"Seventh Heaven!" - That's the headline of today's Edmonton Journal. The Oilers razed the Hurricanes 4:0. (Isn't it unbelievable in how many ways you can describe "beat overwhelmingly"? Raze, humble, rout are just three terms I came across the past few days. That would be an interesting mediasportosociolinguistic research topic.) Oh yes, we kicked their ass! It's 3:3 in the series and tomorrow's crucial seventh game will bring the final decision. Carolina has the advantage of playing at home but I think, winning the last two matches, and thus coming back from a nearly hopeless 1:3 should boost the Oilers confidence and give them a psychological advantage.

Unfortunately (or in the end maybe fortunately?) Kamilla's got the flue so we had to cancel our ice hockey arrangements for yesterday. That meant I had to plan on my own (David and Lilla have gone on a trip to the Rocky Mountains for the weekend) and I celebrated a glorious victory over myself by moving my ass! I decided not to go to a pub on Whyte Avenue but to the (Old) Powerplant, a Restaurant-Pub on Campus just next door to the Institute because I thought there could be the more interesting audience (in terms of socialising), which, as it turned out, was a good choice. (Just as a footnote I may add that I've enjoyed the delighting sight of the two most beautiful women within those three weeks, which is more than enough compensation for the next 20 woodlice I have to face.)

I shared a table with four Canadians and had a nice talk with one of them, Andrew, who also gave me a short introduction into the concept of fouls in ice hockey. (I had been quite irritated this week when the Newspapers celebrated an Oilers player for acting so roughly that he slightly injured Carolina players, but obviously that's considered to be part of the game as long as the attacks themselves are legal.) I also enriched my leisure vocabulary with one important word: Foosball. Andrew asked me whether I play "Fusball" and I looked at him and thought, oh, obviously he knows a bit of German and answered that I used to play but I haven't been playing soccer for a while now. He said: "No, I was asking whether you play Foosball." and made this familiar gesture which clarified the misunderstanding: Foosball is a term for tabletop soccer (Tischfußball, Wuzln and Calcetto)! It was good to know because later that evening a guy from Teheran, Armin (obviously that's an Iranian name as well), asked me whether I wanna play Foosball - and I beat him twice! But admittedly it was an unfair duel because by then I was already having a 4:0 lead in terms of pints of Molson's Canadian (to which I later added a final fifth one) and as Dominik can surely confirm, beer sometimes surprisingly increases ones ability in pool or Foosball.

By that time Andrew and his friends were already gone, they left for Whyte Avenue right after the match. Before the match punk rock bands had been doing their sound-check and as I found the sound quite pleasant I decided to stay and worship Saint Tinnitus, whose spirit is still within my head. The acts were part of a university conference in Edmonton where those people who organise events at their universities and colleges (or "schools" as they like to call it here) came together to exchange experiences and meet delegates from companies which provide assistance and equipment for such events.

Music finished at about one or half past one o'clock at which point they all decided to join the Whyte Avenue celebrations. However, they had no clue how to get there. So it ended up with me trying to guide a bunch of Canadians from all over the country to Whyte Avenue! (See Florian, even without your suggestion I was moving the crowds!) I say trying because it is not easy to keep together a group of about two dozens of students (all more or less tipsy I would suspect), especially if the people at the back don't know about or don't believe in your qualities as a reliable guide. So finally I lead a few and the rest stayed behind and when I decided I'd wait for the latter I finally was on my own again. (Yet another proof that I am not suitable for the job of a teacher, because any field trip would inevitably result in a fiasco.)

So I ended the evening (or night, or morning) with walking along Whyte Avenue watching the celebrating fans, giving high fives to oncoming people and looking for a place where I might be able to get a final sixth pint (for celebrating the Oilers" victory in the sixth match). The latter turned out to be a futile endeavour because those places I knew where already closing down. It actually seemed to me that at that time people on both sides of the street were basically just walking around in the hopeless hope of finding a place.

Again, as last week after the Ball, security measures where high and I now had the opportunity to experience them from inside. Obviously those riots from the night after my arrival have really shocked authorities. Back then about 30,000 people had celebrated the Oiler's victory over Anaheim, which meant qualification for the final. In the end fires had been lit on the street, windows smashed and phone boots destroyed. (Andrew told me one of his friends was there and got beaten up because around three o'clock in the morning he considered it a good ide to find out what would happen if he showed the police his naked backside.) As last week they did not close the road for cars but instead for pedestrians and nobody was allowed to set a foot on the street. Some police(wo)men were quite nice and posed for photos with fans, but they were very alert and I've also seen someone being arrested.

Overall I'd describe the atmosphere as quiet but not relaxed. In my view it might have been wiser to give the fans more room to celebrate and close Whyte Avenue at least partially for cars, but well, I suppose polices knows what it's doing. However, there was a point when I began doubting it. Security measures included that crossing the street was only allowed at specific zebra crossings. So when I saw a pub on the other side which seemed to be open I learned that I would have to continue walking to 102nd Street (which was even further away from my home) and then go back on that side or return on my side back to 107th Street, cross there and walk back to the pub on the other side. The distance between 102nd and 107th Street is about one kilometre, and with all due respect to public order, allowing no one to cross in between such a distance seems a bit off the mark. The other, forbidden side seemed so close and for a second I thought it would be interesting to try whether I'd be quick enough to cross if I'd just start running, but of course my natural sense of reason argued successfully against such follies.

Anyway, when I finally reached 107th (which was where I had to leave Whyte Avenue for going home) I was too annoyed and couldn't be bothered anymore to walk around randomly and went home. But not before being grabbed by some Oilers fan who claimed I would resemble Oiler's player Fernando Pisano and having a picture taken of the two of us. Pisano scored the match winning overtime goal last match and the opening goal this match. In the stadium someone had a poster reading "There was something in the air that night. The stars were bright. FERNANDO" but I doubt many people know that it's a quote from the Abba song Fernando...