Have a seat, Mr. Samuelsson,'' said the Spanish Mullah, speaking in English
with only a trace of Castillian lisp. 

Ulfie blinked. Seated to the mullah's right was the president of the
International Ice Hockey Federation, a general from France. On the mullah's
left sat a man Ulfie didn't recognize. 

''There are only three chairs,'' Ulfie said at last. ''You gentlemen have them all.
How can I be seated?''

''Who invited you to sit?'' the mullah said sternly. ''I said 'Have a seat.' And
you do. There beneath your lower back. 

''Why have you brought me here?'' Ulfie asked testily. ''My team has a game
to play tonight. I should be at the rink right now, practicing tripping and
cross-checking. You never know when a referee's going to turn his head, and
I have to be ready.'' 

''There is a problem,'' said the mullah. 

''It was a clean, legal hit,'' Ulfie said reflexively.

The mullah said, ''It's not about a charge or a cross-check, I'm afraid.'' 

''I had a cold,'' Ulfie said. ''I took a few hundred Sudafed. Big deal.'' 

General Malaise, the head of the International Ice Hockey Federation, said to
Ulfie: ''Allow me to introduce the third member of the disciplinary committee
-- Bjornagain Bjornson. He represents the Swedish Immigration and
Naturalization Entity, known also as SWINE.'' 

''Pleased to meet you,'' Ulfie said politely. 

''Don't be so sure,'' Bjornson said, his gaze as cold as winter in Malmo.

''What's this about a disciplinary committee?'' Ulfie asked. ''Am I accused of
doing something wrong?'' 

''Off with his head,'' roared the Spanish mullah, making Ulfie jump. 

Bjornson ignored the outburst. Staring at Ulfie, the man from SWINE said,
''When is a Swede not a Swede?'' 

''We'll have some fun now,'' Ulfie thought. ''Next to pestering forwards to
death, what I like best are riddles.'' 

''Beats me,'' he said aloud at last. 

''Me too,'' the general admitted. 

''Me three,'' said the mullah. 

''When is a Swede not a Swede?'' Ulfie asked. 

''When I say so,'' Bjornagain Bjornson answered. 

''Say what?'' asked Ulfie. 

''It's very simple,'' the Spanish mullah said. ''You can't play for the Swedish
hockey team, since you are not Swedish.''

You could have knocked Ulfie over with a two-hander to the adam's apple.
''That's absurd,'' he said. ''Of course I'm Swedish.'' 

The man from SWINE raised an imperious hand. ''Sorry,'' he said, in a tone
that said he wasn't sorry at all. ''That isn't the way we see it.'' 

''I was born in Sweden,'' Ulfie protested. ''I grew up there, learned hockey
there. I married a Swedish girl. We made Swedish babies. I'm as Swedish as
Swedish can be. I'm as Swedish as Swedish meatballs.'' 

''Not as far as he's concerned,'' the mullah said, pointing a thumb at Bjornson.
''You have a U.S. passport, we're told.'' 

''For convenience only,'' said Ulfie. ''I work in the U.S., you see. Or rather in
New York, which is almost the same thing. . . .'' 

''Swedish law is very clear,'' Bjornson interrupted. ''You get a foreign
passport, you are no longer a Swedish citizen.'' 

''And if you're not a Swede,'' the mullah said, ''why would we let you play for
Sweden?'' 

Ulfie thought about that. ''Zola Budd is South African,'' he said at last. ''She
only pretended to renounce her citizenship. You let her run for Great Britain.'' 

''True,'' said the mullah. ''But we banned Sidney Maree to demonstrate our
opposition to South African apartheid.'' 

''Sidney Maree is black,'' Ulfie said darkly. 

''Don't try to confuse us with logic,'' the general snapped. ''We're beyond
that.'' 

''You are lucky I don't have you arrested for impersonating a Swede,''
Bjornagain Bjornson added. 

''But I am a Swede,'' Ulfie insisted. 

''You were a Swede,'' the mullah explained. ''You were a Pittsburgh Penguin
once. Now you're a former Penguin. It's not all that different.'' 

''If I'm not a Swede, what am I then?'' Ulfie asked. ''I've never applied for
U.S. citizenship.'' 

''You are a man without a country,'' the Spanish mullah said brightly.
''Doomed to sail a merchant ship loaded with Saabs and Volvos between
New York and Stockholm and never debark in either port. Now pack your
things. You're on the next bus out of Nagano.'' 

''Don't I get a trial?'' Ulfie asked. 

''Whatever for?'' the mullah replied. ''You have a verdict.'' 

''And it's more than fair,'' the general said. ''We're letting Sweden keep the
victories it earned with an ineligible player in its lineup.'' 

''It's lunacy,'' said Ulfie the Erstwhile Swede. 

''It's the Olympics,'' the Spanish mullah said, shrugging. ''Faster. Higher.
Dumber.''Have a seat, Mr. Samuelsson,'' said the Spanish Mullah, speaking in English
with only a trace of Castillian lisp. 

Ulfie blinked. Seated to the mullah's right was the president of the
International Ice Hockey Federation, a general from France. On the mullah's
left sat a man Ulfie didn't recognize. 

''There are only three chairs,'' Ulfie said at last. ''You gentlemen have them all.
How can I be seated?''

''Who invited you to sit?'' the mullah said sternly. ''I said 'Have a seat.' And
you do. There beneath your lower back. 

''Why have you brought me here?'' Ulfie asked testily. ''My team has a game
to play tonight. I should be at the rink right now, practicing tripping and
cross-checking. You never know when a referee's going to turn his head, and
I have to be ready.'' 

''There is a problem,'' said the mullah. 

''It was a clean, legal hit,'' Ulfie said reflexively.

The mullah said, ''It's not about a charge or a cross-check, I'm afraid.'' 

''I had a cold,'' Ulfie said. ''I took a few hundred Sudafed. Big deal.'' 

General Malaise, the head of the International Ice Hockey Federation, said to
Ulfie: ''Allow me to introduce the third member of the disciplinary committee
-- Bjornagain Bjornson. He represents the Swedish Immigration and
Naturalization Entity, known also as SWINE.'' 

''Pleased to meet you,'' Ulfie said politely. 

''Don't be so sure,'' Bjornson said, his gaze as cold as winter in Malmo.

''What's this about a disciplinary committee?'' Ulfie asked. ''Am I accused of
doing something wrong?'' 

''Off with his head,'' roared the Spanish mullah, making Ulfie jump. 

Bjornson ignored the outburst. Staring at Ulfie, the man from SWINE said,
''When is a Swede not a Swede?'' 

''We'll have some fun now,'' Ulfie thought. ''Next to pestering forwards to
death, what I like best are riddles.'' 

''Beats me,'' he said aloud at last. 

''Me too,'' the general admitted. 

''Me three,'' said the mullah. 

''When is a Swede not a Swede?'' Ulfie asked. 

''When I say so,'' Bjornagain Bjornson answered. 

''Say what?'' asked Ulfie. 

''It's very simple,'' the Spanish mullah said. ''You can't play for the Swedish
hockey team, since you are not Swedish.''

You could have knocked Ulfie over with a two-hander to the adam's apple.
''That's absurd,'' he said. ''Of course I'm Swedish.'' 

The man from SWINE raised an imperious hand. ''Sorry,'' he said, in a tone
that said he wasn't sorry at all. ''That isn't the way we see it.'' 

''I was born in Sweden,'' Ulfie protested. ''I grew up there, learned hockey
there. I married a Swedish girl. We made Swedish babies. I'm as Swedish as
Swedish can be. I'm as Swedish as Swedish meatballs.'' 

''Not as far as he's concerned,'' the mullah said, pointing a thumb at Bjornson.
''You have a U.S. passport, we're told.'' 

''For convenience only,'' said Ulfie. ''I work in the U.S., you see. Or rather in
New York, which is almost the same thing. . . .'' 

''Swedish law is very clear,'' Bjornson interrupted. ''You get a foreign
passport, you are no longer a Swedish citizen.'' 

''And if you're not a Swede,'' the mullah said, ''why would we let you play for
Sweden?'' 

Ulfie thought about that. ''Zola Budd is South African,'' he said at last. ''She
only pretended to renounce her citizenship. You let her run for Great Britain.'' 

''True,'' said the mullah. ''But we banned Sidney Maree to demonstrate our
opposition to South African apartheid.'' 

''Sidney Maree is black,'' Ulfie said darkly. 

''Don't try to confuse us with logic,'' the general snapped. ''We're beyond
that.'' 

''You are lucky I don't have you arrested for impersonating a Swede,''
Bjornagain Bjornson added. 

''But I am a Swede,'' Ulfie insisted. 

''You were a Swede,'' the mullah explained. ''You were a Pittsburgh Penguin
once. Now you're a former Penguin. It's not all that different.'' 

''If I'm not a Swede, what am I then?'' Ulfie asked. ''I've never applied for
U.S. citizenship.'' 

''You are a man without a country,'' the Spanish mullah said brightly.
''Doomed to sail a merchant ship loaded with Saabs and Volvos between
New York and Stockholm and never debark in either port. Now pack your
things. You're on the next bus out of Nagano.'' 

''Don't I get a trial?'' Ulfie asked. 

''Whatever for?'' the mullah replied. ''You have a verdict.'' 

''And it's more than fair,'' the general said. ''We're letting Sweden keep the
victories it earned with an ineligible player in its lineup.'' 

''It's lunacy,'' said Ulfie the Erstwhile Swede. 

''It's the Olympics,'' the Spanish mullah said, shrugging. ''Faster. Higher.
Dumber.'' 

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