Murder, Money and Michael J Fox: Ice Hockey in the Wild East

Ice hockey was everything in the Soviet Union. The USSR dominated the international stage, winning nearly every world championship and Olympic tournament from the 1950s until the Soviet Union collapsed.

But when the USSR collapsed, the money dried up. The pride of Soviet hockey, Moscow’s C.S.K.A.—the Central Red Army team—was bankrupt. Its best players had already left for the NHL. The team played in a crumbling arena with empty stands, its basement occupied by a strip club, its main floor converted into a Mercedes-Benz showroom.

Then, in 1993, a group of American investors—including the owners of the NHL’s Pittsburgh Penguins, player Mario Lemieux, and actor Michael J. Fox—saw an opportunity. They bought a 50% stake in the struggling Red Army club for $1 million. Their goal: resurrect the legendary franchise, monopolize Russian hockey talent for the Penguins, and turn the team into a profitable spectacle.

They renamed the team the Russian Penguins, swapped the hammer-and-sickle logo for a friendlier penguin, and sent in Steve Warshaw, a brash young marketing executive, to make hockey exciting again.

Bears, Beer, and Strippers

Warshaw had one job: fill the arena. And he did—by turning Russian hockey into something it had never been before. He put on wild promotions: a Yeltsin-and-Gorbachev lookalike contest, free beer nights, and a halftime show featuring live bears drinking beer. The team’s cheerleaders? Dancers from the strip club downstairs.

Fans flooded back. Attendance jumped from a few hundred to over 5,000 per game, the highest in the league. But Warshaw knew Russian hockey fans needed more than just entertainment—they needed basic necessities.

Every night, sponsors handed out toothpaste, detergent, razors, even tampons. It worked. The stands were packed, and big-name American sponsors followed. Coca-Cola, Delta, Nike, Baskin-Robbins, McDonald’s, Gillette, Nabisco, and Procter & Gamble all signed on. The rink boards, players’ jerseys, and even the ice itself were covered in sponsor logos.

Disney explored setting a Mighty Ducks sequel in Russia. Bill Clinton and Al Gore publicly praised the team. At one point, the owners saw their exit strategy as a Disney-backed international franchise—tours, TV deals, movies, merchandising. For a brief moment, the Russian Penguins looked like a perfect mix of capitalism and hockey diplomacy.

Success Attracts the Mob

Then came the Russian mob. Warshaw knew things had taken a turn when masked men with sawed-off shotguns started patrolling the skybox seats. Money was pouring in, but more of it was disappearing.

Nike’s donated youth hockey equipment showed up for sale at the team’s shop. Player transfer fees, a major revenue source, vanished without explanation. Mafia bosses occupied the best seats, and intimidation became the new normal.

Warshaw reported the money skimming to the American owners. Their response: “Let them steal a little bit. Let us know when it becomes a lot.” Over six months, three men connected to the team—star defenseman Alexander Osadchy, team photographer Felix Solovyov, and assistant coach Vladimir Bogach—were murdered, each shot five times in the head, the signature of a contract killing. Russian Hockey Federation president Valentin Sych was also executed the same way. Official cause of death? “Car accident.”

Meanwhile, the chaos extended beyond finances and violence. At one game, a fan won a Jeep in a halftime giveaway. He negotiated on the spot to take $10,000 in cash knowing he’d be carjacked the moment he left the arena. On the same night, retired hockey legend Alexander Ragulin was caught trying to rig the contest. The Americans realized they were in too deep.

In June 1995, the Russian partners flew to New York to meet the American owners at Morton’s steakhouse. They introduced their new "bankers"—two silent, stone-faced men who looked straight out of Goodfellas. The message was clear. “That was the moment we knew it was over,” Karen Baldwin said. 

The Americans walked away without recouping their investment. The Russian partners, however, wanted Warshaw to stay. When he refused their lowball offer, they put a $6,500 bounty on his head. Warshaw didn’t flinch. “I think you’re overpaying.”

The Russian Penguins experiment was over. Russian and Western ways of doing business were simply too incompatible at the time for the enterprise to last. It all collapsed just as quickly as it started. You can watch the trailer here.