Kalle Koskinen: The Iceman

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Life in Paimio was a peaceful one, outside of football. Away from the major cities of Finland, Paimio was a small town with not much to get excited about aside from sporting occasions. For myself, a man accustomed to being in the limelight for club and country as a player, it was the ideal place to settle in to a more permanent home that what he had been accustomed to in previous years.

Summer had arrived early in the Baltic country, with a warm sun heating Paimio to just under twenty degrees. A cool breeze drifted through the town, as small clumps of melting snow were still visible beneath the shade of the trees. The trees themselves seemed to dance to a silent tune only known to them, with the wind swaying them from one side to another. There was a harmony between nature and its residents, as the Paimio locals seemed to have an unspoken respect for the earth which they built their homes on. Admiration glistened in their eyes as they walked through the town. It was a town and a land they were proud of.

In the short time I had been a resident of the south-western town, I had become a part of the small family of Paimio. I was welcomed with open arms and shown kindness and respect for privacy in abundance. I wasn't the only new resident in Paimio either. A middle-aged Spaniard by the name of Rodrigo Soldado had moved into a house no more than thirty metres away from my own not so long after I had. He was a polite and friendly man, if not a little on the quiet side. When quizzed about his decision to move to Paimio, he offered the beauty of the Finnish nature, as well as the peace and quiet of Paimio, as valid reasons.

I considered Rodrigo to be a friend, but there was another person who I had grown much closer to during my time in Paimio. Elsa. She and I had shared many evenings together, both professionally and personally. Elsa had interviewed me a number of times since my arrival at Paimio but we also shared time together as good friends. We shared a number of similar interests, from a passion for sports to music, and more. She was a person who brought out the best in me, and I hoped I had brought out the best in her. While our friendship was purely platonic, I had secretly hoped that it could blossom into something more.

On that particular May evening, we met each other in Paimio, outside the local pub, to spend the evening together. She wore a skin-tight pair of faded blue jeans with an oversized Finnish ice hockey jersey wrapped around her body. Her long blonde hair flowed freely behind her shoulders with her face immaculately sculpted, unblemished by anything but a stain of bright-pink lipstick which covered her mouth.

We smiled and exchanged pleasantries upon seeing each other before embracing in a tight squeeze. A sweet piney scent wafted from her hair as hugged, heightening my senses. My only urge at that time was to hold that position forever. It was perfect. After what seemed to be a pleasant eternity, we removed each other from our warm embrace and smiled at each other once more, before making our way into the pub itself.

The pub was filled to the rafters with people. A major sporting occasion was about to get underway and there was an air of excitement brewing in the country. Finland faced arch-rivals Sweden in the quarter finals of the IIHF ice hockey world championships. It was a fixture which always generated much excitement all over the globe and an opportunity for both nations to get one over the other.

Ice hockey was more than just a sport in Finland. It was ultimately the meat and drink of any sports-related conversation in the country. For a country with only a few million people, ice hockey was a sport which united everybody together with one common goal. In that sense, it was far more important than football was in Finland. Football was only a sporting spectacle. For the people of Finland, ice hockey was a religion.

I admired how ice hockey was worshipped in the country. While football was the sport I truly loved, I had much respect for the fast-paced sport which Finland continued to produce much excitement for the people when playing. Each player was idolised as true legends, heroes of the people. Ice hockey in Finland had an air about it which I had hoped I would one day deliver to football. It was an ambitious aim, but one worth fighting for.

Elsa had a similar love for ice hockey. As we settled down into a booth, with pints in hands, our gaze was fixed on the large television monitor high in the corner of the room. A whole nation awaited the beginning of the spectacle. As the teams readied themselves in the rink, an eerie silence spread through the pub in Paimio, as it did all across the country. And then, suddenly, the ref dropped the puck down on centre-ice, and the greatest of sporting spectacles had begun.

Fascinated by what we were watching, Elsa and myself shared very few words. Instead, we shared emotions. I felt her excitement, and also her nerves, as she breathed heavily while watching the fixture. I was the same. Our nerves were settled quite quickly as Niko Mikkola raised an entire nation by netting the opening goal with just sixty seconds played. The pub erupted in a chorus of jubilant roars as Finland had taken an early lead. Elsa and myself had jumped to our feet and embraced in celebration. It was advantage Finland.

Our celebrations were shortlived, however. Just over a minute and a half later, Sweden equalised through John Klinberg and a Patric Hornqvist goal had put our bitter rivals ahead by the end of the first period. Jubilation turned into anxiety and dread as the lead had been surrendered and overturned.

The second period did not do much to calm the nerves. Sweden had scored a third with seconds on the clock through Elias Pettersson, before the Fins fought back with great courage. Petteri Lindbohm and Jani Hakanpaa were both on the score sheet to tie the game before the half-hour mark, returning a feeling or pride to us. However, that pride was taken away from us at the end of the second period as Erik Gustaffson scored late on to restore the Swedes' lead.

The goal did little to discourage the Finns watching the game. Despite the team trailing going into the third period, there was an optimism and a great sense of hope among those watching. There was a feeling that something special was about to happen, and everybody was gripped with excitement.

Out came the Finns into the third period, playing at a relentless pace unmatched by the Swedes. The puck moved from side-to-side, from back-to-front, at a frantic speed but despite the best efforts of the Leijonat, Henrik Lundqvist remained impenetrable in the Swedish goal.

With just minutes remaining in the game, and with the Swedes a goal to the good, out went Finland's goalkeeper for a sixth player. It was a great risk, but a necessary one. In the end, it was all worth it. Lundqvist saved shot-after-shot but with seconds remaining, the puck fell kindly to Finnish captain Marko Anttila, who squeezed the puck into the net from close range to send the game to overtime.

There was an incredible jubilation across Finland. The nation was not dead and buried yet. Despite all the odds being stacked against us, we rose and we fought. It was a miracle which had already written the game into history, against our major rival.

As overtime began, it was clear that the Finns were in the ascendancy. It was a matter of whoever scored the next goal would win the game, and the game was expected to be open with just four versus four on the ice. It took just ninety seven seconds for the game to end in overtime. Sakari Manninen moved the puck from back-to-front at pace and was allowed the space to fire a shot at goal, with the puck smacking off the inside of the post before settling into the back of the Swedish net.

There was pandemonium on the ice, in the stands, and all over Finland, as the goal was scored. In Paimio, the pub rocked as everybody jumped and roared in celebration. In the heat of the moment, Elsa and myself clung onto each other and rejoiced. Before I knew what was happening, as if by instinct, our lips locked and we were engaged in a passionate kiss, fueled by the heat of the moment. Lust filled my loins as I was given another reason to celebrate. The kiss lasted for minutes, with nobody else taking notice in the moment of celebration for the ice hockey.

"We've waited long enough, don't you think?" purred Elsa, as our lips broke contact for a brief, agonising moment.

We continued in our frenzy for some time after before slowly making our way towards the door in silent agreement. Once we had exited the pub, we rushed several hundred metres towards my home where we once again kissed in front of the house. Before long, we entered the front door in a passionate tangle of limbs, gleefully unaware of the presence of an onwatcher lurking in the shadows across from the street. In the presence of our lust and passion for each other, we were ignorant to the darkness which awaited us.

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Kalle Koskinen's reign as Peimari United manager was always bound to be a fruitful one and the club have started their season brightly by lifting the Kakkonen Cup trophy. A 3-1 victory over P-Iirot Rauma at HakkisPaana in the final of the competition was enough for Koskinen to claim his first trophy as a football manager.

Peimari United have become well renowned for their high and energetic press from the very first kick of the ball, and such pressure caused an opening goal in the first minute of play. United hunted in packs and won possession just thirty yards from P-Iirot Rauma's goal through Miika Jussila who dribbled past two defenders, and then the goalkeeper, before slotting the ball into the back of the net to give Peimari a very early lead.

Eero Hyökyvirta had tested Rauma's goalkeeper from a number of set-pieces early on, and doubled Peimari United's lead just after the half-hour mark with a well-taken dead-ball effort. From just outside the box, to the left, the Peimari United holding midfielder sent a high looping effort over the wall and out of the reach of the helpless Laaksonen in Rauma's goal. Peimari United had built themselves a comfortable lead.

Riku Sjöroos nearly crafted a third goal just after half-time with an ingenious bit of play. The left-sided attacker received the ball with his back to his marker out wide before turning on the spot and charging towards the D on the edge of Rauma's box. The United attacker fired a powerful drive which grazed the top of the bar before going out of play. It was very nearly game over.

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United did score a third, and it was a result of another Hyökyvirta free-kick. The midfielder saw his long-range effort parried by Laaksonen in Rauma's goal, but the shot stopper couldn't parry the ball any further than his six yard box with United's Danish wonderkid striker Rasmus Nielsen was on hand to poke the rebound back into the net. It was surely game over.

Rauma scored a consolation goal late on as Patola rose highest to score a powerful header from a corner kick. It was too little too late for Rauma who succumbed to a heartbreaking cup final defeat.

Peimari United 3-1 P-Iirot Rauma

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The warm rays of the summer sun beamed down on Macau in an iridescent glow that lit up the bustling urban region of the south east of China. The sweltering heat kept all but the locals and the hardiest of tourists inside the air-conditioned buildings of the ever-busy city which acted as a microcosm of the major growth of the Chinese economy in the twenty-first century. Like a swarm of ants awaiting passage to their colony, a seemingly immobile blockade of automobiles of all corners of society crowded streets as office workers and business men weaved their way in and out of the unmoving traffic. It was a city packed to the brim with little room for anything else.

Looking over the city like an ancient sentinel stood the Grand Lisboa Hotel. The forty-seven story high mega structure had been a part of Macau's famous skyline since completion of its construction in 2007. The gem of Macau hosted a large casino and restaurant, as well as no less than 430 hotel rooms of the finest quality. The Grand Lisboa Hotel was, quite possibly, the most famous resident of Macau and was the setting for countless iconic film works, most notably Johnny English Reborn. The city itself played host to the 1970s classic The Man With The Golden Gun.

The building itself emerged from the Macau skyline like a crown jewel which was to be placed on the headpiece of a royal monarch, or on the top of an ancient sceptre. The light of the sun bounced off the gold-coloured exterior of the Grand Lisboa Hotel, painting the city in its magical lights. No matter where a person were to look in the city, their gaze always returned to the incredible monument of fine architecture.

One particular hotel room on the forty-fourth floor appeared to be a normal, but empty, hotel room from the exterior. The glass windows which enclosed the room from the outside were fabricated in such a way that potential viewers from the outside would see no more than an empty bedroom, hiding the secrets which were contained within. The true nature of the room was hidden from the outside by a clever mirage.

The walls were covered in a dark wood paneling, insulated heavily in order to soundproof the room. The floor was made up of similarly-fabricated material. The room was bare except for two pieces of furniture. A dark chestnut desk was located near the window with no items adorning the hard surface. The other item was an ornate dragon's head which hung from a wall. The head covered nearly a square metre of the wall, such was the size of the object, and was coloured in black and gold. Rubies and emeralds embroidered the mighty creature, whose teeth were shown in a mighty sneer. The dragon's eyes were blank, displaying no emotion and no allegiance to anybody.

A lone man stood in front of the window with his feet placed in a wide stance and his hands clasped behind the small of his back. He watched the world outside without observing what was happening. Despite his geographic location in the world, the man's pale white skin was on show through a lack of hair on top of his head, with only a grey goatee to protect his face from the nature. His face was battle-worn and his skin was rough. His eyes were of a pale blue hue, which stared out at the bay of Macau as he was deep in thought. Anybody who looked into his eyes were unnerved by the chill which emanated from them. They were eyes which belonged to a shark; unemotional, yet intelligent, cunning and predatory. Below his right eye, a long deep scar curved down from his eyelid to the top of his cheekbone, making his already battle-worn appearance look that much rougher.

The man was dressed in a luxurious pinstriped black suit. He wore a simple white shirt and a clip-on black tie. His trousers had been pressed immaculately and not a single piece of dirt of dust could be found on his clothing. His black shoes shined menacingly while a black leather watch was clasped to his left wrist. There was no wedding band on his hard-beaten hands, hands which had taken the lives of more enemies than the man could possibly count.

The man continued to stand at the window as time passed him by. Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours. The man remained unmoving. He may have been mistaken for a mannequin were it not for the ever-so-slight movements f his chest as he inhaled and exhaled slowly. Deep in thought, it was an activity which he undertook often while contemplating difficult decisions. His office in the Grand Lisboa Hotel allowed him an ideal location to ponder ideas and formulate plots in relative peace and comfort, without the fear of anybody spying on his deeds.

Two short knocks could be heard on the door which acted as an entrance to the room. A few seconds later, a tanned man in a shirt and a waistcoat entered the room and shut the door behind him. He stood by the door and clasped his hands together, not daring to move for some time. Upon realising that the man at the window had acknowledged his presence but had not moved from his sentinel position at the window, the tanned man began to speak with an Italian accent.

"My lord, Signore Soldado has made contact. He wishes to let you know that he has made contact with the target and that he shall remain in his position, as a sleeper agent, until the opportune moment to strike presents itself."

The tanned man bowed his head before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him. The man at the window remained motionless throughout. Two more hours passed before he moved from his position, taking a seat at the large desk which broke the pen space in the room. From a hidden press he first removed a candle which he placed on the desk, a lighter, and a black leather-bound journal with pages coloured by time. The man lit the candle ceremoniously before placing the lighter back in to the press and opening the journal.

The pages of the journal were blank, with no marking made by pen or any other writing material. The man held the journal over the candle's flame for thirty seconds to allow the heat of the candle to be absorbed by the journal. As if by magic, words and symbols began to form on the pages in flawless calligraphy. The man flicked the journal from page-to-page, revising the contents of the sacred journal.

The man opened another press to retrieve a feathered pen and a vial of colourless liquid. The man dipped the pen into liquid before beginning to scribe a short amount of text into the journal. Once he completed his writing, the man reviewed his work before placing the pen and vial back into a press and opening the journal to its first page. A crest embroidered the page, depicting a dragon breathing fire. The dragon held a lantern which beamed light and a double-edged sword. It was a frightening image.

The man kissed this symbol softly, in some form of ritual, before reciting a sentence in an ancient unknown language. The man closed the journal and returned it to its secret press before standing up, straightening his shirt and tie, and returning to his position at the window where he clasped his hands behind the small of his back once more and returned to his deep state of thinking as the evening sun began to set over Macau.

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(Including a late fixture in April) We started May off with a bang by securing unexpected progression in the Suomen Cup. A comfortable win over fellow lower league side ÅIFK set us up with a quarter final clash with the reigning Veikkausliiga champions SJK. Away from home, we were expected to be hammered but we surprised everybody with a resounding four-goal victory over a much fancied team. It was a sign of things to come.

Ahead of a much anticipated cup semi final, we rested our key players for the opening league (Kakkonen) game against TPV Tampere. We paid the price in the form of defeat, but the players used the extra day's rest to prepare for the Suomen Cup semi final against local rivals FC Inter Turku. We pulled off yet another surprise victory to continue our progression, setting up a memorable first ever Suomen Cup final clash for the club, where we were to face HJK in June.


A return to league play saw us face PEPO, SJK Akatemia and Sudet. We claimed nine points from a possible nine to make up for our opening day defeat and to put the pressure on the other clubs chasing a promotion playoff position.

Then came our first cup final of the season. P-Iirot Rauma stood in our way as we contested the Kakkonen Cup Final at HakkisPaana, our home stadium. We went three goals ahead to really lay down a marker. The away team scored a late consolation goal but we ran out worthy winners, lifting the first trophy of the Kalle Koskinen era in the process. We followed that up with a win over FCV in the league.

Playing in an unfamiliar Roaming Playmaker role, Sasha Popovitch starred for the club during a busy opening month in the league. Playing against tough opposition, particularly in the Suomen Cup, Popovitch did not look out of place as he got involved in the goals, general run of play and more. What a month for the midfielder.

Our opening day defeat left us in the lurch. Despite topping the table (by goal difference), we were not anticipating to be there once the other teams had played their games in hand. With only twenty-two games to be played in the league season, there wasn't much time for us to leave our mark. We knew that we had to be flawless to take top spot, and I wasn't settling for anything less than placing first.

The huge drop in balance was to be expected. Since my arrival, we had considerably increased our wage spend in an attempt to quickly progress to the next division. It was a risk that had so far left us in a position where we were fighting for promotion, had won one cup competition and were in the final for another. The owners had made it clear that they would reinvest into the club at the end of the season, and we had considerable sponsorship opportunities which would undoubtedly give us another boost.

The big one. We had defied expectation to reach a historic final against HJK, a club which once hosted Kalle Koskinen as a player. The final was to be played at Töölön jalkapallostadion, HJK's home ground, with the winner earning a spot in UEFA Europa League qualifying. Not a bad prize. Following the cup final, league fixtures would be played once per week until the end of the season, allowing us ample time to rest and recover between games, as well as prepare for upcoming challenges. June was a month which could make or break our league season, but our eyes were first set on a much greater prize.

You may have noticed that my updates aren't exactly daily. This is because I am trying to spend more time considering how I can evolve my style of writing to improve the story. Please bare with me if updates become inconsistent, it is for the benefit of the story that I spend more time working on each piece :)