BENCH: EP. 1 Ilya Kovalchuk

Transcript

Hungry, ambitious — greedy for it, if you can call it that. Just a bunch of guys, a real gang. "Anglicized"? Nah, what English — I didn't know any. "My name is Ilya." And everyone's cracking up. So he grabbed it, picked it up, and drove off. That was it — straight into the boards. People say, "that's the Russian mafia." Everyone loves hockey. But you're a little better than they are, so there's no need to rush. First off — we're opening a new season. Yeah. We're opening a new season, so let's dive straight in with some big names. You're our first guest. Olympic champion. Two-time world champion. Gagarin Cup winner. Two, three? Two. Three. Three. Sorry, three times — we need it in threes. Ilya Kovalchuk, friends, is our guest today. This is the Bench project. Thanks for coming. Great to be here. We're going to talk about your career, about life. Especially since you're a guy who has a lot to tell — with a huge, massive career behind you. First of all, he's a good guy. That's true. That's the most important thing. Because some athletes, you know, are so stuck-up you can't even have a conversation with them. But Ilya's a completely different kind of guy. Nah, there really aren't that many arrogant hockey players. By the way, guys like that usually don't last long in a team, so... Why's that? Some kind of strict selection process? The locker room means a lot to us. And if you throw in one rotten apple... Does that start young, or is it more at the pro level? Yeah, it's more at the pro level. I think guys who are cocky on the ice — that's fine, that's needed. But if you're arrogant in life, it's hard to stick around in a team. Can you think of an example? Why would I go naming names right now? No names, no teams. No, it happens all the time — stuff like that. There are fights in the locker room, and at practice too. Usually the guys start looking for other options through their agent, or the coach makes it clear it's time to part ways with someone. Who keeps track of that — the coach, or you guys yourselves? The captain? Yeah, it depends on the coach. When we had Znarok with us, for example, on the national team in St. Petersburg, he used to say, "Guys, the locker room is your home. There's a captain, an assistant — sort it out yourselves." Some coaches get more involved than that. How does that hierarchy usually work? There's a captain, and there's an assistant captain. Well, that's what I've always wondered — there's always a captain, like the leader of the pack, so to speak. And what does the assistant captain actually do? Well, it's not like the leader just sits there ordering people around, "go get me that." No, it's more like the core of the group. Sometimes the captain isn't even the best player on the team, or the oldest — it comes down to whether someone has leadership qualities, whether they can communicate with everyone. He's the link between the coaching staff and the players. And the assistants are his helpers. There are several assistants, right? Two, three? Well, there are two on the ice at a time, but there are four on the team overall. So the assistants rotate? Sometimes it's one pair on the road and another at home. Or something like that, yeah. What's that about? No particular reason, really — jerseys need to be re-stitched, that kind of shuffling around. Valeri Georgievich rotates the captaincy on his national team sometimes. Did that ever happen with you — one captain for one game? No. With us, if someone gets a serious injury — out for the rest of the season, say — there might be a swap. Or if the captain does something wrong, or something happens with him. Or he gets traded to another team. Since we're on the topic of captaincy — you were a captain, and you weren't. But there were always captains around you. So, naturally, did you shape your own style around that? Because captains come in all types — strict, chatty, demanding, and so on. Did you pick things up from other captains, or did it come more from inside you? That's definitely from inside me, because I never really changed. It didn't matter to me whether I was the captain or I'd just joined the team — I was always myself. Maybe that's why the guys gravitated toward me. Because from what I could tell — you played for Avangard, played against SKA — we'd cross paths after wins, let's say, and it really felt like a genuine team. I remember it like it was yesterday — right after the SKA final, we'd just left St. Petersburg, and there was that party where one very respected guy actually dove into the Gagarin Cup, and then they dragged me in there too. That atmosphere, the one I ran into most whenever you were captain of those teams, it was really... Really positive. Sure, they'd won, they were champions and all that, but there was this feeling of real unity. You looked like some kind of gang of troublemakers, even though you were grown men by then. No, in St. Petersburg the chemistry was just great. Not only that, but people always assumed — I don't know, Dim — that we wouldn't amount to anything. Yeah, exactly — like, "look at these pretty boys in their fancy gear, walking around in suits," but in reality, in the locker room, like you said, we were these hungry, ambitious guys — a real gang who felt completely at home together. We'd all go our separate ways home, sure, but when we got together in the locker room, that was one thing — on road trips it was something else entirely. There'd be practice, then we'd all go out to dinner together, at least sixteen, eighteen guys. Eighteen plus. Eighteen plus too, sure, but at dinner there was none of that thing where you had to talk people into it, or little cliques forming — it was always a really tight-knit group. And that's thanks to the coaching staff too — Vyacheslav Arkadyevich Bykov, who was there in 2015, and Oleg Valeryevich Znarok and his staff, who were there in 2017 when we won it. So that's great. SKA was pretty young back then — Shesterkin was already there. He was already in goal? No. Tuz was our third goalie. He was the second-string goalie — Koskinen was first, he was second. But at some point he started eating into his ice time. Even then it was clear the kid had a future. You know what else I like about hockey players? Ilya's talking about it right now. SKA — Tuz? They don't hold back at all with each other — unlike footballers. Shesterkin — everyone just calls him "Shestyorka" [Six]. Then he signed with the Rangers, and I told him, "Shestyorka, come on, you're not a six anymore, you're an ace." I'm not always like that, but hockey players talk about each other in a really close, almost family way. I really like that. Footballers usually go by first and last name — first name, last name. Hockey players are always on familiar terms with each other. Some hockey players don't even know everyone's full names. That's why I try to remember it this way. Bench. Let's jump back to your childhood. You're from Tver. Tver isn't exactly the most hockey-mad city, from what little I know about hockey — although we do have guys who played for the national team. Denis Denisov, for one, now at CSKA, one of the club's executives. Then there was Kokarev — Kokarev, I think, yeah. There were a few guys who played decently. But nobody made it to the KHL or the NHL, I don't think. Was it more like some old Soviet-style outdoor rinks where kids just started playing? Or was there an actual hockey school, an ice arena? We've got one — it's still there, the hockey stadium. It was called SDYUSHOR Tver — the sports school. My dad brought me there when I was five. I think Viktor Nikolayevich Zhukov was my first coach. It was a small rink, just one sheet of ice, and we always had to share it with the figure skaters. Figure skating got more emphasis back then, because they took up all the best ice time. Our practices were either at five in the morning or late in the evening. At five years old? Yeah. I remember always waking up really early. And huge thanks to my dad — he spent all his free time, and time he didn't really have, driving me around, picking me up. That was until I got a bit older, and then I started taking trams and buses myself. In winter, when the Volga froze over, there was an even shorter route — straight across the Volga. Across the Volga, yeah. That's it. When did you start loving hockey for yourself — going because you wanted to? Or did you want to from the start? A lot of people ask me that. They say, give some advice to parents now. I tell them: the main thing is not to force your kid into it. Because I used to wake myself up for it. Nobody ever made me go, so I always enjoyed it. Later, once I actually started earning money from it, I'd think to myself — how lucky is that, doing what you love and getting paid for it too. So no, I was never forced. How does it work in Russia? You're a young hockey player, playing in theory — scouts come to some regional tournaments, they notice you, and then they start tracking you because that's your next step up. But by the time I got noticed, I don't think scouts really existed yet in that sense — this was back in the '90s. Yeah, I was born in '83. When I was 12, they held the first regional championship — like a Russian championship, but with regional select teams — and it was actually hosted in Tver. Moscow sent teams, Spartak and Dynamo came, Magnitka came too. I think we took second place, lost to Spartak in the final. I think that's when people started noticing — back then, coaches were more about watching who you played against; if a kid looked promising against strong opposition, that's how it worked. It's a bit different from, say, Cristiano's story, where Manchester comes to Sporting in Portugal and just tears through them, or the other way around — we played in England against Chelsea, that kind of thing. What did you say? He was actually supposed to go to Arsenal. Oh, back to your dad's Arsenal again. Well, something similar happened with me. Spartak came for a game, Yuri Viktorovich Borisov saw how I played, talked to my dad. But actually, the very first year I moved to Moscow, it was with Dynamo. Not many people know this, but yeah, I played one season for them — not every game, just when they played the top teams. Dynamo, CSKA, Spartak, Krylya. So the whole time you were still based in Tver and just came in to play for Dynamo? Yeah, I trained in Tver and came in for the Dynamo games. No way. Like a loan reinforcement, basically. Something like that, yeah — a bit of an "illegal," you could say. Was that even allowed? Yeah, sure — when kids are that young it's fine. They just pulled you alone out of the Tver team? Just me from Tver, yeah. Then I moved to Spartak, and other kids my age, born in '83, started going to Dynamo too. So it was normal practice. Yeah, yeah. They must have had some kind of relationship, maybe even an arrangement between the clubs. Back then that was normal. Did the kids train on the same ice as Spartak, at Sokolniki? Yeah, back then we trained and played at Sokolniki. And you're 12 years old, moving from a fairly small city by Russian standards, Tver, into a massive metropolis. Did you move there alone? At 12, no — from age 12 my dad started driving me in every weekend. We'd go to games every weekend. I kept training in Tver full-time and went to school there through 10th grade. Then I actually moved to Moscow when I was 16, when I signed my first contract with a senior team. So at 16 I moved to Moscow. That must have been overwhelming. Yeah — going from home, where your mom cooks, does the laundry, cleans, your dad drives you to practice, and suddenly you're in a huge city, living at the training base. You lived at the base? Of course, yeah — we lived at Sokolniki, three of us to a room. So there was a bit of a shock at first, but I got used to it fast. The team took me in, the coaching staff too, once I signed that first contract. I still remember it like it was yesterday — they told me I'd be earning 500 dollars a month. Was that back when the ruble was worth like five to a dollar or something? I think it was more like fifteen or so. I remember thinking, that's it, I'm the richest man in the world. What did you treat yourself to with your first paycheck? No, at first I'd give some of it to my dad, but then I realized there was nothing left to give, because you'd go out once or twice in Moscow and it was gone. Then I'd call my mom — "Mom, when you guys come to the game, can you slip me some cash, just don't tell Dad" — like 200 dollars. Did they give you gear back then, or did you have to buy it yourself? No, in hockey they give you everything — on a pro contract. I think even now, at all the top pro clubs, and even a lot of non-top clubs, the team covers equipment, ice time, all of that. Do you have a favorite brand of gear? Well, if we're talking actual pro hockey skates, gloves — I skated in Bauer my entire career. Then there's Warrior, that's under New Balance — their main company has a hockey division called Warrior, and I've had a deal with them my whole career, always played in their gear. But Bauer's the boot I know, and Warrior never made skates, so I stuck with Bauer my whole life, I guess. I tried CCM, I tried Graf too. Yeah, force of habit from childhood — like with football boots, some guys wear Nike, some wear Adidas. Why is that? It's just comfortable, that's all. Did you have any kind of ritual with your skates before games, or something like that? You know how some guys always lace up a certain way — Yeah, I always put on the left skate first. Even now, it's automatic — sneakers, for example, I always put the left one on first. Which one do you put on first? I don't even pay attention. Whatever's closer, whichever's easier to reach. So you're 16. Were you traveling to international tournaments, or did scouts spot you here in Russia directly? By the time I was 16 and signed my contract, scouts had already started showing up in Moscow. Because, first of all, our '83 group — the Russian national team — we didn't lose a single international tournament. In however many years we played the Four Nations tournaments — Finland, Sweden, Czech Republic, Russia — that was three or four times a year. Then we won the U18 World Championship. Then, after I'd already gone off to America, they won the World Juniors two years running. So it was a really strong team. Would you say that was... Obviously you can't compare it to Soviet-era hockey, but... Like a golden generation of Russian hockey. It was a really strong class, yeah. I think in the first round of the NHL draft that year we had seven or eight guys picked. Among the top five picks, three were Russian — Svitov, Sanya... Stas, Chistov, and me. So we went first, third, fifth. And that year there was a World Juniors held in Moscow — the only one I ever played. Pyotr Ilyich Vorobyov was the coach, and he brought me on even though I was two years younger than the other guys. That's when people started talking about me maybe being the first overall pick. But I never really paid attention to that, because back then the NHL barely got shown on TV — maybe the playoffs, the final. I remember 1994, Rangers against Vancouver, Pavel Bure playing. I think that was the first final ever broadcast on Russian television. Did you cross paths with that generation, the guys already playing in the NHL? Only at the Spartak Cup — I don't know if you remember that tournament, they used to hold it in the summer. One team that came was called the NHL All-Stars, and all those guys would show up — mostly to hang out, sure, but it still meant something for the fans. I've got photos from it — I think I did the ceremonial puck drop at one of those tournaments. There's also René Fasel, the well-known official — he was president of the IIHF for a long time — I remember handing him a bouquet of flowers there. And Vyacheslav Sanych Fetisov gave me a wooden stick, a Koho. I still have it. So there was some contact, sure — I'd cast a line their way whenever I could. But my first real interaction with that generation was at the Olympics in Salt Lake City, in 2002, when I was 18. That was right after my first year in the NHL. Vyacheslav Sanych Fetisov was an assistant coach with New Jersey at the time, and then he was made head coach of the national team — and he took me to the Olympics. That's when I walked into the locker room and saw all these legends in the flesh — Bure, Fedorov, Larionov, Malakhov — guys I'd been playing as in Sega just six months earlier, guys I'd only dreamed of seeing, and there they were right in front of me. Alexei Zhamnov could see I was young and a bit lost, and he said, "Sit here, it'll be fine, don't worry." I just sat there with my jaw on the floor. That's the advantage of having that older generation around — they bring you in, teach you how to carry yourself so you're calmer. And later you do the same for the young guys. Sure, when you come in, it's obvious right away whether a guy's normal, not stuck-up, and you start talking, but you always gravitate toward the older ones. I don't know, I have an older sister, seven years older than me, and my whole childhood I was always trying to worm my way into the older crowd. Obviously they'd swat me away sometimes, tell me to get lost. "Go on, get lost, go sit at home." Same thing on a team, yeah. First overall pick — first overall pick in Russian history. You arrive in the States. Honestly, I can't even imagine that. Like, how old were you? Eighteen. Eighteen. Did you speak English? Nah, what English — I knew, like, "My name is Ilya." "Hockey player." That's about it. Can you imagine, just that. Actually, moving at 18 is a lot easier than for people who move at 25, 26, especially with a family, kids, and you don't know the language — that's really tough. That's why a lot of guys don't adjust, play a bit, and come back home. There are those earpieces now that translate for you in real time, right? Seriously, they exist — you can talk to a Chinese guy and it translates automatically. You arrive, you don't know English, everyone around you is... They even saw me off like I was heading to the front lines. We got to Sheremetyevo, I remember it like it was yesterday — parents, coach, everyone there, and everyone's crying. I said, "Guys, what's going on?" I nearly teared up myself, I said, "What is this? Mom, we'll see each other soon, you'll come in November, December." And she said, "No, son, where are you even going — a whole different country." I said, "Well, we'll see, we'll figure it out once I'm there." My agent at the time really helped out. Did they put you up in an apartment with some Americans? No, no, I got there and — I remember there were two neighborhoods. One was called Buckhead, in Atlanta, that's the heart of the restaurant and nightlife scene. The other was Duluth, that's where our practice rink was. And all the veterans kept telling me, "You should live in the suburbs, just not Buckhead." I said, "Come on, I'm from Moscow — what do you mean, suburbs? No way." Turned out fine, actually — that same year Dany Heatley arrived too, we came into the NHL the same year, him a bit older than me, and he rented a place nearby too. So it worked out. I didn't really stress about not understanding things — hockey terminology, on the ice everything's clear anyway. Even if you don't get something, you just watch who's first in line, third, fifth, at practice. Plus you don't have that much free time anyway — you're fully dedicated to hockey, two practices a day, I figured. Actually, in the NHL you have a lot more free time than here, because back home the way it's usually done — training camps — it's a whole day, hotel, arena, running, you lose track of where you even are. Over there, two weeks and you're completely out of society — just practice, sleep, practice, sleep. Over there, no — you show up in the morning, train for an hour and a half at most, and that's it, the rest of the day is yours. Always on-ice, or gym too? No, on-ice and gym both. And the whole rest of the day is free, no more training? Right. In America they never do two-a-days — when people ask about that, it's more that the one session is intense, everything's packed into it. So you're wiped out after that hour and a half? We're not wiped out, but you need to prepare beforehand so you're not wiped out. If you just show up cold, straight off the boat, then sure, you would be. I've heard that Russian players, when they arrive, are actually more physically prepared than the others — is that not true? Maybe that used to be the case. Now everything's changing with the younger generation — everyone's got their own nutritionist now, their own strength coach, they wear all these gadgets that track recovery. So the young guys these days are great, they're moving forward — they show up already fully charged, ready to go. So do they do one team practice and then a separate personal session with their own trainer? No, they just come in prepared already. Like right now, guys training — Michkov, Voronkov, and some other kids at Luzhniki — they're fully ready physically, they need to arrive at about 90 percent match-ready for the season. Not "getting into shape" — already in shape. Right, camp over there is only two weeks — they fly in, there's some orientation stuff on day one, then they run fitness tests and get straight onto the ice. Nobody's going to ask if you're ready or not, you need to be going full throttle already. And that's the standard for everyone? Yeah, yeah, of course. Well, sure, if you've signed an eight-year contract... Actually, it's the opposite — even more is expected from these guys now. Because when the young guys come in, someone has to be that leader who sets the tone — not just in front of the cameras during the main games, but everything that happens in the locker room. That's a great point you just made. When you were here before you turned 18, there probably wasn't any filming, none of that. But once you got there, it was a whole show, constantly. Same for me — I played in Atlanta. In Atlanta there were always two reporters who'd show up. Two people, always the same ones. At first you think something of it, but then it just becomes normal. And there it was hockey, but also baseball — the Braves, the Falcons, then the Hawks, basketball. I was passing through Atlanta once, I was blown away. Hockey there isn't the most popular sport — I think it's fourth in popularity. I think that was actually one of the main reasons — because I left when... I was traded from Atlanta to New Jersey, and the Atlanta franchise moved to Winnipeg. Now it's the Winnipeg Jets — that's the franchise that used to be the Atlanta Thrashers. Oh, I didn't know that, cool. And now there's talk that there's a specific investor who wants to build a new arena and is working with the NHL on getting a franchise, wanting to bring a team back to Atlanta. Were the stands always full? The first year, yeah, because when I arrived the team was only three years old. That's it — it was a pretty new franchise too, they'd only just joined the league in maybe 2000, 2001. They're telling you, "You're going to be the first overall pick, you're going to be the first overall pick" — and around you, you're just, you know, playing on a console. New York Rangers, whatever. No, I honestly had no idea. Suddenly it's the Atlanta Thrashers — like, that just wasn't a thing I'd even heard of. The draft — that's when the worst teams in the league get to pick the best rookie first, right? Yeah, basically the best rookie. Well, it was clear there — there were rumors that they might trade the pick right away for some established player already in the league. So they called me in, maybe three or four days before the draft, I flew to Atlanta and met with the team owner — Ted Turner was the president back then. He owned the Braves, the baseball team, and the Thrashers in Atlanta. We went to a baseball game, I was blown away — it was summer, baseball season, and we sat right behind the catcher, a full stadium, I was in shock. What was that like? Like, "Hello, will you sit down, please?" And you're just sitting there with your agent. Honestly I didn't care at all at that point — who are these people, what's Atlanta, where are they even trying to draft me? Then I went and said, "Just show me the stadium at least" — that's what actually interested me. So I went to the hockey arena, and I see it holds like 17,000, 16 and a half thousand. It was a new arena at the time, Philips Arena. It was unique because the lower bowl was like any other NHL arena, but on the right side, the whole upper tier was just luxury boxes. Capacity was a bit smaller, but it was a cool building. Like apartments, kind of — like a house inside? Yeah, lots of suites, pretty cool. Interesting. Yeah, it was great. The draft talk actually started back at that World Juniors in Moscow — once I got called up, the scouts started saying I could go first overall. There's a player, Jason Spezza — he's Canadian, went second overall the same year as me. He works in Pittsburgh now, actually — an assistant GM there. Cool. Did you have any say in which team you might get traded to? Or did they just... No, everyone did that. After that interview process, what they called it when they invited me — I went to the arena, and then met with the GM and all the scouts. I know in the NBA, before the draft, they do interviews with everyone, top ten prospects with different teams. Yeah, same thing — it happened at the combine. There's an NHL combine, it happens a couple months before the draft, and yeah, we went — it's always in Toronto. They test you physically there — jumps, bench press, stationary bike, that kind of thing. And all the teams show up too — GMs, scouts, the whole top management — and they invite whichever prospects they want to meet with. I basically talked to almost every team back then. So you go through interviews too, where they ask you random stuff — what you eat, where you're from — maybe some awkward questions just to see how you react? Yeah, exactly, to see the reaction. Right. Did you have a dream team you wanted to end up on, or was it just about making the NHL? Honestly, I just wanted somewhere warm with fewer stars, so I could get a lot of ice time. And that's exactly how it worked out — I ended up in Atlanta, and there's basically no snow there. In winter, plus 10 Celsius counts as cold. It snowed there once, they closed all the schools — and you know how much actually fell? It melted within a minute, but it was treated like a natural disaster. People crash their cars, they don't even know what winter tires are. And it worked out — I got there and immediately got a lot of ice time, a lot of trust, a lot of minutes. I played power play, everything — so I got exactly what I wanted. How much did you feel the difference in playing style? The ice is bigger over here, right? No, actually it's the other way — ours is bigger, theirs is smaller. But yeah, bigger ice, smaller ice, and maybe a different, more physical style of play. Sure, of course. But was that a big adjustment for you? Did it take a while to adapt? No, and remember, I came over in 2001, and then there was the lockout in 2004, which changed a lot of the rules — that's when 3-on-3 overtime started, when hooking actually started getting called. Before that you could just grab a guy, take him, drag him, and just slam him into the boards, that was it. Back then the trend was for defensemen to be huge, really strong, so they could use the stick and hold guys with their hands. After the rules changed, everything started shifting — and now you see guys like Makar, these great defensemen who are small, quick, fantastic skaters. Was Chara the biggest? Chara was insane. He was playing in Ottawa back then, and we played against them a lot. His stick was like a fishing rod — over four feet long. There's a maximum stick length allowed in the NHL, but he was allowed to play with an even longer one because he himself was something like eight foot two on skates. You'd try to go around him and think you'd made it, and then — bam, he'd just toss you into the stands. Speaking of height — you can usually tell early on how tall a kid's going to be. How tall is he, over two meters? Over two meters, yeah. Why did he even choose hockey? He's Slovak. I guess Slovakia didn't have basketballs back then — hadn't been delivered yet, nobody ordered any. But honestly, for his size he was incredibly coordinated. From what people said, when he first came into the NHL he barely knew how to skate — he got drafted purely for his size, because he was physically so strong. But he worked at it so much, extra training, extra sessions, that he turned himself around — he played the point on the power play, played huge minutes, was captain in Boston for years. So hard work changes a lot. Did you prefer the early years in Atlanta, or when you got traded to New Jersey? I mean, that's a completely different climate, a sharp contrast. Right. No, I was honestly stunned when I got traded. Cold in New Jersey, winter — and it wasn't even just the cold, it's that they played this super pragmatic style. They go up 1-0, and that's it, they're all standing at the blue line clearing pucks — pure anti-hockey, defense-first. And I'd spent my whole career taking risks on offense, turning the puck over, getting yelled at for not playing defense. And I had a buddy who happened to visit right around the time the trade was coming. We're sitting at lunch, and he tells me, "Just as long as it's not New Jersey." I said, "Zero chance — how could they possibly trade me there?" Because I'd literally been in the GM's office, they'd offered me a 12-year contract. But I already knew the Winnipeg franchise move was happening, and I didn't want to go there — Winnipeg, Canada, Manitoba, minus 40 — I thought, how? That's a whole different world. I said, no, I'll test free agency. He said, "Fine, we'll trade you." I said, "Great." So I went off to lunch, and my buddy says, "Just not New Jersey" — they're the Devils after all, and we're believers, right? I said, "No way, zero chance." I remember it like it was yesterday — we're flying to Washington for a game. I go up to the GM — we only had that one game on the road trip, there and back. When it's just a one-day trip you don't pack much, just a little toiletry bag, maybe a small carry-on. I asked him, "You're sure I'm not getting traded in Washington?" And they told me, "No, of course not, Kovy, come on — you have my word, everything's fine." So I just grab my little bag — toothpicks, cologne, a comb — and in my bag, some random shirt and shorts. We land, go out to dinner. The assistant GM calls me — the GM himself didn't even have the nerve to call — Don Waddell, he's with Columbus now — and he says, "That's it, we traded you." I said, "Where?" He said, "New Jersey." I said, "What?" And in New Jersey there's this rule — you have to be clean-shaven, short hair, suits, ties. I'd never owned a single tie in my life. Lou Lamoriello flies out to get me personally — this guy's an absolute legend, an incredible figure in hockey, won everything there is to win, this Italian mob-boss type of presence. Yeah, Lou Lamoriello, unmistakable. He's coming for you. Yeah, and he flies in on a small plane and says, we're going. I said, maybe I should swing by Atlanta first, get my stuff. He said, "No, we've got a huge game against Toronto tomorrow, let's go." So we're sitting on this plane, him facing me, just like you and me right now. He says, "Okay, tomorrow you need to shave. And get a haircut, someone will pick you up in the morning. Do you have a tie?" I said, "No." "Okay, we'll sort that out. A suit?" I said, "I do wear suits, just never with a tie." "So no team blazer with a crest, badge, anything like that?" "No, nothing like that at all." So we fly — what was it, two hours from Washington? Two hours fifteen. Felt like it took forever. I land, and first thing I call my wife Nicole, I say, "Honey, I'm coming back, forget it — I'd rather just sit at home for these two months. What New Jersey? They picked me up right before the playoffs?" Yeah, they were sitting first in the conference. So I arrive in the morning, maybe slept 40 minutes total at the hotel if that. Lou himself picks me up for the morning skate. We go to the skate, and — we're playing in Toronto too, so there's like 800 reporters there because of the "Atlanta 2" thing — they're all over me, press conferences, I have no idea what's happening, I'm in shock. Had you shaved by then? No, hadn't shaved at all. And I remember right after the skate, Ken Daneyko comes up to me — Wait, hold on, you don't shave during the playoffs, right, the beard thing? No, no, this was the regular season — during the regular season you're supposed to be clean-shaven every single day. I had stubble, like, I'd shave in the morning and by evening I'd already have this. He says, "No, go shave again, right now." So it was total chaos, that whole first day. And this guy Daneyko comes up to me and says, "Ilya, I know a good place, you need a haircut." I told him where to go. I said, "Just let me get to the hotel, get a little sleep before the game." Anyway, it was a wild time. Settled in fine after that, though. How much did you play right off the bat? No, right away I was playing a ton. Lemaire was the coach, a sharp guy. I think he'd won the Cup nine or ten times with Montreal. He was our head coach, and he told me, "You'll play as much as you've got in the tank." I was playing a ton — 25 minutes a night, 23 minutes — never left the ice. It was great. Power play and penalty kill too? Yeah, everywhere. One year I even scored something like eight or ten shorthanded goals. They kept throwing me out there — there'd be two or three forward pairs on the kill, and we'd often be the ones out there at the end when the other team's power play was getting stale on the perimeter — you'd pick off a pass and take off. But the contrast was huge. Like, in Atlanta we'd lose seven in a row, and it was all laughs — somebody hands out a beer on the bus, "eh, it's fine, we'll get it together." By November you already know you're not making the playoffs, so you start thinking, "Where's the World Championship this year? Better start getting ready for that, we're fine." But then we go up to Canada — Calgary, Edmonton, Vancouver — and that's a different animal, the atmosphere there is something else, full arenas every night. Plus you've got back-to-backs, two games in a row and then another a day later — three games in four days. I remember we flew into, I think it was Vancouver, or maybe it started right after Toronto — that was the very first road trip — and we scraped out a point somewhere, then dropped two straight, on to Calgary, Edmonton, lost those too. And the coach walks in and asks, "What time do people usually go to work? Regular people." Just out of nowhere, this question. Directed at the captain, or at Brodeur? Loud enough for everyone to hear. Yeah — after the game he walks into the room, totally calm, and just goes, "What time do regular people go to work?" Someone blurts out, "Seven." He goes, "Great. Tomorrow, seven a.m., at the rink." And we'd just flown in from Edmonton, three time zones ahead — the game ends locally around 10, which back in New York is already 1 a.m., then a three-hour flight, so we probably landed around 5. I get to the hotel, just enough time to change, shower, and head straight to the rink. And we get an hour and a half of pure bag skate, no pucks — they just wrecked us. And then Lou comes into the meeting afterward and goes down the line, guy by guy — "Are you even listening to me? You can't play hockey at all" — right through the whole roster. I'm sitting there, and that's when I really understood the difference — their mentality is just winners, you know? Losing two in a row is basically unthinkable for them. Compare that to Atlanta, where we'd drop seven straight and it was basically a party on the bus. How big was he, when he was walking around threatening everybody? Was he a small guy? Maybe five foot three, five foot four at most. Classic, right? He gets fierce. He always had this perfectly pressed white shirt, always a tie, a suit — clean-shaven, polished, wound up tight. He's pushing 80 now and he still looks incredible. Did he ever play hockey himself? What hockey could he possibly have played? No, from what I understand he came up through some other, more mob-connected path. A pure mafia type. Once in New York, there's this Italian restaurant — I don't remember the name, it doesn't even have a sign, just a plain steel door, kind of like walking in here for this podcast — just a steel door, some kind of card-only entry system, you can't just walk in off the street. Some friends invited me, said, "Kovy, come on, great little spot." I said sure, we head into the city, walk in, dim lighting, we sit down at our table, and I look over — there's Lou sitting there with some woman, having dinner. He sees me, completely stunned, but doesn't show a thing, no reaction at all. And then he quietly picks up our whole tab. Thankfully we'd only had one bottle of red that night. The next day he asks me, "How did you end up there?" I said, "Oh, a Russian friend took me." He goes, "Ah, the Russian mafia." Not cool. Such a contrast in all of that. And after all of it, if I've got the geography right — the South of the US, then Atlanta, then... From the South of America you head to the East Coast, and then after that you go back to warmth. After that I went to St. Petersburg. Oh, you went to St. Petersburg — the cultural capital. That's when we were celebrating. Hockey players. That's actually the same year — that famous song came out, and you guys became champions the same year. 2017? Yeah, 2017. I remember, I follow that stuff. Then I went from St. Petersburg to L.A. At the moment you wanted to go back — flying from Washington to New Jersey, calling your wife, and by then you already had kids... Yeah, we did by then. That was 2010 — my son Artyom was born March 21st. Nicole was in Miami at the time, because she knew I was going to get traded. They'd flown down there, and she gave birth there. No, well, because you know you're about to get traded — you're carrying just a little bag with no change of underwear, a toothbrush — and you fly off to New Jersey and call her and say, "That's it, I really didn't want this to happen." What I'm getting at is — if I called my wife right now and said, "Tomorrow, pack your bags, we're flying back to, I don't know, Yakutsk, minus 40," my wife would probably be ready for it, she's used to the athlete's life either way. But Nicole had the kids — Caroline was older already, Phil was just a year old, tiny, and Nicole was pregnant with Artyom. But we knew they hadn't flown with me because it was near the end of the season — I got traded in February, actually before the Olympics, so early February. Then we went off to the Olympics. And at that point they were already in Miami — we had an apartment there — they'd moved down there, and the kids were still little, none of them in school yet, and it was warm, everything was set up, and we knew she'd give birth there. So they stayed there. I actually first saw them because right after the Olympics we went straight on a road trip to California — San Jose, Anaheim, L.A. Then we came home, and that's when I finally saw them. I flew to Miami for Artyom's birth on March 21st — we had one, maybe two days off around the 20th, and I flew down there with a teammate, another hockey player who kept bouncing in and out of the lineup. I told him, "I'm flying to Miami, just for a day and a half, come with me." He goes, "Really? Isn't that awkward, me just showing up?" I said, "Come on, don't worry about it." He was staying in a hotel — he'd just been called up from the farm team, still in a hotel room. I said, "Come on, let's go — I've got an apartment, stay with me, why would you sit in a hotel, doesn't matter, I'm on my own there anyway." He said, "Alright, let's go." So we fly down to Miami. I'm gone the whole day, obviously — the second I walk in the door, it's like she'd been waiting for exactly that moment, straight to the hospital. That was it — and we flew back that same evening. And I see him show up in a cap and sunglasses, and I'm thinking, what's going on here? Turns out he fell asleep on the beach, and one whole side of his body was completely sunburned. We fly back, and there's practice right away. We walk in, and the guys are all over him — "Where the hell were you, what happened to you?" He says, "I flew to Miami." And they're like, "No way, Miami?" For them, flying to Miami for a day was like me flying to New York for two days now — sure, it's doable, but for them it was a massive deal. And then Lou found out he'd actually flown with me, and he got sent right back down to the farm team. Flew down, got sunburned, and that was that. So the whole time, while you were playing, they basically lived in Miami? Once the season ended, I flew down. We didn't see each other much, but at least it was a short stretch after the season — we got knocked out in the first round, actually, lost to Philadelphia. That was around mid-April when I got there. Lou sounds like he's from another world — you know what, I'd love to know more about him, maybe I'll suggest a film about him for the podcast. No, he's an absolute beast — the rankings, everything. No, I mean how much he knows about everything. He's the one who got Vyacheslav Sanych Fetisov out of CSKA and over to New Jersey. That was him? Of course. And Alexei Viktorovich Kasatonov too. No, he's a beast — he knows so much, he's involved in league politics, everywhere, connected with every boss in the NHL, everywhere. Do you still keep in touch? Always. When I got named GM of the national team for the 2022 Olympics, the first thing I did was call him, flew out to see him. We sat for maybe three hours. He gave me his own notes, motivational lines he'd used. I asked him straight up, how do you actually build a winning team? He gave me a lot of great advice. Yeah, we're still in touch to this day. Did you ever give motivational speeches in the locker room? Of course. Not like a big production, more just little things — you know, videos, ways to bring the group together. I'd love to see that. No, but yeah, I did give motivational speeches sometimes. But it wasn't like I was sitting at home studying up on it. No, no, I get it, I get it. It's just something that comes from the heart. Yeah, that happened to me sometimes. There's that classic clip of Al Pacino giving a locker-room speech, that whole motivational scene, and someone made an edit with Ilya Kovalchuk standing there instead, saying something. Yeah, that's great. The younger generation, right? No, no, it's the other way around, actually. Was it normal in Russia at the time, when you were still young, to have those kinds of motivational speeches, or was it different? Yeah, that's always been a thing. Even now — like back when we had Bykov, Vyacheslav Arkadyevich, as coach — before a game we'd have a meeting, right before heading out to the ice. So the warm-up's done, you're about to go out for the game, and he'd come in and say, "okay, this, this, and this, we're playing like this," a minute and a half of that. And then he'd always say to someone, "alright, fire up the team." And you had to stand up and say something — like, "come on guys, let's go, focus today," whatever. Totally random, not necessarily the captain. Right, not necessarily the captain. Oh, cool. Everyone took a turn. Yeah, then you'd all huddle up, one-two-three, hands in, and off you go. That kind of thing happens. Talking about your American career — you'd go back to Russia, then back to the States. Let's just focus on the States. Which city, specifically — obviously you can't fully separate the team, the physical shape, all that, from the city itself, but which city stood out? Los Angeles, Atlanta, New Jersey, Washington. There was Montreal too. Montreal, Atlanta — I'd say that was more like the childhood phase, the start of my hockey life, complete carefree attitude, you're scoring goals, results weren't the top priority. You don't really overthink it, you just play and enjoy it. Lose 7-2, score one, get an assist, still feels great. You don't think, "are people upset about this?" It's all fine. Then New Jersey — that's really the foundation of becoming a pro. You start taking on responsibility, you know you need to play defense, that details matter, you actually believe you can win. We made it to the Stanley Cup Final and lost to Los Angeles in six games. That was tough, a completely different kind of tough. There was one year I genuinely didn't want to go to practice — I hit this apathy in New Jersey, right after they brought in a new coach. That was right after they let Jacques go — after that first year, they brought in a coach, I won't say his name, and things just didn't click between us. Maybe he wanted to force me to fall in line, maybe he saw something in me, I don't know, you can't get inside someone's head — but it just didn't work out. We were in last place as a team after the All-Star break, the whole season just fell apart. Then Jacques came back, I think around mid-December. We had about 30 games left, and out of those 30 we needed to win 25 to make the playoffs — and we won 23 or so. I remember we ripped off 12 straight wins at one point, then dropped one, and then in Ottawa we were up 2-1 and lost the game and missed the playoffs. So that was still something special, even in defeat. Then I went to St. Petersburg, but that's a whole different story — that was during the lockout, I think 2013. I played in St. Petersburg, we had a great team, but also being home, parents, friends — it was great. That's actually part of why I eventually came back — I remember thinking, I've played a long time already, maybe it's time to go play in Russia again. But going back to your question — if I had to pair hockey with the city, the shortest stretch but the most special was Montreal. Because I think for any hockey player, if you get the chance to play for one of the Original Six teams, it's just different. Do you know what Original Six means? Like the founding teams? Yeah, the first six teams from when the NHL started. And in Montreal, hockey is basically a religion. Educational, this bench. They're out of their minds about it. Obviously full stadiums for every game — you can't even buy tickets. Season tickets there get passed down, literally inherited — you can't just go buy them, they're simply not for sale. Grandfather to grandson, and so on down the line. We'd play a game, and the next day they'd have this skills competition — just internal, for the fans, purely a showcase. And it still packed the place. I think it was a Sunday, 11 in the morning or something. I asked the guys, "Sunday, 11 a.m., a skills competition — who's crazy enough to come to that?" One of them said, "just wait, you'll see." I pull up to the arena, and there's already barbecues going, people grilling, this whole scene outside. I'm thinking, what's going on, did some band show up, a concert? I walk in — the whole arena's packed, kids, that whistling sound, families everywhere. At the main arena? Full house at the main arena — 20,000, I think it's the biggest building in the league. I was floored. That was the first time I did the target-shooting event — I completely fumbled it, out of all the pucks I think I hit one target. I wanted so badly to hit them, and I barely managed one. So Montreal is... No, no other sport compares — well, maybe basketball. There's baseball too, but hockey there is just on another level. If they ever win the Stanley Cup again anytime soon, those guys will be national heroes — same in Toronto. Toronto's more like a classic case, you know... Have the Maple Leafs ever won it? No, the last time they won it was something like 70 years ago. Same with Montreal — Montreal's last Cup was 1993, and Toronto hasn't won in 60-something years. They actually lost this year in a Game 7 to Florida, at home — they really had a strong team. If you put it all together, hockey and life, Montreal was this bright, standout moment. Maybe it just felt that way because things hadn't gone well for me in L.A. right before that, and there everything clicked, both the hockey and the fans. I just really loved it. You know how some young guys are actually scared to go there, with the pressure from the media, from the fans? For me it was the opposite — I embraced it right away. Bob Hartley actually helped me out with that too. I wrote to him when I signed and he already knew everything, and he told me, "Learn two phrases in French." And for the first press conference, just say, "I'm happy to be in Montreal." Do you remember anything else? No, I don't remember now. What I do remember is on the flight to Montreal, I was drilling that phrase, just sitting there repeating it over and over. And then at the first press conference I busted it out, and they nearly applauded. After that, the whole press was on my side. Because think about it, it's such a hockey town. On your day off, you didn't fly anywhere, you're in Montreal, you want to go out to a restaurant — forget it, no chance of going unnoticed. You could be walking down some street in the middle of a snowstorm and someone would still stop their car to wish you luck for tomorrow, that kind of thing. I lived downtown, rented an apartment, and just in the evening after a quick bite at home I'd go for a walk, and it's the guys, the men, who — you know, in some cities it's mostly girls wanting photos, but there it's the fans, real fans coming up to you. Is there an equivalent city like that in Russia, a real hockey town? I'd say St. Petersburg, probably. What about Omsk? Omsk too, yeah — I just never played there. We'd been to Washington by then. And in Omsk they really love hockey. But in St. Petersburg it's more that there's basically one team — sure, there's Zenit, but hockey-wise it's just the one club in a massive metropolis, so the atmosphere in the arena was genuinely incredible. I think when we played there, it was the best in Russia — even the guys who came in from other places would say the same thing. Is Montreal more of a big metropolis, or just a big city? Yeah, there's Old Montreal too, they host Formula 1 there every summer. In summer it's honestly a stunning, beautiful city. Would you live there? There's a lot of water. To actually live there, no, definitely not. Too cold? No, it's not that, I'm just — well, a Russian at heart, I guess. And for me it was always... the season ends, and I'd fly straight back here. It was always more of a place of work for me. Now, for example, my kids go to school there, the older ones are at university there, but... They're kind of hostages of the situation, in a way — they were born there, spent their whole childhood and youth there, so... Actually, speaking of which — I grew up entirely in Tver, then Moscow, so my interests are totally different. Did your kids pick up French along with English, or not? No, no, we weren't there much, actually — they only flew in twice total while I was in Montreal, because I got traded to Washington right around the Montreal playoffs. And then the pandemic hit and the season stopped — that was that year. You're playing in America, and there's always some stress somewhere — New Jersey, that coaching change you mentioned, L.A., and so on. Is going to the national team almost like a breath of fresh air — or the opposite, an exhale, I'm not sure how to put it — when you're suddenly surrounded by your own guys again? The national team is a whole separate story on its own. Was it something you really looked forward to, really wanted? Well, up until around 2007, when the World Championship was in Moscow, it was honestly a mess — the relationship between the federation and the guys playing in America had a lot of misunderstandings, nobody really wanted to go play for the national team. There was this really cold relationship. Then in 2007, at the World Championship in Moscow, Vyacheslav Arkadyevich Bykov came in with Igor Vladimirovich Zakharkin, and they changed everything. And Vladislav Alexandrovich Tretiak came in as federation president. And somehow they pulled it all together. After that, everyone wanted to go — the whole roster would fly in from the NHL. Didn't matter, even guys like Ovechkin would show up with a fracture, some kind of hairline crack, and still go. It was a great time — everybody wanted to play for the national team, since we hadn't won in ages. And then in 2008, when we finally won it all, everyone nearly lost their minds. "The winning goal, five-four! Team Russia are world champions again after fifteen years!" So after a grueling league season, sure, it's great to come together, see your buddies, get to play. Especially since we were always favorites — we had a really strong national team. I like the nickname "Red Machine." Nah, come on, what Red Machine? I didn't come up with that name, and honestly I think it's total nonsense — because "Red Machine" is a title other people have to give you, you can't just call yourself that. The real Red Machine was that generation — Fetisov, Kharlamov — they earned that name through their achievements. We were still just a little blue machine by comparison. Talking about generations — the Red Machine generation, then, say, your generation, the '90s, 2000s, and now the new young generation — is there a big gap? Obviously the gear's different, the rules are different and all that, but is there a big gap in actual skill level? How could you even measure that? It's hard to compare directly. Skill-wise for sure — like saying the field was greener, the ball was different. Sure, you could put it that way. Of course the equipment's different — skates, sticks. But even now, hand me one of those old wooden sticks our elders played with — there's no way I could pull off receiving a pass, lifting the puck off the ice with that thing. You'd probably adapt eventually, though. Sure, but it was just a completely different era. You could say everyone's gotten faster, more skilled, stronger now, but I wouldn't go that far — I'd just say it's a different time. Now the technology's different, the analytics are different, you've got way more information, you prepare differently. Now we watch so much video that guys basically know their opponent by heart — tendencies, strengths, weaknesses, who's in net. That didn't exist before. I just wouldn't compare it — it's a different generation, that's all. For some reason this reminds me — I saw this video with Arshavin and Ovechkin, a short clip, and Arshavin asks him, "Igor, listen, you guys just fire it toward the net, right? When you take a shot, do you actually know where it's going, or is it just about hitting the puck and hoping it ends up on target?" If I'm set up on the power play, I know exactly where that puck's headed. Before I shoot, I check where the goalie is positioned. If the goalie's covering more of the net... How do you guys see it — does he basically cover the whole net anyway? No? Well, listen... No? I mean, as an amateur — I don't get how you guys can't score on a penalty shot. Fair enough. Ask your buddy again — what's the best lineup, best five you ever played with for the national team? Specifically when you were playing, during your time. Not everyone, just... We had a really strong roster at the Sochi Olympics. I had a great line — I played with Pavel Datsyuk and Radulov. That was great. Then there was the 2010 World Championship in Germany — I played with Pasha, Datsyuk, and Malkin on the wing. That was serious too, we played really well, lost in the final. Just an inexplicable loss, to the Czechs, in the final. Play that same matchup against those same lineups twenty more times, they wouldn't stand a chance. It happens. Just an off day at the office? Not just an off day. We fell behind 0-2, then Jagr faked an injury, got us a five-minute major, and still, even after all that, we scored late. Then Malkin, the idiot, took a stupid penalty, got ejected — jabbed someone in front of the net, just couldn't handle the provocation, and got tossed. Do kids get trained for that kind of thing, dealing with provocation, or is that just something you pick up with experience? No, in football that's a real thing — I know they actually train kids from a young age to draw fouls, go down in the box. My older boy plays football, and I've told him, if you ever go down or fake an injury, we're going to have a serious talk. For the national team, obviously the most memorable, best games are pretty clear — which ones stand out? What was the worst loss of your national team career? Sochi. The Czechs, or Sochi? The Czechs, in Germany, or Sochi? The Czech loss was 2010 — before that we'd won two World Championships in a row, and still, that whole series... No, Sochi was on a whole other level. We lost to the Finns in the quarterfinal. I didn't leave the house for two weeks after that. I genuinely had this feeling like... I couldn't even look people in the eye — the fans, I mean. That was really hard for me, because the NHL guys, they finished up and left, their season carried on, while our season here just kept going too, and you really felt it deeply. That's probably the single toughest, hardest loss of my career, hands down — Sochi. Well, that's your own Olympics, your own country — the expectations were enormous. The infrastructure was incredible too. Even now, all the foreign guys who played there still talk about it. They remember it? Oh, for sure — they call it the best Olympics ever. Our Olympic Village was right on the shore of the Black Sea, dolphins every day, you could walk to the arena. The infrastructure was insane. And well, if you think back on Sochi — there were two Olympics there in a way, thinking about it now. At least the cross-country skiers did well. Sanya won easily. Actually three of our guys swept the 50-kilometer marathon. Because after the hockey final, there was supposed to be a medal ceremony at the Fisht Stadium, the main venue, and everyone figured, well, at least our skiers won something — three of our guys on the marathon podium, and they got their celebration there. I wanted to ask, as an outsider — why don't they do those big Super Series anymore, like the old ones? Is it just not worth it financially? I don't know why they don't do it, but honestly right now would actually be the perfect time for it. There was actually recent talk, when our president and the Americans spoke for the first time in years, that they talked about hockey. Seriously? Yeah, that they wanted to, or that something might get organized, some kind of games. Because that original Super Series happened during the Iron Curtain, the Cold War — when they played in 1972, the political situation was, let's say, unstable, whatever you want to call it. So the fact that our guys managed to break that door open in that way changed how people saw us, and it also made our own guys realize what they had to strive for. Going back to Pyeongchang — the final against Germany, you guys played terribly, just awful. We didn't play terribly, the result just wasn't great. Wasn't clicking. I'll take note of that. Something went wrong. I worked hard, it just didn't quite go our way. We were losing. And then everything started to turn. Gusev scored already. Gusev tied it up for me. I mean, first Gusev scored, and then it was Kaprizov in overtime. Were you captain? No. Pasha Datsyuk was. You were an assistant. I just carried the gear. The pressure. I remember those stories — we competed without a flag. You went there as Olympic Athletes from Russia. Some pressure there. The team itself didn't really want to go, did it? No, not the team itself. At first, after the sanctions came down and they took away the anthem and the flag, our Olympic Committee actually asked the athletes for their opinion. I think ultimately the decision was up to the president and the people responsible for sport, but I remember we had a meeting at the Olympic Committee. Alexander Karelin was there, Sasha Popov, Tatyana Anatolyevna Tarasova — a lot of respected figures in Russian sport. And the whole delegation was there, not just hockey players, figure skaters, cross-country skiers too. A representative from each sport got up and gave their opinion, said what they thought. Pasha Datsyuk was supposed to speak for us, but ten minutes before it started he turns to me and goes, "Kovy, I'm not doing it." Just like that. I said, "What?" And Andrei Valeryevich Dorogov comes up to me and says, "Alright, you're up." I said, "Do I at least get some talking points?" He said, "Nah, you'll figure something out, it'll be fine." Classic hockey-player answer, huh — "I'm not doing it," and that's that. It actually worked out fine. And in the end the decision was made — we're going. And of course we showed up in those red uniforms, the whole Red Machine thing again. Self-appointed. We lost the first game to Slovakia. Everyone was in total shock, let's say. What did the coach say? The coach didn't say anything — he'd just quit smoking. At some point before that, Oleg Valeryevich had announced, "I don't smoke anymore." And this is a guy who smoked like a pack a day his whole life. He said, "I don't smoke, I don't drink, I'm doing everything right, being a total role model." And then, boom, we lose to Slovakia. Everyone lives in the Olympic Village, we're eating together, and I go up to him and say, "Valerich, could you please walk back some of these decisions you've made, they're not making sense." And then we had a team meeting, talked it through, players and coaches both. We just had to go through that. What happened against Germany, that was just one game — but remember, that was my fifth Olympics, and Pasha's too. And for them it was the game of their lives, right? I mean, how does Germany even end up in a hockey final? Although, to be fair, they had a good team — actually, when the World Championship was in Germany... Did they make the final that time too? No, we beat them in the semifinal — barely won 2-1, we were actually down 1-0 for most of that game too. But those Germans are so systematic — turns out they'd trained at the German national football team's facility, with the whole sports science setup, everything. So physically they were unbelievable, they just ran around like robots. Not necessarily the most skilled team, but their conditioning carried them — they beat Sweden and Canada in the semifinal. Just imagine, Germany in a hockey final. And they nearly beat us too. I think if they'd had a more skilled roster, that would've been it — they were up 3-2, and with about a minute forty, maybe a minute forty-five left, they still had a power play. Just freeze the puck, sit on it — but no, they pushed to score more. "Zub couldn't quite corral it, but the first goal — Busin scores!" Thank god. That's how it happened. Thanks to those two. Do you keep your medals somewhere on display? The medals are at my mom's place. No, in Tver — I've got a little corner set up in the apartment there with everything. The Salt Lake City bronze, the World Championship golds, all of it. I just thought of something — is there such a thing in hockey as, like, losing to Slovakia being embarrassing? Who did you lose to — Slovakia, or the Czechs? And when you lose to Canada or the Americans, does that also feel bad, even though they're supposed to be the top dogs? It always feels bad. We lost to France once, on May 9th of all days, at a World Championship — one, two, three times. That one really stung. It's just, in hockey there's none of that thing you get in football, like, "well, they're playing in Brazil, of course they lost to the Brazilians, makes sense." That doesn't exist in hockey. Because of the history — we're always expected to deliver the maximum result. For us, anything other than first place basically doesn't count. By the way, is your tablet nearby? Ilya's actually the national team's all-time record holder in a bunch of statistical categories — let's see how well you remember them. I'll give you a number, and you tell me what it corresponds to in your career. Roughly, right? Just for the national team specifically. Just the national team? Yeah, all national team stats. 94. Probably total points for the national team — goals plus assists? No. Assists? No. Goals, then? No. Penalty minutes? Just... Games, games played. Ah, games — of course. Most games played at World Championships. 36. That one's goals. Yes. 50. Assists. Yes. 86. That one's tough — goals plus assists? No, you already used that one. Right, right, right — total points. So: 36 goals, 50 assists, and 86... what's that then? I didn't even catch that. I didn't even catch it either. Nice one. Nice one. Who came up with these numbers, some kind of setup? I feel dumb thanks to you two. 123. That's probably penalty minutes. Yes, penalty minutes. 14. Ooh, interesting. Ah, 14 — that's Olympic goals. Yes. And last one, 47. 47. Probably Olympic games played. Right off the Olympics again. Right off the Olympics. Penalty minutes. Yeah, penalty minutes. So many records in total. What's Ilya Kovalchuk up to these days? It's summer right now, so I'm working on myself — training, playing paddle, spending time with the kids. We just got back from a family vacation. So, that's about it. What do you love so much about paddle? No offense to it — I mean, you're not exactly biased against it. I think it's just... very dynamic. A really dynamic sport. Does it feel similar to how you move on the ice? No, not really. It's more like really fast movement, constant sharp changes of direction. And there's that ever-present gadget too, we won't name the brand. We've already talked about it for free, no need to plug it further. The biggest soreness I get afterward is actually from paddle — more than hockey, where I just skate around with friends, or gym training. Yeah, you could compare it to tennis, big tennis. But in hockey now, are you like Messi — out there for 85 minutes just standing around, deciding whether to get involved or not? No, it's the opposite, actually — it's pure enjoyment now. Hockey right now is the most fun it's ever been. You show up, great atmosphere, friends around, everybody loves hockey. You're just a bit better than them, so you don't need to move around too much. I feel exactly like Messi, yeah. I tell a lot of people, now I finally understand what it feels like to be McDavid out there among regular guys — when everyone around you is barely moving and you just glide past, beat a guy, and stop. Is it rare for hockey players to just never want to step on the ice again after their career ends? I think that's more the guys who retire too late, or who dealt with injuries, God forbid. Does Pasha Datsyuk still skate at all? Pasha helps out with the youth team in Yekaterinburg now. He gets on the ice, does clinics constantly. Are you one of the organizers of those NHL versus KHL summer games? The guys who started that up each summer — no, that was Sergachev, Misha Panarin, and Yov — that was their idea. That's cool. This year it didn't go so smoothly, admittedly — final score was something like 13-3. But the atmosphere was great — summer, no hockey happening otherwise, and it landed perfectly. Full stadium, tons of kids. And most people rarely get to see the NHL guys in person, only on TV — so when they actually show up... Full stands. Yeah, that never used to happen. I've also seen the NHL do outdoor events, open-air games. We've had that here too, actually — some Russian hockey league did something like that, I think, a few times in St. Petersburg, at Zenit Arena. That was around 2019, I think. Cool. I don't know why they don't do it more often. It's a great idea, though. I think eventually Alexei Alexeyevich Morozov, the KHL president, will come up with some fresh ideas like that. Honestly, overall, when you come to a KHL game now, the whole show production is fantastic — everything's built for the fans, for the spectators, they really do everything they can. You can't drink beer in the stands, right? There are restaurants in the arenas, though. No, beer's not allowed anywhere in our stadiums. That's true of all sports here, right? Only in the private boxes. And only from plastic cups. And only through a straw. And you can't bring it out to watch from the seats. Can't even show it out there. Just sit inside and drink it there. You mentioned kids. I know you're heavily involved in charity work, and you're a father of several kids. So here's a question I was thinking about on the way here — what should I ask Ilya? Do I have a basketball player? No — my son plays football. From what I know, your boys don't play hockey at all — one's a footballer, one's a basketball player, right? That's right. One of them even played in Brazil. Yeah, he plays for Dynamo here now. Spent two years in Brazil. In São Paulo. Corinthians first, then São Paulo. That's actually pretty unique in itself. Actually, let's dig into this a bit. There's this pattern... Your dad wasn't a hockey player either. My dad played basketball too. Right, and if you go further — Andrei Kirilenko's son plays hockey, Sasha Ovechkin's mom was a basketball player, and so on. Is there some kind of pattern where kids often don't pick the same sport as their parents? Hockey, basketball five-on-five... No, I'm joking. Honestly, when I was in St. Petersburg, my boys were like four or five — they're only a year apart — or maybe five and six, whatever age it is when you have to decide. I asked them what sport they wanted, what they liked, because we'd go everywhere together — hockey, football, basketball, all of it. And Phil immediately said, "I want football." So that was it, off to football practice. And Artyom, the younger one, he did hockey for a while — he's right-handed too, and honestly, if you put my childhood photo next to his, you couldn't tell us apart, who's who. That's cool. He did hockey, hockey, that was it. But honestly, I think if we hadn't moved to L.A. — if, say, I'd signed another contract in St. Petersburg or somewhere in Russia — he'd definitely still be playing hockey. It's just that we got to L.A., and after five, six practices a week back in St. Petersburg, over there he only had two practices at that age, and one of them was Sunday at 7 a.m. I told him, "Tyoma, I love you very much, I love hockey very much, but I'm not driving you to that practice." He said, "Got it." And then a bit later I see him and his mom, Nicole, come up to me, and she says, "I need to talk to you." I said, "What's up?" She says, "Tyoma doesn't know how to tell you this." I said, "He doesn't want to do hockey anymore?" And right away — yeah, that's it. I said, "Well, what does he want instead?" So I found a moment and asked him, "Tyoma, what's going on?" He said, "Dad, it's just cold. It's always so early in the morning. I like basketball — can I switch to basketball?" I said, "Yeah, of course you can." I said, great, now I get to show up in shorts, relaxed, and not at 7 in the morning. He goes, "Yeah, and even if it is 7 in the morning, at least it's not freezing." That was that — he switched to basketball and loves it. Look, the main thing is that kids do what they actually want to do. Why would you force them — that's just pointless. These days a lot of parents see their own dream in every kid. Obviously our kids are the most important thing in the world to us, and you want to give them every opportunity, let them soak up as much as possible, develop, grow. But the moment you start pushing, shoving, forcing it, it never leads anywhere good. So my whole approach with them is about support, first and foremost. Does your daughter do sports? My older daughter did gymnastics until she was about 15. But then we moved to L.A. again — in St. Petersburg she trained at Zhemchuzhina, that's the same system as Novogorsk, that Olympic gymnastics base, Irina Alexandrovna Viner's program — St. Petersburg had a branch of it, and she trained there constantly. My younger one is more into a mix of everything — she's done tennis, volleyball, dance, cheerleading. Now she says she wants to try running. I told her, well, look at the family car we've got here — she's ten, and we're already buying her clothes in a size 16. My older daughter is already six feet tall. I think she'll end up even taller — she takes after her grandmother, my mom's a powerhouse of a woman. What did your mom do professionally? My mom's a doctor — head of a clinic. "Mom, I love you so much." "Mom, I love you so much." "Where's mine?" I said it to you first. "Mom, I love you more." How did that even happen — I mean, it's wild to hear that a Russian kid spent two years playing in Brazil for Corinthians, some academy program and all that? Well, look — we were living in St. Petersburg when he started, so by now he's got maybe ten years in the sport, more or less, and he'd already achieved some decent results. And every summer, whenever I had a break in the season, we'd always fly to Miami — and there he'd train individually, plus with a semi-pro team, just to keep sharp. There was a tournament where a Brazilian team came through — not their top squad, but from Corinthians. The coach he was training with individually there, a Brazilian named Guga, knew them. So they played the tournament, the Brazilians saw him and said, "Want to come train with us?" — basically an internship. I said, sure, why not. Especially since it lined up with the Copa América — after the 2018 World Cup here, they had the Copa América in 2019, that's like the South American championship. I said, we'll go watch some games too while we're at it, look around. So we went, he trained with them for two weeks, and they said, "Come back again sometime." So we went back the next year. Then the pandemic hit, and around that time Miami — well, Inter Miami was only just getting off the ground — the youth academy scene there was really weak. And he was at the age where you have to make a call. I told him, if you're really serious about football, we need to commit, go somewhere properly, because this isn't going to cut it here. He said, "Let's go." So he went, and at first I stayed with him for a bit, but I obviously couldn't be there all the time — I had to fly back. He enrolled in a regular Brazilian school with the other kids from the team, learned Portuguese. That's amazing. Then the paperwork fell through at Corinthians, because bringing in a foreign player requires FIFA clearance, this huge process — so he only ever played friendlies there. Everyone kept telling him, come on, let's figure this out. So we went to São Paulo — he actually said it himself, "Should we just leave, or give it one more shot?" He said, "Let's try." And he just went for it — bought a ticket, registered through the normal process, no connections, nothing, straight into São Paulo. And out of however many kids trying out, they kept him. He lived there a year, at the training facility. Honestly, I think that's an incredible story for him. Obviously it must have been really tough for him. Not "must have been" — it definitely was. He never told me directly, but I'm sure he vented to his mom about it plenty. First of all, he learned the language. Second, that whole footballing philosophy there — individual skills, ball control, confidence, one-on-one dribbling — that's exactly what they instill in kids. Whereas here, I think it's a huge mistake that results come first, over there up until age 15 it's all about individual development. You're taught not to be afraid — go at ten defenders if you have to. Lose the ball, no big deal. Beat two, three guys, that's fantastic. Their whole psychology around it is different too. So when we came back here... It wasn't easy for him either, adjusting. Adapting again, yeah. Did he pick the academy, or Dynamo himself? No, actually — we came back, and he got called up to the national team for the first time. That happened about six months before we left Brazil. There's a pattern people talk about in football now — coaches like Slutsky, Denisov, they all confirm it — this divide between kids born early in the year versus kids born in late autumn. Something like 80 percent of the pros currently playing in the Russian Premier League were born earlier in the year, because of early physical maturity, early development, all of that. Does anything like that exist in hockey? No, we don't have that kind of divide — it's strictly by birth year with us. Doesn't matter if you're born in fall, winter, or summer, same cutoff. Well, in my opinion, up to a certain age it does actually matter. Because, for example, you can have almost a full year's gap — one kid born January 1st, another born December 20th — and think about it at ages 8-9, 9-10, even 11-12, up to around 15, a year's difference in physical development is enormous. But then again, there are kids who mature early but end up developing more slowly later — maybe that's a smaller percentage. Maybe. But that doesn't happen in hockey — in hockey you play against your own age group. Actually, if anything, if a kid stands out relative to his own age group, they'll always bump him up to play with older kids. Some got that treatment, right? Same thing in football. Right now, for example, at Dynamo's academy, some of the kids are already training with the youth squad, some are even already playing with them. So overall, as a father, are you ready for the idea that your son has become a professional footballer, since he lives and breathes it around the clock now? Honestly, as his dad, I just support whatever he wants. And he's shown it, not just by saying it out loud, but especially this past year, through his whole attitude — it's clear he really wants to play football. He plays out wide, both flanks, left or right. Friends, this is the new season of Bench, and we're kicking it off. Our first guest was Ilya Kovalchuk. Just imagine what's coming next — so subscribe, leave your comments, suggest guests who deserve to sit in the seat across from us, right where an Olympic champion like Ilya Kovalchuk just sat. This is Mirabi... this is... this is Ilya Kovalchuk. We've kicked off the new season. Thanks, everyone. See you all tomorrow — we'll catch you at practice. Seven a.m.