The Envelope
I was around 12. Days of drowsy 4AM ’93 Finals watching with my Dad had been long gone. They drifted into the realm of hazy childhood memories along with teddy bears stashed in the attic, best friends who moved abroad and lullabies. They became memories you’re not entirely sure were real, but which somehow strike a chord when they float to surface by any chance. I wasn’t very much into sports – Formula 1 punched me in the gut when Ayrton Senna was taken away so that interest faded a couple of years after 1994. I casually followed football, played with my buddies, but nothing serious. And oh, I lived and still live in a small-to-mid town in Poland with no ice hockey traditions and no interest in the Montreal Canadiens. It is funny though – my Dad was a big time sports fan, so my stash of mid-90’s sports memories probably paint a completely false picture of a sports-crazy athletic kid. Even after Senna, I stuck around long enough to remember Hill and Villeneuve winning it all. I remember