Though it sounds like the punch line to a bad joke, the world championship of women's underwater hockey last July began in earnest. In the guise of an Olympics opening ceremony, a dozen international teams paraded one by one into the Calgary stadium, in the host city of the Winter Olympics in 1988. Regal anthems blared. A crowd comprised almost entirely of friends and family hoisted an odd mixture of snorkels and shrunken hockey sticks into the air.
Then the alphabetical parade of nations reached its midway point, and the proceedings uttered an embarrassing hiccup. It was tiny Moldova's turn to shine. An announcer spelled out the former Soviet republic's brief and unimpressive record in international competition. The Moldovan flag, picturing an angry eagle with bared talons, fluttered high from the rafters. Pictures of the Moldovan national team flashed on the scoreboard. But the team itself was nowhere to be seen.
All 12 members of the team were far away from the stadium at the moment, having filed for refugee status with Canadian immigration officials in Toronto and Winnipeg. As the episode played out over the ensuing weeks, it appeared that Moldova never had a sincere interest in underwater hockey whatsoever, that the team's trip to Canada was part of an elaborate immigrant smuggling ring. "It was a scam," said Margaret Francis, the chair of underwater hockey's world championship. And it served as a blow to a sport that has operated in relative obscurity for nearly 50 years.
A group of British divers invented underwater hockey in the 1950s as a way to keep their diving muscles toned during the winter months. The sport has spread about as fast as a water-logged slap shot since, mainly to countries with strong diving traditions, such as Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. Biannual world championships have been held since 1980.
The sport goes like this: Teams of six players in flippers, goggles, and snorkels pass a weighted puck along the bottom of a 25-meter-by-15-meter swimming pool with a miniature hockey stick. The best players can lift the puck a meter off a pool's flooring, though there are no goalies, since the puck and the players move about as fast as Gretzky in molasses.
The Moldovan men's, women's and youth teams had tried to compete in Canada before, but had always hit snags in the visa application process. They had demonstrated so much enthusiasm for the sport -- hounding Francis with letters and e-mails -- that she decided to take an active role in securing the proper paperwork. Francis wrote a letter to the Canadian Embassy in Bucharest, which eventually issued the team its visas.
To anyone who was paying attention to detail, the episode couldn't have come as a surprise. The 2000 underwater hockey world championships, held in Hobart, Australia, played out in similar fashion. The men's Moldovan team did actually turn up, though it was soundly trounced by Colombia, 30-0, and Argentina, 23-0. All of the Moldovan players subsequently applied for and received refugee status from the Australian government, The Australian newspaper reported.
Francis remembered Moldova's sorry showing at the Hobart competition. "They didn't even know how to put their fins on," she says. "They didn't know how to swim."
But she said organizers informed her that the Moldovan team returned home after the championships. "That's the only reason I would have let them come."
But the women's team never arrived in Calgary. Two weeks went by before Francis received a call from a Canadian immigration official asking what she knew about the visa scam.
According to an underwater hockey official who spoke on condition of anonymity, Canadian immigration officials said they had uncovered a link between the Moldovan team and organized crime.
Last month, the story reached Canadian television. CBC aired an interview with an anonymous source known as "Deep Trout," who wore a diver's mask during the taping. Deep Trout shed light on an underground railroad that led from Moldova to Egypt, where would-be players were taught the rudiments of the underwater game.
After the training, whose briefness revealed itself in the trouncing in Hobart, the Moldovan federation attempted to place players in international competitions. Deep Trout told CBC that each woman paid smugglers $1,200 for the trip to Canada.
The official on duty at the Moldovan underwater federation in Tiraspol declined comment, saying all officials were at a competition in Egypt. Meanwhile, internationally accredited Moldovan sports officials are outraged at the scandal.
"There's no such team," said Nikolai Zhuravsky, the president of the Moldovan Olympic Committee.
This is not the first time that a former Soviet state has become quickly and suspiciously interested in a sport. In 2000, Kazakh con men nearly succeeded in gaining entry to the United States for phony men's and women's field hockey teams. The scam was uncovered before the teams, which included a 63-year-old player, could board the plane.
The underwater hockey scandal is unwelcome publicity for a sport that receives little attention. Hence the changes to the team list for the next world championship in Christchurch, New Zealand
"Moldova will not be invited," Francis said.
Then the alphabetical parade of nations reached its midway point, and the proceedings uttered an embarrassing hiccup. It was tiny Moldova's turn to shine. An announcer spelled out the former Soviet republic's brief and unimpressive record in international competition. The Moldovan flag, picturing an angry eagle with bared talons, fluttered high from the rafters. Pictures of the Moldovan national team flashed on the scoreboard. But the team itself was nowhere to be seen.
All 12 members of the team were far away from the stadium at the moment, having filed for refugee status with Canadian immigration officials in Toronto and Winnipeg. As the episode played out over the ensuing weeks, it appeared that Moldova never had a sincere interest in underwater hockey whatsoever, that the team's trip to Canada was part of an elaborate immigrant smuggling ring. "It was a scam," said Margaret Francis, the chair of underwater hockey's world championship. And it served as a blow to a sport that has operated in relative obscurity for nearly 50 years.
A group of British divers invented underwater hockey in the 1950s as a way to keep their diving muscles toned during the winter months. The sport has spread about as fast as a water-logged slap shot since, mainly to countries with strong diving traditions, such as Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. Biannual world championships have been held since 1980.
The sport goes like this: Teams of six players in flippers, goggles, and snorkels pass a weighted puck along the bottom of a 25-meter-by-15-meter swimming pool with a miniature hockey stick. The best players can lift the puck a meter off a pool's flooring, though there are no goalies, since the puck and the players move about as fast as Gretzky in molasses.
The Moldovan men's, women's and youth teams had tried to compete in Canada before, but had always hit snags in the visa application process. They had demonstrated so much enthusiasm for the sport -- hounding Francis with letters and e-mails -- that she decided to take an active role in securing the proper paperwork. Francis wrote a letter to the Canadian Embassy in Bucharest, which eventually issued the team its visas.
To anyone who was paying attention to detail, the episode couldn't have come as a surprise. The 2000 underwater hockey world championships, held in Hobart, Australia, played out in similar fashion. The men's Moldovan team did actually turn up, though it was soundly trounced by Colombia, 30-0, and Argentina, 23-0. All of the Moldovan players subsequently applied for and received refugee status from the Australian government, The Australian newspaper reported.
Francis remembered Moldova's sorry showing at the Hobart competition. "They didn't even know how to put their fins on," she says. "They didn't know how to swim."
But she said organizers informed her that the Moldovan team returned home after the championships. "That's the only reason I would have let them come."
But the women's team never arrived in Calgary. Two weeks went by before Francis received a call from a Canadian immigration official asking what she knew about the visa scam.
According to an underwater hockey official who spoke on condition of anonymity, Canadian immigration officials said they had uncovered a link between the Moldovan team and organized crime.
Last month, the story reached Canadian television. CBC aired an interview with an anonymous source known as "Deep Trout," who wore a diver's mask during the taping. Deep Trout shed light on an underground railroad that led from Moldova to Egypt, where would-be players were taught the rudiments of the underwater game.
After the training, whose briefness revealed itself in the trouncing in Hobart, the Moldovan federation attempted to place players in international competitions. Deep Trout told CBC that each woman paid smugglers $1,200 for the trip to Canada.
The official on duty at the Moldovan underwater federation in Tiraspol declined comment, saying all officials were at a competition in Egypt. Meanwhile, internationally accredited Moldovan sports officials are outraged at the scandal.
"There's no such team," said Nikolai Zhuravsky, the president of the Moldovan Olympic Committee.
This is not the first time that a former Soviet state has become quickly and suspiciously interested in a sport. In 2000, Kazakh con men nearly succeeded in gaining entry to the United States for phony men's and women's field hockey teams. The scam was uncovered before the teams, which included a 63-year-old player, could board the plane.
The underwater hockey scandal is unwelcome publicity for a sport that receives little attention. Hence the changes to the team list for the next world championship in Christchurch, New Zealand
"Moldova will not be invited," Francis said.