““The system would take care of you then if you could play. Now, it all falls on the parents, and most of them can’t afford it.”

By J. Michael Lyons

Kristaps Cerps slides up to a puck in a ramshackle hockey rink in post-communist Latvia and fires it across the ice into an unguarded net. “Latvijas uzvaras!” the 12-year-old shouts. “Latvia wins!”
       He, like many other youngsters in this historically hockey-crazed nation of 2.5 million people, dreams of playing for Latvia’s national team, which made a respectable showing at the 2002 Winter Olympics.
       But by the time he’d even be old enough to play on the national team, many Latvians fear it’ll be a mere shadow of what it is today: that is, a team still capable of competing with the very best hockey squads in the world.
       Since Latvia regained independence, there’s been precious little money to develop hockey and to keep good players at home.
       Aging’s also a factor.
       Latvia’s team was one of the oldest to take part in the Olympics, with the average age of its players at 31; several say they’ll soon retire.
       “I don’t see many young players who can replace them,” said Arturs Vaiders, sports editor for Diena, a leading daily in this Baltic Sea coast nation.
       All the current players were weaned in the rigid but highly efficient Soviet hockey system that produced some of the best players in the world.
       “The system would take care of you then if you could play,” said Ugis Magone, a youth coach who grew up competing with players on the Olympic team. “Now, it all falls on the parents, and most of them can’t afford it.”
       At a hockey store across from where Cerps and several other children were playing, a hockey outfit—skates, jersey, shorts, pads, stick and helmet—costs the equivalent of some 300 dollars, about the average monthly wage in Latvia.
       The price of goalie equipment—another 250 dollars—explains the unguarded net across the street, says store owner Dmitri Yeryomin.
       A former scout for the National Hockey League’s Boston Bruins, Yeryomin helped several players from Latvia and neighboring Russia get into the NHL.
       Yeryomin gave up scouting a few years ago when the talent at home dried up.
       “I tell kids now they are better off leaving Latvia to play in nearby Finland or Sweden when they are 13 or 14 if they get the chance,” he said.
       Talented players have heeded his advice.
       Every player on Latvia’s Olympic squad plays outside the country, including in the United States. A total of six Latvian NHLers include defenseman Sandis Ozolinsh of Florida, goaltender Arturs Irbe of Carolina, center Sergei Zholtok of Minnesota, defenseman Karlis Skrastins of Nashville, and goaltender Peter Skudra of Vancouver.
       Latvia’s professional teams, some of the best in Europe in Soviet times, are now struggling. Yeryomin recalls waiting in lines overnight to get tickets for games in the ’80s; today, teams rarely draw more than a few hundred fans.
       Latvians still love hockey but now pin all hopes on the national team.
       When Latvia played Russia at the 2000 World Championships, Parliament suspended voting so lawmakers could watch the game at a nearby bar. Political foes cheered and sang arm in arm when Latvia beat the mighty Russians 3-2.
       During the Olympics in Salt Lake City, fans filled old town bars at 4:00 in the morning to watch the national team play. Despite an impressive comeback against the Slovakians and a victory over Austria, Latvia eventually lost to Germany.
       The government authorizes about 60,000 lats, or about 100,000 dollars, per year for the national team and has occasionally granted players cash bonuses after big wins, like the one over Russia. 
       But lawmakers’ enthusiasm hasn’t translated into more funding to develop the sport. State funds for youth hockey amount to about 3,000 dollars a year, according to the Latvian Ice Hockey Federation.
       There’s at least some optimism for the future of Latvian hockey.
       Living standards are improving in this staunchly pro-West nation, pegged as a leading candidate to join the European Union by 2004. And Latvia will host the World Championships in 2006, which could mean extra state money for hockey.
       But sports editor Vaiders wonders whether the malaise will have set in by then and whether Latvian hockey will still be anywhere near world-class.
       “Even next year will be difficult,” he said.

                                                 —CITY PAPER-The Baltic States