I Am the Running

Next time we hear Ilya speak Russian, he's sulking.

Not casual irritation. Not playful rivalry.

Full-body, hotel-room, staring-at-the-TV-like-it-personally-betrayed-him sulking.

He’s just lost his first ever face-off with Shane Hollander. Worse - his team lost the match. Worse than that - Shane is now on TV being gracious about it in his post-game interview.

He is media-trained, polished, deflective, refusing to brag even as the interviewer basically hands him the opportunity on a silver platter.

Perfectly gracious. Impeccably unrevealing. The league’s favorite golden boy.

And Ilya? Ilya is spiraling in Slavic.

We don’t know if he speaks French (I personally doubt he’s conversational enough to follow that interview live), and he is absolutely not turning on subtitles. Instead, he decides to provide his own voiceover.

Timestamp -18:50:

As pretend journalist: Мистер Холландер… Как это, быть идеальным? “Mister Hollander… Kak éto, byt’ ideál’nym?” Literal: “Mr. Hollander… What is it like, to be perfect?”

As pretend Shane: Просто отлично. Спасибо, что спросили. “Prósto otlíchno. Spasíbo, shto sprosíli.” Literal: “Just excellent. Thank you for asking.”

And then, as himself - deeply, cosmically annoyed: Ещё на французском. “Eshchó na frantsúzkom.” Literal: “And in French, too.”

The official subtitles go harder. They give us: “Mr. Hollander… How does it feel to be perfect? Fucking perfect. Thanks for asking. In fucking French.”

And listen.

The Russian is good. The translation is emotionally effective. But they are doing slightly different jobs.

Let’s break it down. 

Как это, быть идеальным?

This is such a Russian construction.

Not “How does it feel?” but literally “What’s it like, being perfect?”

It has that rhetorical flavor. The kind of thing you mutter while glaring at the TV. It’s accusatory without sounding dramatic. Dry. Tight.

Ilya is stewing.

Просто отлично. Literal: “Just excellent.”

Now here’s where it gets delicious.

If this were a real Russian interview, a sincerely polite athlete might say:

Спасибо, очень хорошо. (Spasíbo, óchen' khoroshó - “Thank you, feels good”)

Великолепно.  (Velikolépno - “Great!”)

Замечательно. (Zamechátel'no - “Wonderful!”)

But Ilya chooses Просто отлично.

Prósto. Just.

It flattens the emotion. It sounds controlled. Neutral. PR-safe.

There is zero profanity here. Zero.

Which is important.

First, “Shane” (and real Shane) would never curse in an interview.

Then, if Ilya wanted to swear? Russian could supply him with a full Olympic‑level vocabulary of profanity. He has options. Many, many options.

But he doesn’t use them.

Instead, he mimics Shane’s tone. Calm. Polished. Inoffensive.

The English translation adds “fucking” to raise the emotional temperature for an English-speaking audience. And I get why. English sarcasm often needs intensifiers to feel sharp.

Russian doesn’t. Russian can devastate you with restraint.

So, the Russian version - clean, composed, annoyingly gracious - is actually far more character‑accurate.

The humor comes from contrast:

Shane: impeccably polite.

Ilya (internally): dying about it.

Спасибо, что спросили. “Thank you for asking.”

Peak performative politeness.

In Russian, this can be sincere. But oh, so often, it’s sarcastic.

And in this context? It reads like Ilya echoing that carefully calibrated, league-approved humility.

You can practically hear the internal eye‑roll.

He’s not mocking Shane’s words. He’s mocking the persona.

Ещё на французском.

This one is my favorite.

No verb. No flourish. Just: “And in French.”

It’s not even structured as a full sentence. It’s an add-on. A bitter little annotation.

Like: "Of course. Of course he did that too. Of course he’s perfect in two languages. Just kill me."

Ilya is mocking a man who is so perfectly behaved it’s unbearable.

The subtitles add profanity again.

But the Russian stays clean. And that’s the brilliance of it.

Russian expresses bitterness through understatement. Through clipped phrasing. Through omission. You don’t need to say "fucking". You just let the dryness do the work.

Putting it all together.

Shane is polite, humble, careful, publicly flawless.

Ilya is competitive, insecure, hyper-aware, watching too closely.

So, this little Russian monologue is not really about Shane being ridiculous.

It’s about Ilya's own insecurity.

He’s not saying, “Shane is ridiculous.”

He’s saying: “Of course he’s perfect. Of course he’s doing this right now. Of course I care way too much.”

It’s jealousy, admiration, self‑loathing, and longing all braided together. A crush dressed up as contempt. A meltdown disguised as analysis.

-24:19 (Ilya): Неуже́ли.

Oh, this one little Russian word makes me feel things.

It's concentrated exasperation in linguistic form. Not anger. Not outrage. Just that perfect, bone-deep, "I cannot even begin to express how ridiculous you are being right now".

Four syllables of unimpressed judgment. An entire eyebrow raise in word form.

When I first moved to the US, my English was good. Like, technically good. Years of studying. Consuming whatever original media I could find. Whatever British TV channels we could get. A British teacher in college. American teachers living in the same building. Keith, I know you were Canadian, I am sorry.

I did translations for a localization company. My accent was already leaning American. I was fluent.

But fluency is not personality.

And I am sarcastic. Chronically. Reflexively. Sarcasm may be the "lowest form of wit", but it is also the funniest, and unfortunately for everyone around me, it's my native emotional register.

Except at first… I couldn't do it.

I was not fast enough. The timing was off. My punchlines arrived three business days late with tracking information.

And when it finally clicked? When I could be snarky in real time?

Oh, the joy. The absolute euphoria. To the probable dismay of anyone within range.

I did not have Russian friends or family around, and pretty quickly my inner monologue switched to English. Dreams too. Russian only clawed its way out during moments of frustration or anger. Even that is gone now.

Except - and I can't explain this - if I need to count? One, two, three?

It is Russian. Some neural pathway refuses to migrate.

Which is why I find it so perfect that in this scene, Ilya starts in English.

He is calm. Functional. Matching Shane's language because the stakes are low.

-24:40 - Ilya, casual: "God, I want a cigarette".

Shane, earnest PSA mode: "Smoking is bad for you".

Ilya, still in English, still composed enough to be petty: "Oh, is it".

Shane, pivoting to panic: "So… you are not gonna tell anyone about this, are you?"

Ilya, deploying sarcasm: "Me? Yes, Hollander, I am going to tell everyone".

He is still in English. Still holding the line.

And then:

Shane, doubling down: "’Cause no one can know".

And that is when English stops being enough.

Ilya: Неуже́ли. Neuzhéli.

Four syllables.

Translation: "No shit".

Not literal. Spiritually immaculate.

Because неуже́ли does not just mean "really". It carries a whole universe of "are you hearing yourself right now". It is the linguistic equivalent of leaning back, crossing your arms, and letting your silence do the violence.

He tries to stay in English. He really does.

But Shane keeps poking. And eventually only Russian has the proper emotional toolkit.

At this point, Ilya's eyes are closed and he looks profoundly done with the conversation. Just tired. And he tries - still - to defend himself.

-38:41 (Ilya): Знаю. Мы же не играем за золото. Но… но мы всё сделаем. Znayu. My zhé ne igráyem za zóloto. No… no my vsyo sdélayem. On-screen: Not play for gold. I know, Father. We are all trying.

First, the simple Знаю - I know. Yes, sir, Colonel, sir.

Then comes the second sentence - and this is where things get interesting. I've seen it transcribed as Мы уже не играем за золото. One letter difference, right?

Wrong.

Option one: Мы же не играем за золото. My zhe ne igráyem za zóloto.

That tiny particle же does not translate cleanly into English. It adds emphasis, shared knowledge, mild protest. It carries undertones like: "you know this", "come on", "let's be reasonable".

So this would come out as: "But we're not playing for gold".

Or even: "But we're not playing for gold, you know that".

Option two: Мы уже не играем за золото. My uzhé ne igráyem za zóloto.

Here уже means "already".

This is factual. Chronological.

"We're already out of gold contention".

"The situation has changed. That ship has sailed."

(And yes - ужé meaning "already" is not the same as у́же meaning "narrower". Russian says: good luck.)

At first I thought I just needed to listen harder.

But then I realized - we can hockey this one out.

If the Prospect Cup mirrors real-world international junior hockey structure, then at this point in the tournament they are likely still in round-robin group play. Not knockout.

Otherwise there would be no Sweden game after losing to the Czechs, and Russia wouldn't still be in gold contention against Canada.

So it would make very little sense for Ilya to say: "We are already not playing for gold".

That would imply elimination.

What fits much better is: "But we're not playing for gold".

Meaning: this is group stage. The stakes are different.

Translation between the lines: "Come on, Dad, this isn't a knockout game - but we'll still bust our asses, because obviously you'll come down on me again if we don't."

Yup. I’m choosing же. It is logical and the one that hurts the right way.

And then Ilya adds: Но… но мы всё сделаем. No… no my vsyo sdélayem. "But… but we will do everything".

Listen to that мы (my - we). We, not I.

The attempt to diffuse the laser focus, to make this about the team, the effort, the collective.

It doesn't matter, of course.

-38:35 (Grigori): Мне плевать на 'мы'! Ты! Ты ему не проиграешь. Mne plevát' na 'my'! Ty! Ty yemu ne proigráyesh. On-screen: I don't care about 'we'. You! You will not lose to him.

Мне плевать на 'мы' - literally "I spit on 'we'".

Colloquial meaning: "I don't give a damn about 'we'."

It is vivid. Bodily. Dismissive.

Then: Ты!

Back to the point-blank finger jab.

Then again: Ты ему не проиграешь.

"You will not lose to him".

Future tense. Not prediction. Command disguised as certainty.

Not "don't lose". Instead, "You will not lose".

So, while Ilya reaches for his team, their shared responsibility, and his dad, the father insists on individual accountability, national shame, and command structure.

Hierarchy restored.

Also - who is he?

Weren't we just talking about the Swedes? Is there a Swedish Shane Hollander?

We do not hear the end of the call.

But I'd bet it included at least one more tight, contained, perfectly obedient:

Да, отец. Da, otéts. "Yes, Father".

After the first salvo of verbal aggression, Ilya does what sons of harsh fathers learn to do early.

He apologizes.

It is almost reflexive. Preemptive de-escalation. Emotional flak jacket.

-38:52 (Ilya): Прости, отец. Prostí, otéts. On-screen: I'm sorry, Father.

Literal translation: "Forgive me, Father".

Прости is the imperative of простить (prostít' - to forgive).

That is stronger than "I'm sorry". He is not saying "I regret it".

He is saying: "Grant me forgiveness".

That is not guilt. That is management.

That is: "Please don't let this escalate". That is: "I recognize the tone and I know what comes next".

And he keeps отец. Still formal.

-38:51 (Grigori): Извинись перед Россией. Проиграть чехам, позорище. Завтра… Izvinís' pered Rossíyey. Proigrát' chékhám, pozórishche. Závtra… On-screen: Apologize to Russia. Losing to the Czechs. Disgusting.

A closer translation would be: "Apologize to Russia. To lose to the Czechs - what a disgrace. Tomorrow…"

First, извинись is also imperative. From извиниться (izvinítsya - to apologize).

We are now fully in command mode.

Notice the escalation.

You did not fail yourself. You did not fail the team.

You failed Russia. National scale.

And then we get позорище (pozórishche).

Base word: позор (pozór - shame, disgrace).

Russian loves expressive suffixes. One of them is -ище, which can function as an augmentative - making something larger, heavier, more dramatic.

For example:

волчище (volchíshche) - a huge wolf, from волк (volk - wolf)

человечище (chelovéchishche) - a giant of a man, from человек (chelovék - person, man)

So позорище is not just "shame".

It is colossal disgrace. Stadium-sized humiliation.

And then he begins: Завтра… - "Tomorrow…"

The subtitle skips that trailing word, so you do not get that he is mid-build. He is gathering momentum.

And Ilya cuts him off.

-38:45 (Ilya): Мы сделаем шведов, папа. My sdélayem shvédov, pápa. On-screen: We will beat Sweden, Father.

Literal: "We will do the Swedes".

In English it reads a little differently. Let's just say the Russian version is strictly athletic.

In sports slang, сделать кого-то (sdélat' kogo-to) means "to defeat someone".

And there is the shift here.

He says папа. Not отец.

This is new. It slips out.

Under pressure, he reaches for something warmer. More human. Less rank-based.

The subtitle keeps saying "Father".

But in Russian, this is a pivot.

It is small. It is fragile. But it is there.

And for all Ilya's effort to offer something hopeful, something concrete, something that might soothe the man on the other end of the line, the father does not engage with it at all.

He just keeps going.

Like a Soviet icebreaker - ледокол (ledokól - icebreaker) - that did not even notice it hit something.

Just pure, state-issued momentum.

-38:44 (Grigori): Извинись перед Россией! Придется, иначе ты… Izvinís' pered Rossíyey! Pridyótsya, ináche ty… On-screen: Beat Sweden? You will have to. Otherwise, you will…

The subtitles smooth this over.

They miss the key point: he completely ignores Ilya's reassurance and simply repeats the national demand.

Literal meaning: "Apologize to Russia! It will be necessary. Otherwise you…"

Придется (pridyótsya) is impersonal - "it will be necessary", "you will have to". Russian often uses this construction to soften the directness of obligation, while still conveying inevitability.

Up until now, Grigori has relied on imperatives and impersonal phrasing.

Now comes the shift. Ты. "You".

In Russian, subject pronouns are frequently omitted because the verb ending already encodes the person.

So when someone explicitly says ты, it is pointing. It isolates the target.

"Otherwise you…"

And again, Ilya interrupts.

He does not allow the threat to finish forming.

After the entirely unhelpful call with his brother, Ilya finally answers yet another call from his father.

The father whose contact is saved not under his name, but under his rank - his title, his role.

Полковник - Polkóvnik - Colonel.

So when the phone lights up with Полковник, Полковник, Полковник - it is not "Dad is calling".

It feels like: "The Colonel is summoning you".

Ilya is not just dodging a potentially unpleasant conversation.

He is ignoring a command structure.

He might as well answer with "Yes, sir".

Instead, we get:

-38:56 (Ilya): Привет, отец. Privét, otéts.

On-screen: Hello, Father.

Please allow me to read way too much into this.

Russian gives you options for greetings. And the options matter.

Let's lay them out.

Здравствуйте (Zdrástvuyte) - formal, respectful, distant. Used for elders, authority figures, professional settings, and also for addressing more than one person.

Здравствуй (Zdrástvuy) - singular, semi-formal. Polite but personal.

Привет (Privét) - informal. Friendly. Equal.

Здорово (Zdoróvo) - very informal. Bro-ish. Teammate energy.

Fun linguistic fact:

Здравствуйте and здравствуй are imperative forms of the verb здравствовать (zdrávstvovat') - "to be healthy".

Literally: "Be well."

Russian also has a T-V distinction, like French tu/vous or German du/Sie:

ты (ty) - informal "you" - pairs with здравствуй

Вы (vy) - formal "you" - pairs with здравствуйте

Now here is where it gets interesting.

The on-screen translation just says "Hello, Father." Neutral. Flat. The polite middle child of Russian greetings. A safe choice when you are unsure whether привет would be too casual.

But what Ilya actually says is Привет, отец.

And that combination is strange.

Because we need to talk about отец (otéts).

Most adult sons in modern Russian would say папа - pápa. Even tough ones. Even distant ones.

Отец is formal. Slightly archaic in everyday speech. It sounds official. Almost military.

So Ilya has options:

Здравствуйте, отец - stiff, formal, almost parade-ground. Emotional cold. Spine straight.

Здравствуй, отец - polite distance. Safe middle ground.

Привет, папа - intimate. Vulnerable. Soft.

Привет, отец - what he chooses.

It’s the equivalent of "Hi, Father", that uneasy mix of wanting closeness while still speaking through formality.

There is a tiny reach in that привет, a small attempt at normalcy.

And the father crushes it immediately.

-38:55 (Grigori): О, вот он и отвечает! O, vot on i otvecháyet!

On-screen: And so he answers!

First - that little и.

In Russian, the construction вот он и + verb carries a shade of:

"well, look who finally..."

"so he does..."

"ah, there he is..."

It implies expectation. Slight reproach. Mild sarcasm.

Second - он.

He does not say: вот ты и отвечаешь - "so you finally answer".

He refers to his son in the third person. Он.

That creates distance.

It is theatrical. Performative. As if he is commenting to an invisible audience.

"Look at him. He answers."

That is not parental warmth. That is command-structure sarcasm.

It sounds less like: "I'm glad you picked up".

And more like: "The subordinate has finally complied".

And linguistically? This is hierarchy in pure form.

And just like that, we are no longer in a family call.

Now that we know what Alexei wants from Ilya… banter is gone and things get ugly.

-39:17 (Ilya): У меня больше нет денег, Алексей! Мой бонус закончился, братан. Ты почти весь его вынюхал.

U menya ból'she net déneg, Alekséy! Moy bónus zakonchílsya, bratán. Ty póchti ves' yevó vynyúkhal.

On-screen: I have no more money, Alexei! My bonus is done, man. You snorted most of it!

Let's start with братан (bratán - bro). I brought it up when we heard Ilya using Alexei's full name versus something warmer.

So. It sounds like Alexei does not particularly care about their father calling. What does he care about?

Ilya's patience is evaporating in real time.

-39:25 (Ilya): Какого хрена ты от меня хочешь, Алексей?

Kakóvo khréna ty ot menya khóchesh, Alekséy?

On-screen: What the fuck do you want from me, Alexei?

First of all, какого хрена. Literally? "What kind of horseradish".

Yes. Horseradish. But no one in Russia is thinking about root vegetables in moments like this.

Alright, where were we?

Ah yes. Ilya's dad keeps calling him. Does Alexei know why?

-39:29 (Alexei): Да потому что ты, придурок, проиграл грёбаный матч. Da pa-ta-MU shto ty, pri-DU-rok, pra-i-GRAL GRYO-ba-nyy mach. Subtitles: "'Cause you lost a fucking hockey game, idiot."

Literal: "Because you, you idiot, lost the damn match."

Oh, Alexei. Subtle as a brick.

Let's start with придурок (pri-DU-rok).

Given how warmly this call began, you would suspect that this is not something nice.

This one is a classic. Compact. Flexible. Socially dangerous in the right tone.

What's the historical baggage here?

As far as I know, none of the Russian scenes were actually filmed in Russia.

But Alexei's apartment? Perfect.

A near textbook example of post-Soviet… decline. That wallpaper?

Господи. (GOS-pa-di - oh my God)

The mood continues to be dark, too.

-39:35 (Ilya): "Что с папой? Что с ним? shto s PA-poj? shto s nim? Subtitles: "What’s going on with Dad?"

More literal would be: "What’s up with Dad? What’s with him?"

Ilya repeats the question. I think that repetition matters.

It adds urgency. Anxiety.

The subtitle smooths it out and loses that edge.

Unnecessary boring aside.

Before 2011, Russia used daylight saving time and shifted clocks roughly in sync with Europe.

From 2011 to 2014, Russia stayed on permanent daylight saving time.

Which meant winter sunrises got… ridiculous. In Moscow, the sun could come up after 10:00 AM.

I spent my college years in St. Petersburg, where it is "what is even a sunrise?" all winter long. But, apparently, dark mornings got too much for Moscow.

So in 2014, Russia switched to permanent standard time.

As a result, the time difference between Ottawa and Moscow is now:

8 hours part of the year

7 hours part of the year

But on New Year’s Day 2010, it was a clean 8 hours.

Which means that Alexei still partying with his friends at 8 am is… impressive. In a very specific way.

Of course, New Year is the holiday in Russia.

Still the biggest. Still the most widely celebrated.

This is when you have the ёлка (YOL-ka - New Year tree).

Not a Christmas tree. That distinction matters.

The tradition goes back to the Soviet period, when Christmas was suppressed and New Year was promoted as a secular holiday.

Families exchange presents.

There is a massive feast. Ask any Russian about салаты (sa-LA-ty - salads). Not the healthy kind.

And there are rituals. So many rituals.

The country basically shuts down for a week. You stock up on groceries. And, more importantly, alcohol.

So Ilya, alone on this night, is extra lonely. Extra out of place.

Maybe Alexei is calling to cheer him up.

But no.

-39:42 (Alexei): "О-о-о, господи! С Новым Годом, братишка!" O-o-o, GOS-pa-di! S NO-vym GO-dam bra-TI-shka! Subtitles: "Baby brother, Happy New Year for you, right?"

Literally: Oh my God! Happy New Year, little brother!

Let's consider братишка (bra-TI-shka).

Братишка = брат ("brother") + diminutive suffix ‑ишка

That suffix is doing a lot of work. Sometimes affectionate. Sometimes mocking. Sometimes belittling.

Often all at once.

So yes, братишка literally means "little brother".

But emotionally, it can mean:

we're close

I'm above you

I'm softening this

I'm about to be an asshole

Here, it creates false intimacy.

It lets the speaker pretend closeness, mask aggression, and assert dominance while sounding casual.

Weaponized diminutive. A classic tool in dysfunctional male relationships.

-39:38 (Ilya): "С Новым Годом, Алексей, но…" S NO-vym GO-dam a-lek-SYEY, no... Subtitles: "Happy New Year, Alexei, but…"

This one is fine.

And Ilya still uses the full name. No softening.

-39:37 (Alexei): "Как дела, красавчик?" kak de-LA, kra-SAV-chik? Subtitles: "How's it going, pretty boy?"

And it is fine, too, but we can look deeper.

You know, I am really starting to dislike Alexei. Why?

Красавчик is a diminutive form of красавец (kra-SA-vets - "handsome man").

But in real speech, this is rarely about actual beauty.

It’s flexible. Culturally loaded.

Context does everything.

Depending on tone, it can mean:

friendly affection

teasing

approval

mock praise

By default, it’s positive.

Here? Not even a little.

Given the context - toxic brotherly dynamic, power play, emotional manipulation - this lands as:

teasing with an edge

fake warmth

"look at you, pretty boy"

quiet belittling

What Alexei is doing:

destabilize Ilya

pretend everything is normal

mask aggression with friendliness

set the tone for what comes next

Classic structure:

pet name → familiarity → control → contempt

Yeah.

Major League Hockey Draft.

The third pick looks vaguely like he's not entirely sure why he's there. Still happy, though. Third is good.

Shane Hollander is not happy with second. This is almost what he wanted.

Almost. Thanks to sorry-no-you-are-not Ilya Rozanov.

Ilya, meanwhile, is beaming. First overall. Cameras. Smiles. No hesitation.

You'd think his father would be happy.

He isn't.

Instead, he puts Ilya down - right there, in front of the new team's General Manager. Says he needs more discipline. Says he can be lazy.

Ouch.

With parents like these who needs self-destructive thoughts.

Timestamp -44:45.

Ilya promises to work hard for the Boston team, and his father responds:

"Ты слушай всё, что тебе говорят. Ты понял?" ty SLU-shay vs-YO, shto te-BYE ga-vo-RYAT. ty PO-nyal? Subtitles: "You listen. Don’t speak. You understand?"

Literal: Listen to everything you are told. Did you understand?

Huh? There's no "don’t speak" in the original.

A quick pronunciation note.

The actor playing daddy Rozanov, Yaroslav Poverlo, was born in Ukraine, and you can hear it in:

"говорят" (ga-vo-RYAT)

The г comes out softer, almost like an English h. That's standard in Ukrainian and also common in southern Russian speech.

Source: my family. My mom is Ukrainian, my dad is from southern Russia. Both trained it out.

What can Ilya say?

"Да" (da - yes)

One syllable. That's all he gets.

At least later that day, he accidentally gets some alone time with that other kid. The one with freckles.

Next time we hear Ilya speak Russian is New Year’s Eve, 2009-2010.

But first - his phone.

His father is saved as:

"Полковник" (pal-KOV-nik - colonel)

Not:

отец (a-TYETS - father, formal)

папа (PA-pa - dad)

батя (BA-tya - dad, rough/colloquial)

Just: Colonel.

We later find out that it's: "полковник милиции" (pal-KOV-nik mi-LÍ-tsy-i - police colonel)

Small note - shortly after this period, милиция (mi-LI-tsy‑ya) was officially renamed to полиция (pa-LI-tsy‑ya) in Russia (2011 reform) to align terminology with international norms.

A police colonel in Moscow has real power.

Влияние (vli-YA-ni-ye - influence). Связи (SVYA-zi - connections).

Access, networks, control over cases. Not someone you argue with.

Ilya misses three calls from his father. At -39:47, he finally picks up - not for him, but for Alexei.

Friend? Relative?

Ah. Brother.

I want to come back to diminutives later, because Russian lives on them.

For now, this stands out: Ilya uses the full name.

Not:

Алёша (a‑LYO‑sha)

Лёша (LYO‑sha)

Алёха (a‑LYO‑kha)

Лёшка (LYO‑shka)

брат (brat - brother)

братан (bra‑TÁN - bro)

No warmth. No softening. Just: Alexei.

No hello from Ilya. Instead:

"Что за хрень? Почему папа мне звонит?" shto za khryen'?. Pa-che-MU PA-pa mnye zvo-NIT? Subtitles: "What the fuck is going on? Why is Dad calling me?"

Good translation.

Interesting detail - here he does say: "папа" (PA-pa - dad)

Which makes me think his brother might have a different relationship with their father.

Also, this is where I fully bought into Connor.

Connor Storrie handles some genuinely difficult Russian sounds really well, including the ones affected by:

"ь" - the soft sign.

It has no sound of its own, but it softens the consonant before it. Subtle, difficult to hear, even harder to reproduce.

He gets it.

One more thing.

"хрень" (khren’ - mild slang, "stuff", toned down)

Ilya could have gone stronger:

"хуйня" (khuy-NYA - much more obscene, "fucking nonsense")

That would fit his locker room energy better.

So why didn't he?

Could be:

writing choice not to use stronger language

writers missing the nuance

or maybe the desire to show Ilya's deference to his older brother

I will never know.

But it stands out.

In Part 1, we left off with young Russian talent still on the ice.

At -47:00, more pearls of wisdom from the coach:

"Если не хватает скилла, яйцами додавите. Понятно?" YE-sli ne khva-TA-yet ski-LA, YAy-tsa-mi da-da-VI-te. pa-NYAT-na? No sub-titles here

Literally:

If you don’t have enough skill, finish it with your balls. Understood?

Less literally:

If you don’t have the skill - push through with grit. Understood?

A quick note on "скилл" (skil). This is loan word. Straight from English.

Russians love loanwords. Always have.

There was a big wave in the 18th century under Peter the Great. And then another, much bigger one starting in the 1990s - this time dominated by English.

Words come in mostly unchanged. And then Russian morphology takes over and makes it Russian.

Endings appear. Stress shifts. The word starts behaving. You get things like:

лук (LUK - look, but don't confuse with Russian лук for "onion")

файлы (FAY-ly - files)

апгрейдить (ap-GREY-dit' - to upgrade)

Same roots. Fully naturalized. Fun stuff. Could be its own post. Or ten.

Some countries avoid this entirely and make up their own words. Like Iceland. I heart you, Iceland.

Back to hockey.

You’d think the players are watching their very eloquent coach.

But Ilya is distracted. His way-too-friendly rival is right there.

At -45:56 he gets called out:

"Розанов! У тебя есть дела более важные? Нахуй я тут распинаюсь? Смотри на меня!" Ro-ZA-nov! u te-BYA yest' de-LA BO-lye VAzh-ny-ye? NA-khuy ya tut ras-pi-NA-yus'? sma-TRI na me-NYA! Subtitles: Rozanov! Is there something more important going on?

Literal: Rozanov! Do you have something more important to do? Why the fuck am I even talking here? Look at me!

The coach is saying Ilya's last name as Ro-ZA-nov. I still think he is wrong.

And then. This sounds a bit… Google Translate.

Grammatically fine. But stiff. Bookish. I have a feeling I’ll be saying this again.

I would have said:

"У тебя есть дела поважнее?" u te-BYÁ yest’ de-LA po-vazh-NÉ-ye?

Same meaning. Much more natural.

Now the fun part. For whatever reason, the last two sentences were dropped from on-screen translation.

"Нахуй" NA‑khuy

(My Russian lit teacher. My parents. They would be appalled I even typed this. With my own two hands.)

It’s vulgar. In this case, a delightful intensifier comparable to “the fuck” or “fucking”.

And right next to it we get:

"распинаюсь" ras‑pi‑NA‑yus'

Great choice.

From распинаться - to go on and on, to overexplain, to put in way too much effort talking.

Often with a passive-aggressive edge. So the tone is actually very good here.

Last line:

"Смотри на меня!" sma-TRI na me-NYA!

Correct. But I’d go with:

"На меня смотри!" na me-NYA sma-TRI!

Russian word order is flexible, and this version shifts the emphasis onto me. It has more bark, more snap.

And considering Ilya is very much not looking at him… It would fit better.

Also.

I have absolutely been talked to like this by my coaches. In girls’ gymnastics.

Boys got treated worse.

Hmm, is Ilya’s on-ice personality actually his?

Or was it built for him? Or by him to fit?

Next, we get to meet Ilya's family.

Наверое, будет приятно. (Should be nice.)

Right?

After a double-handshake introduction in supposedly frigid Regina (the wind is howling, but no one’s breath is visible), we finally get our protagonists on the ice.

Polite Canadians. Quiet Shane Hollander.

Not-so-polite Russians. Ilya Rozanov, already getting under people’s skin.

Oh, and it’s Ilyá Rózánov (Илья́ Ро́занов). Soft l, я like ya in yard, and for the love of all things phonetic, his first name has two syllables. Two. Not three. Do not drag it out. It is not Il‑i‑ya. It’s Il'‑YA. No scenic detours.

And since we’re here: the surname.

The coach says Rozánov (stress on the A). The commentators say Rózanov (stress on the first O).

Having never met a Rozanov in the wild, I did what any reasonable person does: I opened Wikipedia and fell into a surname‑stress abyss.

There are about eighty Rozanovs/Rozanovas listed. Of the ones where the stress is actually marked, Rózanov wins by something like 5:1.

One of the unmarked entries is almost certainly RozaNOV - the man immigrated to France, and French stress patterns shove the primary stress onto the final syllable of the word - we'll hear it pronounced like this later by J.J..

And because I apparently wasn’t done, I also went to YouTube and listened to actual Russians saying their own last name. Same result. Rózanov everywhere.

Also: the surname is thought to come from роза (“rose”), pronounced RÓ‑za - and the stress just… stays there when it becomes a last name. Etymology said what it said.

So with Wikipedia, YouTube, and basic phonetic reality all on Team Rózanov - and with Ilya never correcting anyone - I’m choosing to believe the coach simply has no idea what he’s doing.

Around -47:41, we hear a coach giving instructions to his players, ending with:

"хорошо?" kha-ra-SHO? "Okay?" / "Got it?"

As in: kick their asses, blah blah blah… okay?

He sounds like a native speaker.

Hudson Williams, #1 Shane Understander

I think Shane was a character who, soon as I read him, made all the sense to me. I felt immediately a kinship and an ownership over Shane. I was like, “I need to be the only person to tell this story. I get it. I want to be the person to be Shane and I want to spend time with him.” [x]

(sources below)