The fate of the extremely technical, daring Spartak player Vasily Kalinov is, in fact, tragic. Gone, as they say, "with the ends." No body, no grave mound. Nothing.

The well-known sports journalist Alexei Matveev, the author of books about football specifically for the Cheka-OGPU and Rucriminal.info, reports the details of a dramatic story.

MISSING PERSON

If the talk about the possible murder of my father was true, I would certainly know it, - says the son of a popular football player of the 60s and 70s, Sergei Kalinov. - I have an uncle on my mother's side, a retired colonel of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Previously, he served as the head of the criminal investigation department in the North-Western District of Moscow. Of course, I regularly communicated with him when he worked in office. He asked him to contact colleagues in Balashikha near Moscow, to find out everything about his father.

Uncle Sasha called Balashikha, he has many acquaintances in law enforcement structures there. They promised to help in the search for Vasily Kalinov. However, they did not find any traces, they do not have information about the fate of my dad. Lost and all. Without a trace.

By that time, my father already had some memory lapses. I know myself, and my own uncle confirmed the version: people of a similar warehouse, like my father, are a kind of separate world. They fence themselves off from everyone, they are not able to tell anything about themselves to anyone, even more so, to provide the necessary information.

They are either found in medical, psychiatric institutions, or go into the status of homeless people. That is, completely lost sight of. Its own, isolated party, people who have sunk to the “bottom”, without a fixed place of residence, attachments to anything or anyone.

Father fell into an extremely uncertain, gloomy, terrifying rut. From which, as I understand it, I could not get out. Personally, I have no complaints, resentment, anger, and the like with my dad. For example, because he left his family, his mother with a small child then.

I didn’t condemn then, and I don’t condemn now a person close to me. I will say more, I would accept my father into the family, in whatever, let's say, unattractive form he may be. Would have brought to him, laundered, brought to life. I definitely didn’t leave without a roof over my head. Didn't get out on the street. If it were possible, to everyone's joy, to see a loved one alive.

The only thing I know for sure is that my father had a new family at a certain time. A handball player, tall, powerful, became the second half of her father. She, using her physical data, even beat her dad during periods of quarrels. In general, dad has his own personal life, independent of mom and me. Frankly, in a particular period, I had no time for anyone, and nothing. Because with the health of my mother, terrible, nightmarish problems began.

The vessels turned out to be extremely bad, weak, unreliable. Hence all the misery. No one at that moment offered the slightest help, although Aunt Valya Kalinova, her father's sister, knew about what was happening. Except that with Uncle Sasha, a retired police colonel, they were spinning. Together they tried to bring my mother and his own sister back to life.

In fact, he carried his mother in his arms to different clinics, she could not walk on her own. It can be said that a loved one was returned from the next world, everything was so bad. They returned, however, not for long. She died in 2001. He erected a monument to her at the Mitinsky cemetery ...

KIDNAPPED, KILLED?

Regarding the disappearance of his father, he constantly kept in touch with Uncle Sasha. Versions were sometimes put forward, one more ridiculous than the other. For example, about kidnapping. Dad, sorry, not a millionaire to steal it, then demand a ransom for his freedom, right, right? To be taken into slavery, somewhere in the Caucasus, somewhere else?

Let's think logically. Specialists from various fields could be of interest. Professionals in their field. Who knew how to build, for example, something real to do. At the end of his football career, my father only worked as a loader in the Fruit and Vegetable store, that's all. Which one is special?

If, suppose, his health is improved, you can use dad as a football player, right? I would play for a team of kidnappers. Well, nonsense, sorry, rather, from the category of near-sports fiction. Let's be realistic though.

The story with the possible murder is also, for the most part, far-fetched. Objectively, I see no reason. What is the motivation for what? My father drank in the company of people as degraded as himself. Did they stick a knife into the back, or the heart? Hardly.

Previously, and even now, they kill because of the notorious square meters. On a tip from black realtors. Potential victims sign fake documents. Then they are taken out, eliminated physically. Nothing of the kind can be seen here. We had an apartment, and my father did not live on the street with his new family.

Here is one of my good friends, I admit, went missing precisely because of the square meters. He offered to rewrite his apartment in my name. Answered him. With housing, everything is fine with me, both then and now. Later I learned that a friend had disappeared. I suspect, not without the participation of black realtors. They took away the coveted apartment, the man himself was taken away in an unknown direction. And - with the ends. On a potential story with o doesn't look like a dude at all.

They still meticulously ask me: how and where did the famous Spartak footballer Vasily Kalinov go? Where could the abyss go missing at all, a person is not a needle in a haystack? Famous football player, champion of the USSR as part of Spartak ...

How, how... Wanderers, homeless people, as a rule, live in boiler rooms, at best, in the basements of residential buildings, somewhere else. I say, a separate, isolated little world, alas, not fully studied by sociologists and psychologists. As far as I know, the statistics of the missing are much wider than, for example, those killed in car accidents. Some of the missing people are probably still alive. But they exist in this world without any identity cards.

Such citizens do not know and do not remember who they are, where they come from. There is no need to talk about pedigree at all. Where and when they were born, with whom they lived before, was erased from memory. And yes, the memory is gone. I repeat, a special caste. No name, tribe.

Aunt Valya, dad's sister, should be more attentive to her brother. Maybe, at some moments, turn on vigilance, show sensitivity, elementary care. She left a lot to chance. She lived on the principle of "maybe it will blow over." It didn't.

Apparently, she thought: where will her brother go? Sooner or later, he will drop in on a visit, miss a glass with loved ones. So, until the next meeting. Alas, the next meeting, as well as subsequent visits, did not happen for some period. The father never showed up again. Not to my own sister, not to my own son, to anyone.

Alexey Matveev

To be continued