I wrote this shortly after Sergei Fedorov signed with the Anaheim Mighty Ducks.


After thirteen years, he's gone. Three Cups, a good career, and now he's off to California... Somehow, I think California suits Sergei better than Detroit ever could.

Seems like he was always searching for a part of himself that was gone, lost. That he couldn't find when he was here. That he couldn't find with Anna. He just never totally seemed there to me. He always seemed like a superstar on the brink, never totally exposing himself, never totally coming out of his shell. Like he was holding himself back.

For what? From whom? Us, the fans? Ken Holland? The team? Anna?

That man is an enigma. I suspect he always will remain so, even in Anaheim. But maybe he'll emerge from his Sergei cocoon into what he'd never be here in Detroit. In Detroit, he always seemed like a man in a shell, a man closing himself off from everyone else. Aloof. Distant.

Maybe he'll be what he never could be here in Detroit. Maybe now that he's gone, he'll open himself up.

I suppose I'll miss him now that he's gone, just as I never truly appreciated him when he was ours.

He's like sand; the harder you try to close your fist around it, the more it slips through your fingers. Sergei is like that sand, slipping through my fingers like soft silk. Unattainable, uncatchable.

A falling star. An old, fading Polaroid picture.

Sand slipping through our fingers, never to be regained.