A golden Finnish

I went 5-1 picking the quarter and semifinal men's Olympic hockey winners ... hmmm -- maybe there is a career in this?

SWEDEN-FINLAND: This quote from Finland's Saku Koivu explains in a nutshell how important Sunday's gold-medal game is for that country.

"It does make it bigger when you face Sweden. We feel that they always think that they're better than us," said Koivu, the Finns' leading scorer with eight assists and 11 points. "We've played against them so often for so many years, and I think every country has their opponent that they really want to beat.

"For us, it's Sweden."

Unlike our so-called athletes -- read: Bode Miller, Shani Davis, Michelle Kwan, Chad Hedrick, Shaun White -- the Finns buy into the team concept.

And yes, I know the "Flying Tomato" won gold and all, but trolling for a date from Sasha Cohen (hot, but reeks of being a princess) was fairly pathetic. I hear Spicolli in the back of my mind when I look at White.

But back to the Finns. No one gave them much chance with other teams like Canada, the Czechs, Russia and Sweden there. Instead, they have six of the top nine scorers at the games, and have given up just five goals in seven games.

Sweden is good. Finland is better. ... FINLAND 5, SWEDEN 0

And then there were two ....

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OK ... just waiting for the hardcore bettors to come forward ...

Still waiting ...

Oh, yeah, with the United States and Canada out, no one cares.

Guess again! (And for those counting, I went 3-1 in quarterfinal picks.)

===

1. SWEDEN-CZECH REPUBLIC: For New York Rangers fans, this is going to look real familiar. The Czechs feature NHL scoring leader Jaromir Jagr, Martin Rucinsky and Martin Straka. Jagr may still be feeling some after-effects of a check into the boards by Finland's Sami Salo in round-robin play that led to nine stitches.

Sweden, though, has rookie goaltender Henrik Lundqvist, who has played in major tournaments before. He is Sweden's answer to a young Patrick Roy. And it doesn't matter how much offense you have -- a good goaltender wins out each time. If Peter Forsberg plays -- and he has been rested for this -- Sweden should move on. ... SWEDEN 3, CZECH REPUBLIC 1.

2. FINLAND-RUSSIA: This shapes up as the best match of the Olympics. The two highest-scoring teams also feature two of the best defenses. Finland's Antero Niittymaki and Fredrik Norrena combined for four shutouts while Evgeni Nabokov has three shutouts.

Finland, though, plays more of a team game with four players in the top 10 in scoring -- Teemu Selanne, Saku Koivu, Jere Lehtinen and Olli Jokinen. Russia only has Pavel Datsyuk in the top 10. The Finns are playing for pride, never having won a gold and not having won silver since 1980.

Russia has won 12 medals, including a record eight golds, since 1924. They won't get a ninth. ... FINLAND 2, RUSSIA 1

Hermetically sealed on Funk & Wagnalls' back porch ...

Because I live for this ... my predictions for the men's hockey quarterfinals in Turin ...

1. Switzerland-Sweden: The Swiss have been the feel-good story of the Olympics, but the run ends here. While the Swiss have two fine NHL goaltenders in David Aebischer and Martin Gerber, the Swedes have more weapons on offense and defense and they have been here before ... SWEDEN 4, SWITZERLAND 1

2. Czech Republic-Slovakia: This is a juicy game with the countries meeting for the first time since the 1993 split of Czechoslovakia. The Czechs are banged up with Jagr still feeling the after-effects of being rammed into the boards by a Finnish defenseman and Hasek out with a leg injury. Two words describe the Slovaks -- upstart and dynamic. If not for Switzerland's surprising run, Slovakia would be the story ... SLOVAKIA 5, CZECH REPUBLIC 3

3. Russia-Canada: Both teams have combined for 14 gold medals since 1924, but one of them will be disappointed at the end of the day. Given the lackluster way the Canadians have been playing, I think they need to concentrate more on Vancouver in 2010. Perhaps by then people from Prince George to Corner Brook will have forgiven them. Canada's goaltending will keep it close, but Russia has way too many players who can put the puck in the net ... RUSSIA 3, CANADA 1

4. Finland-United States: For years, and for reasons I am still trying to figure out, I have rooted for the Finns. This is the year I think they can put it together. They have the offense with Selanne and Lehtinen. They have allowed just two goals in five games. The United States -- like many of the athletes there -- have looked disinterested. The Americans also will have to win three in a row if they want to leave with gold. That's just not happening ... FINLAND 5, UNITED STATES 1

The aftermath

So, like I said .. it's been three years since I had my stomach stapled. First, I want to address some myths.

SWING AND A MYTH: You can't eat anymore.
MYTH-UNDERSTOOD: As the doctors and nutritionists told me before all this started ... yes, you can eat again and in time, you can eat anything you want, provided it agrees with you. What you cannot do is eat like you used to.

Technically, that is not true. If **could** eat like I used to, but all I would do is make myself sick ... and I don't know about you, but throwing up is right there with evisceration as the worst feeling in the world to me.

Speaking of eating like I used to, some gastronomic idiocy in my life: Most White Castle cheeseburgers in one sitting -- 26; dinner many nights in Missouri -- one pound of pasta, one stick of butter (time needed to consume it, about 20 minutes); most beers in one sitting -- 24 (an even case in high school ... and since I hated light beer, multiply 24 by 288 to see how many calories I consumed); a normal McDonald's lunch for me when I worked in Missouri -- double QP with cheese extra-value meal, super-sized AND a nine-piece Chicken McNuggets. Amazing I didn't turn my arteries into fuel injectors.

MYTH MANNERS: Gastric bypass is the easy way out.
MYTH BUSTERS: Ahhh, Bill Maher. You fucking jackass.

Before a surgeon takes scapel to skin, the patient undergoes a battery of tests, both medical and psychological, to see if he or she is ready for this. One of the things you come to grips with this change of life.

One of the things you have to do is list all of the diets you've tried, regardless of success or failure. I'm a veteran: Weight Watchers -- twice (including when I was eight!) ... Overeaters' Anonymous ... Xenical ... starvation (like that was going to work?!)

An aside about WW ... I am sure it has changed and been tweaked over the years. My meetings were held on Springfield Boulevard in the basement of an establishment called Zip'z -- a place where you could create your own ice cream sundaes. How's that for delicious irony?

It is not the "easy way out" for most people. I am sure there are some out there who undergo this procedure, lose hundreds of pounds and then go right back to eating the way they used to, completely defeating the purpose. I was taught this is not a solution, but a window of opportunity.

I look at this is akin to clearing a hard drive on a computer.

MYTH COMMUNICATION: Why should my insurance rates go up because some fat slob cannot control him or herself? Just push yourself away from the table.
MYTH-ING LINK: In a way, someone saying this is correct. My surgery cost the same as a mid-sized SUV, about $34,000, and yes, insurance picked up a large chunk of that.

I was 37 when it was done and figure I added, if I stay healthy, about 15 years to my life. Of course, if I hadn't had the surgery, and I lived to say, 70-75, I am sure I would have had at least one heart attack, and I don't want to even consider all the co-morbidities, like diabetes.

I'm sure insurance would be so much more. If I lived. I figure it I kept going the way I was, I'd be dead by 44.

As for just pushing yourself away from the table, I would have liked to, except that walking -- even short distances -- caused my left leg to go weak and then numb. Try having to take a rest on a bench at Wal-Mart because you cannot walk.

By the way, I can walk five miles now easy and probably much, much more.

===

So, what's it like being on the other side?

The "other side" is what the obese call normalcy. It's pretty good, but there is one side effect.

To look at me, I look like a normal person. The gut it still there, something that needs to be worked off -- preferable to further body alteration: THAT would be the easy way out. Really, the only way you would know I had this done is very subtle ... I have bit of a wattle under my neck and there are some folds visible on my neck when I turn it.

But there are times when I see myself in the mirror and staring back at me is that 373-pound individual hell-bent on eating himself to death. He will probably always be part of me, and that's not necessarily a bad thing ... keeps me grounded.

In fact, I keep my ID card from when I worked the 2002 Little League World Series in my wallet. It was six months before my surgery and I figure I was about 365 in that photo. That will always be a part of me as well.

===

Things I can do that I never though I could before ...

Walk long distances ... order food at a restaurant and leave with a doggy bag ... give up fast food altogether (OK, I admit it, I do eat it rarely -- but not 4-6 times a week like I used to) ... give up soda with sugar (since all this, I have had about a third of a 20-ounce bottle of that low-carb Coca-Cola, C2 -- awful) ... buy clothes off the rack at a department store ... fit in the driver's seat of a compact car ... not use a seat-belt extender when I fly ... have sex in positions that were all but impossible or incredibly painful before ... not have to get clothes from a Big and Tall shop ... run.

===

If anyone reading this has any questions or wants to know more, they can leave a message or e-mail me direct at alefko@gmail.com.

Happy Birthday to me!

Happy birthday

I was born in September 1965. I was reborn three years ago today.

No ... I did not find religion. Far from it. On Feb. 18, 2003, I underwent a surgical procedure that turned my life around in ways I could not even start to imagine.

The technical term is "roux-en-y gastric bypass." The layman's term, stomach stapling.

Whatever you want to call it, I know what the end result is: I lost 171 pounds, reaching a low weight of 202. You can do the math -- I was 373 at my heaviest. Three years later, I tip the scales at 216.

Here's what I remember so vividly from that day. I had drive from Joplin, Mo. to have the surgery done in New York City and recover for six weeks at my parent's house. Just in time for a blizzard too as about two feet of snow fell the day before and it took me some three hours to get to upper Manhattan to have tests done.

I was shoveling their walk and ready to dig out our cars when my father called me from the front door.

"Andrew, phone," he said.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is St. Luke-Roosevelt Hospital. I understand you will be having surgery tomorrow. We need you to come for testing," a somewhat cheery voice said on the other end.

I paused, looked outside and pointed something out the somewhat cheery voice may have missed. "Um, you know there's two feet of snow outside?" I said.

"We'll be here," she responded.

"It will take me several hours to get there," I warned.

"We'll be here," she said again.

So I eventually made my way to a subway station in Sunnyside and, as I thought, three hours to get there -- including a 15-minute trek down my parents' unplowed block. Testing wasn't bad only because I had my gall bladder out four years earlier -- two hours instead of eight.

The next morning, my father drove me to a subway station in Flushing at about 4:30 in the morning. Dressed in a pair of sweats and a winter jacket, I got on the 7 train.

I am an anxious sort, so you can imagine the war of words going on in my mind.

"You can still back out," one faction said. "You can always say no."

"You've come this far," the other side said. "Don't back out now."

That other voice was right. It wasn't the testing, the psych profiles and the meetings with nutritionists. It was being made fun of in school while growing up for always -- and I mean ALWAYS -- the heaviest kid.

It was being the heaviest person no matter where I was. Malls. Stadiums.

It was never having a date in high school. It was a girlfriend's father disgusted by the size of the person she was dating and even considered marrying.

It was being turned down for jobs and advancement because of my size. I had a boss when I was in inside sales for a publishing house -- and since this is a blog, I have no qualms about naming names: Dino Battista of the Free Press -- who was visibly repulsed every time I was in his office to meet.

It was the constant pain in my knees, hips, ankles.

It was the frustration in feeling like a freak. No one wants to sit next to a fat person on mass transit or an airplane (believe me, I did my share of apologizing for my size when I flew.)

It was a miracle I didn't kill myself years earlier, because I definitely considered it more than once.

One thing, though ... I blame no one but me for getting to the size I did. I ate the fast food. Hell, I ate anything I wanted and as much as I wanted and didn't care. A six-pack of Coke or Pepsi a day -- 1,080 calories -- was normal. I'm not about to sue McDonald's or Burger King for a lifelong lack of self-control.

For the record: height ... 5-foot-10; heaviest weight ... 373 pounds; largest waist size ... 54"; largest shirt ... 20 1/2" for a dress shirt, XXXL for T-shirts; shoe size ... 12EEEE.

===

Though I am a native New Yorker, I ended up on the wrong train uptown -- took the 2 instead of the 1 and ended up on the wrong side of Central Park. So, here it is, about 5:20 AM, lost in my hometown, scared to death of undergoing surgery that caused some deaths.

Somehow, I lucked out. Despite the early morning and the blizzard, I found a cab. Jamaican driver. Thought I was nuts to be out at that time. Told him I was undergoing surgery in a couple hours. Tipped him $10.

I made it to St. Luke's at about 6 AM. Was scheduled for 7.

I sat in a lockerroom-type area. My clothes and boots stowed away and me sitting on a bench wearing a surgical gown and hat and trying not to break out bawling. Unlike "ER" or "Third Watch," I wasn't wheeled into the operating room. I got to walk in and hop up on the table.

"They're gonna gut you like a fish," that nagging voice said. "You're going to die. Back out."

Once everything was in place -- IV, monitors -- a mask was put over my face and I was told to count down from 100. I think I made to 97 when I was out.

I woke up in intensive care about five hours later. I was alive, awake, aware. I looked under the gown I was wearing. Yeah, they gutted me alright ... a thick black line of stitches and staples from navel to breastbone. The hardest part was over. So I thought.

Maybe it was all the hospital dramas I watched. Maybe it was having an aunt who was head nurse at one of New York's best hospitals. Maybe it was a feeling in my newly sized gut. Something was wrong.

Over the next few hours, I went from feeling alert to tired and then sluggish. At some point, while lying on the gurney in ICU, I was able to look at the monitor above and to my left. Pulse was way too high. Blood pressure dropping -- not a steep drop, but slow and steady.

Around 5 p.m., a ring of doctors and interns were around my bed and they all had the some look on their faces: uh-oh. Given that I felt as weak as I ever had, I knew something was very wrong. A doctor who assisted the one who did the surgery came forward and told me I needed to go back into surgery.

"Am I going to die?" I asked.

"We need to get you back in now," he said (and for the life of me, I cannot remember his name -- but he did have the same procedure done and lost 110 pounds.)

"Just get me out of this alive," I said. "And someone call my parents and let them know what's happening."

This time I was wheeled back into surgery, although I had to boost myself off the gurney and onto the operating table ... no easy feat, I can assure you. About three hours later, I was back in ICU with a new set of staples and stitches.

What was wrong was that something in the new stomach was not tied off properly and I was leaking blood into my abdomen. In between surgeries, I lost about two liters' worth.

Oh, and my parents were never alerted.

===

I ended up spending about five days in ICU and a day and a half in a room with an automated and oversized bed that I imagined could have held someone weighing about 900 pounds. Felt good so long as my legs were higher than my head.

I watched news about a Rhode Island nightclub fire where an 80s hair band lit off pyrotechnics, killing 100 people. The city continued digging out of the blizzard. Terrorism was quickly ruled out as the cause of a refinery explosion on Staten Island.

I was discharged after a week and returned to my bedroom in the house where I grew up. Though I had long since moved out again, they bought a platform bed and an air mattress for me to sleep on.

Things from early on in my recovery ... turning over on my side and feeling my insides shift when I moved; our cat, Summer, jumping on the bed and poking her face at me, sensing I was not well ... needing 45 minutes to eat a portion of one sunnyside egg.

Next: What the last three years have been like.

Czech-mate

I'll make it simple -- if you're favored to medal at the Olympics, YOU CANNOT LOSE TO SWITZERLAND (a noted bunch of chocolatiers and fondue-eaters.)

Really. Part of the rules. When you have international superstars like Jagr, Lang, Vokoun and so on, there are no excuses.

Two days into the men's hockey event at Turin have seen the biggest upset (Swiss top Czechs 3-2) and a near upset (U.S. rallied for 3-3 tie with Latvia). While Canada is still far and away the team to beat for gold, it will be interesting to see who moves on to the medal round.

Next ... Stephen A. for Stephin Fetchit?

Bet this didn't show up in the transactions section of your sports page this past week ...

WALT DISNEY CO.: Traded the rights to sportscaster Al Michaels to the National Broadcasting Company for cable rights to Friday play of the next four Ryder Cups, increased usage of Olympic highlights and the right to Oswald the Lucky Rabbit.

Sorry, but if I was NBC, I would have held out for Goofy, Pluto and a fourth-round draft pick.

A tarnished legacy

I have been fortunate enough to be in the same lockerrom as Wayne Gretzky when he was with the New York Rangers, standing literally inches away from the greatest player in hockey history as he would talk post-game.

One annoying trait about him was that he would never speak above a low tone, forcing the media crush around him to lean in with their notebooks, tape recorders and microphones. For being the best ever at what he did, Gretzky never seemed comfortable being in the spotlight.

He may have to learn to get comfortable with that real soon.

According to Thursday's edition Newark Star-Ledger, Gretzky was caught by New Jersey state wiretaps talking about the multimillion-dollar gambling ring allegedly helped run by his friend and Phoenix Coyotes assistant Rick Tocchet.

Gretzky, the NHL's all-time scoring leader and the Coyotes' coach, denied any knowledge of the ring on Tuesday.



But law enforcement sources told the Star-Ledger that the Hall of Famer spoke about the ring, and that investigators are looking into whether he placed any wagers through his wife, actress Janet Jones.

According to the newspaper, Jones waged $500,000 on sporting events during the past six weeks, including $75,000 on last week's Super Bowl. Authorities are considering whether to issue a subpoena ordering Gretzky to testify before a state grand jury, sources told the paper.

This has the opportunity to become very ugly, especially if it is found Gretzky placed bets, especially on hockey. Think Pete Rose.

What do you think? I'd like to know.

Overstaying the welcome

So, Jerome Bettis gets his Super Bowl ring ... and then announces "The Bus" is being garaged.

Neither bit of news Sunday -- Steelers winning the Super Bowl or Bettis announcing his retirement moments after winning the championship -- was much of surprise. Super Bowl XL will probably go down more in history as the game the Seahawks gave away rather than the Steelers winning.

For Bettis, it was a nice end to a nice career. When you ask who are the top five rushers in NFL history at the water cooler or watering hole, the first three ... make that three and a half ... should be easy. Emmitt Smith, Walter Payton and Barry Sanders should take all of 8 milliseconds to spit out.

Number four? C'mon. You know it. All those who guessed Curtis Martin, take a big step forward.

Number five is that one that makes you say "Oh, I know that one ... I'm gonna kick myself when I hear his name." Big hint. He just called it quits.

And that brings me to what I really want write about. Have you seen Jerome Bettis? Shades of the Bears' William Perry 20 years ago. There is no delicate way to put it -- Bettis is out of shape for a running back. May be just perfect for an offensive lineman though.

Players who stick around professional sports one (or a few seasons) too long are all too common. And then again why not? They are treated as gods and make incredible amounts of money even when not playing.

As for that last point, professional players get a per diem -- meal money -- that they can spend as they please. Why go to Peter Luger's of Chicago Chophouse when you can hit Subway?

So, ESPN radio about a week or so ago posed a question to listeners: if you could go back in time and tell any player to stop and retire before they played that one final -- painful season -- who would it be?

Here are some for you to consider ...

1) Joe Namath: "Broadway Joe" will always be linked with the New York Jets and for trying to get inside the pants of ESPN's Suzy Kolber on national TV. Does anyone remember him with the Los Angeles Rams? Four games in 1977. Three touchdowns. Five interceptions. Just 606 passing yards.

2) Willie Mays: Some say the greatest center fielder ever with 660 career homers, 3,283 hits and 338 stolen bases. Returned to New York to play with the Mets and managed just 44 hits, six homers and 25 RBI in 209 at-bats. Ouch.

3) Michael Jordan: For my money, the greatest NBA player I ever saw. Even though he averaged better than 20 points per game in his final two seasons in Washington Wizards blue, black and bronze, he looked little like the player that averaged more than 30 points seven straight seasons and the Chicago Bulls to six championships.

4) Mario Lemieux. Love hockey. Love that he kept Pittsburgh on the NHL map -- for now. Questioned the decision to come back after the lockout. Seven goals in 26 games before calling it career last month because of a heart problem. In his defense, he got the chance to play with Sidney Crosby, possibly the next Lemieux.

Who would you pick? What do you think? I'd like to know.