state in the small space afforded.
Following the cute sanitation awareness laminated sheet hanged next to the sink, he carefully soaped up his hand with a lovely and relaxing lavender scented gel and then put them under the warm water.
Between the train movement, the comfortable smell of the soap, which reminded him of the softener David liked to use for towels and throw-pillow covers, and the warmth spreading through his hands, Ilya started to feel his eyelids getting heavy, very heavy…
I could close my eyes for a second.
Just a tiny, little second….
“ferma a…Arsizio…Lonate…Terminal Uno…”
Blyat!
Ilya flinched harshly hitting the ceiling with his head, cursing as he tried to dry his hands whilst the train slowed down.
Terminal Uno!
Uno meant one! Probably, possibly…in Spanish songs it did, so maybe it was the same in Italian.
Shane was going to murder him if he missed the stop after all the recommendations, especially if it was because he had fallen asleep whilst standing like a horse in front of the world’s smallest sink.
He quickly ran out of the bathroom and, seeing as the closest door was already starting to close, Ilya didn’t think twice and jumped off the train, almost stumbling and faceplanting on the concrete floor.
When he straightened himself up and looked around, he watched as many hurried looking people swarm away from the station as quickly as possible.
Weirdly though, the vast majority of them carried either backpacks, handbags or briefcases, rather than the suitcases one would have expected tourist to be bringing to the airport.
Something weird settled in his stomach and he looked around concerned as the train entered a gallery and disappeared.
That station didn’t look like one of an airport.
And the big sign hanging right in front of the tracks did not say TERMINAL 1 nor had any indication of being somewhat connected to anything airport-related.
In a matter of a single minute, the station emptied out completely and everyone headed to what looked like a parking lot on the other side of the road to get into their personal car, most likely eager to go back to their own homes.
Because none of them was a tourist, Ilya realised horrified.
They were commuters.
Shane was really going to murder him now.
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Asleep in Troy’s lap, Harris turned a little to his right, elbowing his boyfriend in the abdomen, startling him up; Troy mumbled something before tightening his arms around Harris, shifting him so that he wouldn’t accidentally hit him again.
While the social media manager fell back asleep immediately, Troy lazily glanced around the carriage, cataloguing his sleeping friends.
Luca was the only awake one, drawing concentrated on his notepad, having graciously accepted the role of the tally sentinel, since he was the only one who understood Italian.
Zane and Hazy were sleeping with the heads tilted towards each other, mouth open and snoring; Evan was curled up in the most uncomfortable position ever on the seat, with one leg drawn up and the other cramped under the little folding table.
Coach Wiebe was lying on his right side, over Nick’s lap and Chouinard too was folded over the coach. Both were going to have a hell of a backache when they rose from that position.
In front of him, Shane was sound asleep, hugging tight Ilya’s jacket. But Ilya wasn’t there.
He had gone to the bathroom, Troy remembered, furrowing his brows, but that had been a while ago, so he should have been back already; careful not to wake Harris, he shuffled a little forward and nudged at Shane’s ankle with his foot, making the other man stir.
Shane looked at him confused, dark eyes a little glassy with sleep “Did Rozy fell down the drain or something?” Troy asked, pointing at the empty seat with his chin “He’s been in the bathroom for a while”.
“Might be all the cazzoeula he ate last night” Luca commented, without even looking up from his sketchpad “Cabbage makes my bowel queasy, that’s why I avoided it, but he ate like three full plates of it”.
That really was an image Troy could have done without.
“When’s our stop?” Shane asked, stirring and yawning.
“In about eleven minutes”
Troy sighed, gently tapping on Harris’ shoulder to wake him up “We better get him, then, before he gets stuck in some train bathroom…should we call him?”
“His phone is dead in my bag”.
“Let’s just go get him: there’s like three bathrooms in total on these trains, he should be easy to find!”
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CHIUSO PER SCIOPERO
dalle ore 15:00 del 22/02/24 alle ore 21:00 del 23/02/24
Ilya had no idea what that meant, but the fact that the shutters were drawn over the ticket and information office was telling enough that no one was going to be available to give him information.
And, judging from the fact the announcement tally boards had fully shut down too, he could take a wild guess about the state of the train line.
That was bad, so fucking bad.
And he didn’t have his phone either, having left it, dead because the previous night he had forgotten to charge it, in his bag on the train.
A taxi!
He could get a taxi to the airport! He still had his wallet in his back pocket, he could pay for it.
But, as he walked out of the silent and deserted station, he realised, burying his face in his hands, frustrated and demoralised, it was highly unlikely he would find a train there, in a quiet teeny tiny town.
I’m so dead.
And probably my solnyshko is worried sick too…
“Fiulin, va tutto bene?”
He almost jumped a feet off the ground and spun around, sighing in relief when he realised that it was just a lovely older lady with her dog on a leash; she was fairly tall, with a cloud of soft white curls on her head, kind light brown eyes and a heavy looking tote bag on her shoulder, and her furry friend was a magnificent Czech Wolfdog, to which Ilya had to try very hard not to coo like an idiot.
Try and fail, because before he could help himself, he had already extended his hand towards the dog, who had sniffed it suspiciously before deciding the hockey player was a nice enough human and lick his whole hand with his massive tongue and snuggling a little against his side, making his owner smile.
Still petting the dog, Ilya tried a small smile towards the woman; he had understood nothing of what she had said, but she looked kind and maybe she could help him “English? Russkiy?” he asked, hoping she would understand those words.
They were quite international, though, right? There was a chance she could understand them...
He felt himself deflate a little when she shook her head with an apologetic smile “Oh, mi dispiace, non le parlo…” she stopped for a moment, before trying with a “Francais?”
I can work with that!
He had gotten to know a few words through osmosis because of Shane and a few other Centaurs Canadian bilingual players “Petit peu” he answered tentatively and the woman lit up immediately.
“Bien, moi un petit peu aussi!” she exclaimed joyfully and her dog barked too, happily, probably eager to be included in the general enthusiasm, before going back to nose Ilya, making him laugh “Elle est Briciola…elle t’aime bien”
“J’aime…” how the hell did you say dog in French? Ilya just gestures at Briciola and the older woman seemed to understand as she nodded with a knowing smile. Thank God Italians spoke with their hands and could interpret foreign gestures too, apparently! “J’ai perdu mon amour sur le train…j’ai no telephon et ici est…pas bien…stop of train?”
Kids in every single primary school in Canada would probably laugh in his face for the terrible hodgepodge of a sentence he had managed to put together, but the lady was kind enough not to do any such thing and she just nodded heartfeltly, looking very serious and heartbroken for him.
“Terrible!” it was good that she understood his clear distress “Ma soeur parle anglais! Viens à ma maison pour un thè! Pour…help!” she offered, gesturing at a beaten three-wheeled green Ape van parked down the road and smiling brightly, clearly happy she had remembered an English word.
That was…lifesaving, unbelievably kind, a little insane too, since he was -according to most- a scary looking Russian man, who probably weighted two times that lovely Italian old lady.
Noticing his taken aback expression, the woman smiled, coming closer and reaching up to pat a couple of times on his cheek “Oui, oui, viens!”
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Sprinting through the corridor, jumping over suitcases and bags and accidentally bumping into annoyed tourists, the Centaurs regrouped back in the first carriage, on a tight timetable, since their train was approaching the first airport stop.
“Rozy’s not in the furthermost bathroom” Troy announced grimly.
Bood grimaced at that “Rozy is not in the accessible bathroom”.
“Rozy is not in the bathroom that smells like nuclear waste” Hayes added, biting nervously his thumb, not daring to look at Shane who was progressively paling.
They all turned towards Luca, with various degrees of hopefulness and desperation painted on the face and the poor Swiss just shook his head “Uhm…he’s not in the one closer either”.
“And he is not in the machinist cabin asking him how the train works either” coach Wiebe added, knowing well enough his whimsy captain to have considered that a plausible option.
Chouinard and Dykstra exchanged a very concerned look “He is not roaming around the carriages and corridors either…”
Shane felt his heart drop, as Harris draped comfortingly an arm around his shoulders “So where the fuck is my husband?!”
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During the short road trip from the station to the big house in the countryside where the two elderly sisters lived, Ilya, cramped on seat in the very tiny cab of the vehicle with Briciola on his lap, happily licking his face, had learnt his saviour’s name was Candida and that she had moved in to live with her older sister Iside, after the woman had remained a widow five years prior.
She had also handed him her phone and managed to communicate with him to text son amour, to say that he was fine and to share her address, so they could pick him up.
Sadly, Shane had changed his phone number a couple of weeks prior and Ilya hadn’t memorised it yet and he couldn’t remember by heart any other of his teammates’, so he had resolved to text his moving position, the sisters’ address and a reassuring text over to David -the other number he remembered without the need to check-, knowing he would promptly share it with his son.
Candida opened the door to the house and gestured him to follow her “ISIDE! Abbiamo visite!” she yelled and by God, did her vocal cords still worked perfectly.
A few seconds later, Ilya heard some light steps and an even more adorable older lady, shorter than Candida and with a perfectly sleek light blond bun on her head, appeared in the foyer, looking at the newcomers curiously with her blue eyes “Questo adorabile fiulot deve essere sceso alla fermata sbagliata ed è senza telefono!” Candida went on, before turning towards the hockey player.
“Ilya…Ilya, ma soeur Iside” she introduced them “Elle etait…uhm…professoressa de anglais”
Not knowing exactly what to do and still a little worried the other woman might kick him out, he timidly waved in her direction “Hello”.
His worries seemed to be pointless, because he received yet another welcoming smile and Iside immediately gestured for him to come forward “Please come in!” she said in an impressively good English “I forgot a bit of English now that I am old, but should still know enough” she explained, grabbing him by the elbow with surprising strength and dragging him over to a lovely and warm kitchen.
“Is definitely better than my English” Ilya reassured her politely, earning another shining smile that warmed his heart.
Iside gesture him to sit down at the table and she and her sister did the same, with Briciola curling up on a cosy big cushion n front of the stove “What happened?” the older lady inquired, looking focused with such an intensity that reminded Ilya of Yuna.
“I went to the bathroom on the train and almost fell asleep washing my hands” he admitted, feeling a little embarrassed, but, thankfully, the two older women only nodded understandingly. To be fair, he probably looked dead on his feet, considering how the previous night had gone “When I woke up, I thought I was at right stop and just got down, because my husband said not to miss the stop…but it was wrong stop”.
“E adesso c’è sciopero dei mezzi” Candida added, looking at her sister gravely “Ti ricordi che la Sara ce ne aveva parlato domenica?”
“Oh basta là!” Iside murmured, sorrowfully, before reaching over to cover comfortingly Ilya’s hand with her own “I’m sorry! Did you call your husband?” she asked, before translating it in Italian for her sister’s benefit.
Sighing relieved that the woman clearly was unfazed by him having a husband -you could never know with older people…- he nodded “I sent a text with Candida’s phone”.
Iside patted on his hand, smiling again “Good, good”.
“Et…indirizzo e position aussi!” Candida added.
“Our grandniece taught us how to do that!” the older one revealed, looking quite proud about it and Ilya grinned back at her “Well, you husband will come to get you, sooner or later and you can stay here while you wait”.
She had said it with such and ease that Ilya couldn’t help letting his jaw fall in surprise at that “Really?!”
The woman shrugged, tilting her head towards the massive dog, who was now sleeping soundly “Briciola trusts you and she understands people well” she explained “And taxis never come here and they are probably all at the airport and in the centre of Milan with the sciopero going on anyway, so of course you can stay”
Gulping down an emotional knot that had formed in his throat, Ilya smiled, feeling his eyes sting a little “Thank you…you are both very kind”
“Show us a photo of your husband!” Iside encouraged him, light eyes twinkling, which made him giggle a little as he grabbed his wallet.
Meanwhile, Candida had stood up, moving closer to the pantry “Thé o caffé, caro? O chocolat?” she asked, laughing when she noticed how Ilya’s eyes had lit up at the mention of chocolate.
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In the eerily dark gallery connecting the station to the departures at Malpensa T1, the atmosphere was very different.
The team had debarked the train anyway, even without their captain and they had bundled all together to try to come up with a plan.
Shane looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown and Luca wasn’t much better, as the two stood closer together, looking frantically down at their phones, trying to see if there were any news on social media about sightings of a wild and lost Ilya Rozanov.
Everyone else was talking over each other like fishmongers crying at the Sunday market, gathering quite a little bit of attention from the other travellers walking by, who kept looking at the group perplexed. Some where shouting to call the police or the consulate or even the ambassador or the prime minister of Canada himself.
“Let’s all take a deep breath, alright?” coach Wiebe said after a while, raising his voice enough to trample the noise and quieting down the team “We are not contacting the consulate nor the police yet: Rozy is an adult, a well-travelled one and I’m sure he will find a way to get in contact with us soon or to make it here to the airport on his own” he tried to reason “There’s no reason to risk creating an international manhunt because one of us got lost; worse comes to worse and he is not back in time to catch the flight, some of us could book a few rooms in a hotel close to the airport, renting a couple of cars and driving to the stops where he might have gotten down by accident. Harris and a couple of others can stay here patrolling the airport and coordinating us all and the rest will fly back home, alright?”
“What will the federation say?” Chouinard murmured nervously.
“Nothing, if we don’t say nothing” Bood answered back promptly, waving his finger towards all his teammates, daring them to share the news with anyone.
Harris let out a tired sigh “Guys, the federation is not the problem”
Wiebe looked at him gratefully, waving a hand in his direction “Thank you, Harris”.
But the social media director wasn’t quiet done yet “The problem is how are we going to explain to Yuna Hollander, after she inevitably calls me when she’ll realise Shane and Ilya are not on the plane back, that we have lost her favourite son somewhere in bumfuck Northern Italy”.
“And mostly to my dad” Shane added with a sombre voice “If you think my mom adores Ilya, you have no idea of how much my dad loves him”.
Evan batted his eyes a few times, before sighing, defeated “We are so dead”.
After the last train before the strike began -because of course there had to be a transport strike that very day, just their luck- left the station towards the last stop at the following terminal, the team had fully resigned to the fact that Ilya was probably hanging around some little town with no phone and they had started to make up a plan of action.
Since the clock was ticking, it had been decided the rookies and a few teammates would head back home to Canada, with Nick in charge to make sure they all arrived safely home and Harris tasked to handle the eventual questions they might get if someone saw them landing in Ottawa with a big chunk of the team missing. Also, Yuna was pretty fond of him, so he was the least likely to get murdered by the fury of the woman, had they failed to locate Ilya soon enough.
Dykstra, Bood, Hayes, Barret, the coach and Luca were all going to remain with Shane at the airport to try and locate Ilya; they had booked three cars already, to drive themselves to the towns the train had stopped at and look for their captain, and a few cheap rooms in a hotel near the airport that had a whopping 1,9 out of 10 stars review.
Half of the team was going to be murdered by Yuna Hollander in Ottawa and the rest was probably bound to contract the bubonic plague there in Italy.
A transport strike might have proven himself of an emergency plane landing, would you look at that!
“No one answers my mother’s calls, where she to contact you, alright?” Shane ordered everyone, glancing at his phone almost fearfully as they walked towards the car rental parking lot to retrieve the vehicles.
Luca murmured, burying his hands in his pockets “It feels wrong to ignore Yuna”
“I can bet she already knows we are not on the plane”
“Yes, and no one can lie to her, but if she finds out Ilya is lost, she will contact the police, the consulate and the Interpol” they all groaned at the coach’s words, but Bood nodded “Let’s try to handle this ourselves; how hard can it be to locate him, there were just three stops between when we last saw Ilya and the airport, all fairly small towns!”
Hayes slapped him on the back of the head, glaring “I think you might have just jinxed us”.
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Ilya was having a heck of a swell time.
Candida and Iside had dug out of their fridge and pantries a bunch of delicious deserts with the tea and made him a cup of the tastiest and most extraordinary hot chocolate he had ever had in his life -it’s from Turin, so you know is good! Our sister Pieralice sent us the powder, they had cared to specify-, and kept encouraging him to eat, because apparently he looked tired and therefore he must have been practically starving; he liked and agreed with their logic much more than he ever had with whatever heartless and joyless advice he had been given by sport dieticians throughout the years.
The two sisters made for great company as he waited for Shane to come and pick him up; they were well in their eighties, but were both incredibly sharp and had lots of interesting anecdotes and life stories to share.
Also, they had both agreed that Shane was incredibly handsome and that Anya was adorable, when h had proudly showed them the polaroids he kept in his wallet, so that was already a guarantee of their mental sharpness.
Iside was a former high school English teacher, widowed -and her husband had been a looker too, Ilya had noticed from the photos, complimenting her and receiving back the widest and smuggest grin ever and a complicit wink- and a massive sports fan, thought she admitted she didn’t know much about ice hockey, but promised to look into it; Candida had been a nurse on cruise ships and apparently the stable stand-in beard for her gay doctor best friend for a couple of decades, which had made her a lifelong ally.
Their grandson and great-nephew was gay, they had cared to tell him, and one of their nieces was a lesbian, with apparently a terrible taste in women -her girlfriend is juventina and that’s tragic! Ours is a respectable family and it’s really hard to accept someone that supports that team among us!-.
He had never gotten to experience grandmother’s love, given his mother’s family had shunned her after she had gotten pregnant with Alexei and that his paternal grandparents had been long gone by the time he had been born, so this was a whole new territory for Ilya.
And he loved it!
Now finally he saw the complete appeal of being smothered with love by an adorable and caring grandma and it was fucking awesome!
It would honestly be a pity to have to leave those two women when Shane would come to pick him up…
Maybe he could get to organise more friendly matches with Italian teams to have an excuse to come by and visit…though probably the Maranza weren’t looking to repeat the experience any time soon…
Maybe a Swiss team, then. After all, the Swiss border was very close and perhaps Luca had kept contacts over there.
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“There’s an unlimited budget to cover possible speeding tickets, as long as none of you gets injured in accidents” coach Wiebe had magnanimously conceded, distributing the keys to the designated drivers “Let’s just find Ilya quickly and get the hell back to Canada before the MLH finds out!”
Luca looked down at his phone nervously “Guys, Yuna is already blowing up my phone”.
Bood widened his eyes, terrified and almost admired too “The devil works fast, but damn, that woman is so much so much faster”.
Hayes almost jumped on the poor Swiss to snatch his phone away “LUCA DON’T”
“Luca, do not open my mother’s conversation” Shane implored him, having blocked preventively his mother earlier.
Hayes and Bood had crammed themselves into a Fiat500 and had headed towards Ferno-Lonate Pozzolo, the previous stop, which apparently was a station share by two different towns, just to make things more complicated.
Dykstra and the coach had decided to tackle Busto Arsizio -why the fuck did so many cities have two names? Couldn’t they agree on just one?!- the biggest town, but also the one with more services, caffes and shops, where Ilya might have decided to go and ask for help.
They hoped that their bright yellow Lancia Ypsilon with the Canadian flag Dykstra kept in his luggage hanging out of the back seat’s window would be flashy enough for Ilya to see.
Troy, Shane and Luca had gotten a white Fiat Panda, the panic-car, as the others had renamed it, with Troy behind the wheel, Shane anxiously sweating in the passenger seat and poor Luca in the backseat, looking like a desperate kid in the mall, who had just lost his mom; they were headed to Castellanza, the furthermost stop with, Shane had looked over to the maps nervously, seeing a lot of green in the surrounding areas, meaning there was a chance his husband might be lost somewhere in a fucking field.
Two hours later, the three cars were still roaming around the little towns and surrounding field, without having find a single sign of Ilya; Dykstra and the coach had visited not less than fifteen shops and coffees near the two train stations of their town -why a town of thirty thousand people needed two damn stations in the first place, was beyond them- but no one had recognised Ilya from their pictures.
They had though earnt a few suspicious looks, which were, the coach was certain, mostly Evan’s awful mullet’s fault, and probably their description had been given to the local police just in case.
Hayes and Bood had toured the two little towns three times but had found nothing. The goaltender had almost also drove them into a canal, when he had forgotten he was driving a car which weighted around twenty pounds and had taken a curve too fast, ending up on the two wheels on the right, screaming in a very undignified but understandable way.
The atmosphere was even worse in the Panda, since the trio had even stopped to ask question at the local hospital and morgue.
Troy was getting progressively more reckless behind the wheel and Shane, who was handling his own phone with the Maps open and Troy’s with the open conversation with the other vehicles had dropped even the flimsiest remains of contain and looked outright manic.
Luca was in the backseat, on the verge of tears, wincing every single time his phone buzzed, indicating another incoming message from Yuna, who, by now, definitely knew they hadn’t boarded the plane.
It was getting harder and harder to ignore the woman; he wasn’t like Shane, he still felt a reverent terror towards her and felt like every single snobbed text or call was taking years away from his life span.
He dared to glance down and almost had a heart attack at the LUCA HAAS ANSWER YOUR PHONE NOW text he saw appear on his screen.
Troy and Shane were talking loudly in the front with the other four, so Luca resolved to curl further into the seat, hoping they wouldn’t notice him and opened the texting thread with Yuna.
“I know where Ilya is!” he exclaimed loudly after reading the 78 texts.
Troy, surprised, slammed his foot on the brake, making the car stall harshly and Shane hit his head against the window, causing the phone he had in his hands, with the group call open, to clatter down the seat “Jesus!” Shane grumbled, massaging his forehead while Troy turned back, looking at Luca shocked.
“How?”
“Yuna….”
Shane turned too, eyes shooting daggers “Luca, for the love of God!”
“…sent me Ilya’s position” Luca concluded, showing them his screen “Hours ago, actually”
Troy snatched the phone away from his hands “How did she have his position?”
“Apparently he used someone else’s phone to send his position and the only number he remembered by heart was David’s” Luca scratched his head “So he sent it to David, who sent it to Yuna, who sent it to…everyone”.
“We are all a bunch of fucking morons” came Wiebe’s resigned voice from the other side of the phone, still laying on the car floor.
“It’s close! Very close!” Troy exclaimed, typing furiously on Luca’s phone “I’ve sent it to everyone, let’s just head there”.
“It’s in the middle of fucking nowhere” Bood commented, while Shane grabbed Luca’s phone from Troy, before the guy would start driving with one hand to look down at the screen “Like there’s just a house in the middle of a bunch of fields”
“Oh my God, please tell me they haven’t kidnapped him” Evan murmured, utterly terrified.
Troy snorted at that, speeding around a roundabout at a concerning speed, leaving skid marks on the tarmac and making a few people turn in their direction “Yes, surely, they have kidnapped the Cap and then let him borrow a phone to share is position”.
Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the mother of all migraines descend mercilessly on his head “Could have worked, considering how stupid and slow we have been”.
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www.cazzateolona/eng/cronaca/.org
CASTELLANZA, 22 febbraio 2024, 17:02
Isabella Sbatti
Ice hockey goalkeeper Gianleonardo Brambilla, who plays for the Maranza Milano, was reported having fainted whilst on a walk with his girlfriend in the outskirts of Castellanza and was assisted by Red Cross volunteers, before being transported to the hospital in Legnano, apparently in a semi-conscious and delirious state.
“For some reason, he kept rambling about seeing centaurs riding a Pandino” one witness said, extremely concerned “He looked downright terrified, poor thing…I hope he’ll get the help he needs at the hospital…”
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Iside and Candida were both looking mesmerised at a moved Ilya, as he recounted emotionally his love story with Shane: well, Iside was dreamily hanging on his every word and Candida would catch up with a few seconds delay, when her sister translated for her, but she then would immediately get the same fond expression as Iside.
Judging from the way their faces had hardened when he had mentioned Crowell’s and the Metros’ behaviour, Ilya for a second genuinely worried the two women might send a bomb to both the now disgraced former head of the MLH and the Montreal team training facility…and then decided that more than worried, he was almost thrilled at the prospect.
After all, both Pike and Boiziau had been recently traded to other teams, so he didn’t have to worry about them being hurt.
They were still chatting merrily, recounting life stories while the women kept putting more food on Ilya’s plate when suddenly Briciola stood up, pointy years drawn backwards in alert as she barked a few times, looking at the kitchen’s window.
Iside, Candida and Ilya all stood up and looked too, noticing a Fiat Panda parked in front of the main gate, from which three figure got tentatively out, looking around.
Ilya immediately recognised them and grinning, letting out a giddy laugh “That’s my Shane!” he exclaimed all happily; Iside immediately pushed him towards the door while her sister moved surprisingly fast to open the gate with the remote, managing to then snatch Briciola by the collar just in time before she could run towards the new guests too.
Like in the most dramatic and romantic scene out of a movie, when Ilya made it out of the house, he was only able to take a few steps into the garden, before Shane launched himself at his, hugging his neck and burying his had against his husband’s clavicle.
Ilya kissed the top of his head, unable to hide a grin “Moy bignè al gianduia!” he whispered, in between the kisses, going for an Italian pastry instead than the usual Russian random word, just for the occasion.
Shane kissed once, hard, before headbutting his cheek, a little annoyed “You asshole, I was worried sick!” he exclaimed, though he didn’t manage to sound very irritated, since he was mostly relieved.
“Ow!”
Shane stilled for a moment, before looking over Ilya’s shoulder, noticing a tiny woman with a blond neat but, staring at them with a fond expression, her hands clasped together “Uhm…hello?” he said timidly, while Ilya turned into his embrace to face the woman too.
The tiny old lady walked over, immediately grabbing one of his hands, her light eyes shining “You are Shane! Ilya showed us pictures! Please come in, come in, caro” she said all excited, dragging him over to the main door “Candida, guarda, c’è Shane!” she turned back towards him and patted his cheek twice “Oh, you are so beautiful in person! More than in photo!”
Shane felt himself blush to the root of his hair, especially when his husband leaned over to kiss the top of his head, whilst Luca and Troy were snickering behind them.
A second older lady and a massive wolf dog walked out of the house too “Bonjour, bonjour!” she -Candida, the other lady had called her- greeted all of them enthusiastically, and so did her enormous dog.
Still hugging, Shane and Ilya made it inside the house and the Canadian huffed a laughter, watching Luca introduce himself and Troy in his perfect Italian to the very enthusiastic and bubbly women.
“I guess you did not get kidnapped by some dangerous criminals, then” he murmured, kissing the corner of his husband’s mouth.
“You’ll love them, just you wait!”
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Less than an hour later, they had all made it to the old sisters’ house, and now the delegation of Centaurs was comfortably sat in their living room, everyone with a plate full of snacks.
Iside and Candida had been fussing especially around Luca, possibly because he spoke Italian, but mostly because he was undeniably a sweetheart and Ilya could understand more than anyone the urge one would feel to spiritually adopt him and protect him from all the hurt and ugliness of the world.
Ilya and Shane were sharing an armchair, seemingly unwilling to detached from each other, and Briciola had settled herself at their feet, with her head resting against Ilya’s legs, who was mindlessly petting her.
Coach Wiebe lowered his phone with a sigh, after having excused himself a couple of minutes ago, because the man was so polite he even excused himself when he had to estrange himself temporarily from social situations to read the correspondence “They can board us on a flight in three and a half hours” he then made an annoyed face “There are like four layovers to Ottawa, though…”
The team collectively groaned, either annoyed or right out horrified.
“When’s the next direct flight to Canada?” Hayes asked tentatively; he wasn’t one to complain about travel arrangements, but four layovers were close to a human rights’ violation.
“There’s one to Montreal tomorrow afternoon” the coach said, shrugging “Or we could try to arrange a private jet”
Iside furrowed her brows “Private jets are bad for the planet!” he pointed out “My granddaughter Martina says so; that’s why she doesn’t like Taylor Swift”.
Evan looked a little heartbroken at the realisation that wasn’t a swiftie household, but he didn’t say anything about it, forcing himself to nod thoughtfully at the comment; whatever stew was cooking in the kitchen, smelled divine and he was really hoping to miss the episodic flight and stay there long enough have that delicatesse for dinner that night.
Surely it was going to be miles better than whatever crap they had in the airport motel.
Zane, the resident cook for the Centaurs who could smell a culinary masterpiece in the making from a mile away and whose chef-senses had been on high alert since entering the house, nodded profusely “Exactly! And we committed to travel responsibly” they had gained the reputation for being the most all around conscious team in the MLH and nobody wanted to drop that title that was so important for so many fans.
“You can sleep here and go to the airport tomorrow!”
“There’s a lot of us…”
Iside waved off their concerns “It is fine, the house is big! We have many grandkids and grandnephews; there is space for everyone!”
Hayes leaned over to whisper into Troy’s ear “Personally, I’d rather sleep in their chicken coop than do so many layovers”.
“Their chicken coop is probably cleaner than any airport or airplane anyway…not to mention that place we rented to rooms at” the other whispered back; he had texted on Instagram with Harris, who was already on the plane and he actually had his fiancé’s blessing to stay and enjoy the company of those two adorable old ladies for as long as he wanted. Harris was wonderful and understanding like that.
They all looked over to their coach, hopeful and pleading, and actually managed to grab his attention only after a good minute, since the man was busy stuffing bacetti di dama into his mouth like his life depended on it.
After he realised he was being stared at, the man looked up and, with his cheek stuffed like a funny and gigantic squirrel, he just shrugged and nodded, making the whole room, old sisters included, erupt into joyous cheers.
Iside and Candida stood up and, after having asked for the two best cook in the team to help them out, they disappeared to the kitchen arm in arm with Zane and Ilya, who followed behind them like two smug and pleased ducklings, loving the compliments and cheek pinches the two women were giving them.
Evan laughed at the scene, snapping quickly a few pictures, before looking over with a grin towards Shane “Careful man, they might steal your husband!”
Shaking his head and scratching Briciola, who had decided he was an approved human too, behind her ears, he smiled fondly “So long as they steal me too as a couple-deal, I’ll let them”.
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www.ottawanews/hockey/centaurs.ca
Mrs Iside Ossola, 88, and her sister Miss Candida Ossola, 82, were the special guests of tonight’s stellar match that saw Ottawa through the playoffs towards the MLH finals, after a stellar 7:1 inflicted to Toronto.
The team has credited the two older Italian ladies as their lucky charms and saviours, after they apparently rescued them a few months ago during a little transport mishap in Milan, where the Centaurs had taken part into a friendly match with a local team.
An online petition has been started by the Centaurs’ fans -which was immediately backed by the players and the team management- for the two sisters to be made honorary citizens of the city of Ottawa and major Lara El-Hababi has declared herself more than open to the proposal.
Candida and Iside have later that night been seen dancing and doing shots with the rest of the team at Monk’s and, according to witness, annihilated everyone at the karaoke…
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