Original subtitles

Where the fuck are you? Dad is so fucking mad at you!

You need a haircut.

Yes, sir.

The minister still wants to meet you tonight, despite everything.

It will be my honour.

You should be honoured.

After yesterday.

You lose to.

Latvia.

And yet, he drinks.

How could you let that happen?

How are you not ashamed?

I'm ashamed, Father.

Not nearly enough.

They teach you no discipline in the American league.

Your play is sloppy.

The real shame is squandering the promise you showed when you were young.

I am a better player now than I have ever been.

Our goalie is hurt. The team didn't click.

Click?

What is this American nonsense? What is clicking?

You are the captain. You make them click!

Always looking for someone else to blame.

Since you were a boy.

Who tied this for you?

Your mother?

She doesn't know how to do this properly.

No, Father.

Mom is dead.

You remember?

I meant your stepmother.

And where is Polina?

In Moscow?

Of course.

We should go.

To the gala.

So that I can meet the minister.

Yes. Ready?

Let's go.

It always comes down to goaltending and Vadilevich, well.

He was not sharp, but.

And Kitchov stays home to rest for American prizes.

Too good for his country now.

Terrible, yes, terrible.

But there was no leadership.

That is always the problem. Leadership.

Too much confidence?

Ilya?

Or too much pressure maybe?

Too much talking, Mr. Minister, probably.

But you love talking about hockey, my angel.

Only when we're winning, Daddy.

I'm taking Ilya with me to the bar. He clearly needs another drink.

Always leading him around.

Since they were children.

Thank you.

I'm an angel. It would be great if you could remember that.

I want a drink.

But I have something more fun in mind.

Long time, Ilya.

Long time, Sasha.

I don't think you played that badly.

I'd say thank you, but I know you didn't watch a single fucking game.

For someone whose father has been a hockey coach your whole life,

you sure have managed to avoid it.

I pay attention sometimes.

When there's something worth paying attention to.

Anyway, ultimately, it doesn't matter for you.

It doesn't?

How do you figure that? My father.

Your father is an asshole who would have punished you either way.

You need to stop giving a fuck what he thinks.

And fuck these stupid games when you have a real shot at the Cup this year.

I do?

Yes, you do.

Hunter and the Admirals won't get past New Jersey.

But New Jersey won't get past Hollander and Montreal.

I think this year, you can take Montreal.

- This year? - Yes.

This year, because I think Miitka is hurt.

How do you know all this?

She's psychic.

And with a hurt goalie, you can only go so far.

As you and your team proved rather well here.

Touché.

And that's the East. Then you can take anyone in the West.

Chicago ain't what they used to be.

It'll probably end up being San Francisco. They're good but they're too young.

That's how you end up winning the Cup

one year earlier than I bet my father you would.

No thanks. Now it's bedtime for me. I have to look perfect tomorrow.

You always look perfect.

True. But you boys also need to catch up.

See you in Boston, Ilya.

Bye-bye.

So?

How's Paris, Sasha?

Oh, it's great, thanks.

I fucking love it there.

The clubs are insane.

The girls are hot.

And the boys.

Well, you've seen French boys, right, Ilya?

Oh my God, nothing?

You don't do coke,

you don't make jokes,

you don't flirt back.

You used to be fun, Ilya.

Remember?

Here? Really?

Danger used to get you going, if memory serves.

We're not kids anymore, Sasha.

We're sure not.

Stop.

OK, let's go somewhere.

No.

Fine, I'm gonna find a party.

Bye, Ilya.

Nice to see you, Sasha.