Rasmus Andersson keen to build on family’s Olympic story

Peter Andersson still remembers the sound of the phone ringing.

Not the roar of an Olympic crowd, not the crunch of a blue‑line hit, not even the unmistakable glide of Borje Salming beside him. 

No, the moment that still echoes loudest came in 1994, just as he stepped out the door toward what he thought would be his second Olympic Games.

“I booked the flight, and as I’m walking out of my house to get to the taxi, the phone rings,” said the 60-year-old Swede.

“Somebody from the office in New York said, ‘Hey, you can’t go, because if you go, the Rangers have to put you on waivers, and they don’t want to.’ So I had to cancel everything, stayed home, and then I watched on TV when Sweden won the gold medal.”

He pauses, letting the sting of it breathe.

“I was close to having a gold medal, but I couldn’t go.”

That’s the kind of heartbreak that never fully leaves a player. And it’s the kind of story you tell your son when he’s about to live the dream you were denied.

“That’s funny, I didn’t know that,” chuckled his son, Rasmus Andersson, who will pull on the Tre Kronor at the Olympics later this week, carrying the family lineage into a new generation. 

“He doesn’t really tell us a lot about the Olympics. He said about ’92 it was the coolest experience he had, playing with Borje, but he doesn’t go in depth. He said, ‘You’ll see when you get there.’”

For Rasmus, the mystery is part of the appeal.

“Half the Olympic experience is staying with other athletes, and seeing what they do, and how they get prepared,” said the 29-year-old Golden Knights defenceman.

“I think that part will be cool. In our life, it’s just game, hotel, flights, come home. I bet you it will be like your first year in the NHL when you experience everything for the first time. At the end of the day, you’re there for hockey, and that’s the one thing you know what to do. Everything around you, just appreciate the two weeks you have there and take it as it comes.”

Peter certainly approached it with wide eyes as a 27‑year‑old defenceman from Malmö who got the call every Swedish kid dreams of: You’re going to the Olympics.

But the real jaw‑dropper came next.

“The coach called to say he picked me for the team, and that he had a bit of an issue: ‘I want you to play with Borje Salming, but you have to play on the right side’” said Peter of his introduction to the 1992 Olympics in Albertville, France.

 “I never played on the right side, but I said, ‘Oh, s—, that’s no problem.’ Borje Salming was my idol growing up. Everybody’s idol. He was a legend in Sweden.” 

Imagine growing up with a giant poster of Salming over your bed, then sharing a blue line with the Hall of Famer.

“He was a machine,” said Peter, who played parts of three NHL seasons with the Rangers and Panthers.

“He worked so hard, did absolutely everything for his teammates. A great guy in the locker room. You can’t be better than that.”

Rasmus, who is known for being the consummate team player, knows what it’s like to be in awe of teammates.   

“At 4 Nations I caught myself just staring at Erik Karlsson and Victor Hedman doing power-play drills,” he said.

“I was the seventh d‑man and was just like, ‘Oh my god.’ Honestly, I just wanted to be a good teammate and would just stand there and watch them. When I see these guys, I totally understand why I’m not playing. You do your thing and I’ll just try to keep the room a little loose. It was a pinch‑me moment of guys I really looked up to.”

And he knows what the Olympics mean back home.

“In Sweden it’s always The Big 3 – (Mats) Sundin, (Peter) Forsberg and (Nicklas) Lidstrom, because of the 2006 Olympics,” he said.

“If you want to build your brand after your career, especially in Sweden, it’s all about performing in the Olympics.”

The 1992 Games weren’t the NHL‑star‑studded spectacle they are today. Back then, only non‑NHL pros could participate, which gave the tournament a more intimate feel.

Peter remembers Swedish skiers showing up at their games, cheering them on. He remembers going to watch skiing events with teammates. He remembers the apartments, five guys together, cooking meals, hanging out, living like university roommates with national pride on the line.

“I hope Rasmus and his teammates take some time to see some other stuff,” said Peter, who recently paused his coaching career in Sweden, just in time to join his daughter at the Olympics in Milan.

He knows the Games are bigger than hockey.

Years after the 1994 heartbreak, Peter was playing in Malmö when a teammate, Christian Due‑Boje, walked into practice with something shiny.

“He brought his gold medal with him,” said Peter. 

“He shows me and goes, ‘Shake my hand.’ And says thank you. I said, ‘What are you talking about?’ He said, ‘Yeah, I got picked instead of you. Here’s the gold medal. You can feel it if you want, but I can’t give it to you.’”

Although his Swedish team lost just once at the ’92 Games, Peter came home empty-handed, with a fifth-place showing.

What he kept were the memories. And now, he’s passing them on.

“A gold medal… could have been for me, but I didn’t get any medal,” he said.

He doesn’t say it with bitterness.

He says it with pride and hope, because his son is about to write the next chapter.

“I hope Ras will get one.”