Lilla Snigel

Midsummer. Swedish tradition suggests a Midsummer pole, typical food with potatoes, herring, and strawberries, dance, and being together with friends and family. Our group of soccer enthusiasts are in a hotel in a rainy Michigan, so no dance and no pole. Not much family or friends, but we have each other, which is actually not bad at all. It’s gameday, so we have to make it an early and somewhat improvised Midsummer dinner in the hotel conference room. The traditional food is there. And as tradition bids, lots of booze for consumption. There is singing. People are taking turns to tell jokes. The game we have all anticipated for long is coming closer. It’s a very important one for Sweden, facing Russia. It’ll more or less determine the outcome of the tournament for our team - a defeat and we go home, a win and we’re on a roll.

The game itself developed to become a classic in Swedish soccer history. In the Pontiac Silverdome, we defeated Russia, 3 - 1, after a couple of beautiful goals by the Swedish striker Martin Dahlin. The arena exploded as Sweden took command of the game. That is when tables turned, when a number of bad or not so good years turned into one that still today people talk about, a Midsummer when people remember exactly what they were doing and where. It’s one of those events that you’d want to last forever, but one that is over too soon when you’re in the middle of it. Years later I also found out that a Canadian course mate had been at the very same game.

But what I remember most vividly is the short walk from the hotel to the arena, about a mile/a kilometer and half inbetween. The rain had stopped, so it was a rather pleasant walk after the food and the drinks. After rain all sorts of things come out. The rainbow is one thing. Also slugs. As I was walking with my travel mate, we noticed a slug along the road. On this road with no sidewalks and heavy traffic, we both thought of the same childrens’ song - Lilla Snigel. Translated, it goes something like “Little slug, watch out, or I’ll get you”. That’s pretty much the whole lyrics actually. Naturally, we started singing. Loudly. And we didn’t stop after one verse as is customary, we kept on going, each time an octave higher. The slug probably didn’t make it. But the memory did.

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