MY LIFE, PART 16: Dominik Hašek, my hero

I never needed anyone else when I played my improvised hockey matches. My sisters would only get in the way. A stick and a soft ball were enough. That was my childhood.

I was Hašek. Who else?

Dominik Hašek, the Dominator, Olympic gold medallist from Nagano, possibly the best ice hockey goaltender in history.

“Hašeeeeek, Hašeeeeek! He’s got it, he captures the puck, he doesn’t let go! Bravo, Dominik!” I would commentate on every action the same way I heard it on TV.

I also liked the Litvínov line Růžička – Rosol – Kašťák. Or Šejba, the left wing from Pardubice, who scored a hat-trick against Canada at the 1985 World Championship in Prague where Czechoslovakia won gold. I was only three years old back then, but even I could see that he achieved something extraordinary.

When I was six, I started cutting out pictures from the “Stadion” magazine. It was a ritual I was always looking forward to. My orange notebook for clippings got thicker and thicker – and a goaltender was on every other page. Králík, Šindel, Karel Gula from Kometa Brno. One issue of the magazine had a big poster of him, so large it wouldn’t even fit in my notebook. But Hašek was still my greatest hero, I had so many pictures of him that I lost count.

When I tried being a hero in real life too, at sport and at school, I would give myself the name Hašek. I would throw the ball against a wall, wait till it bounced back and then catch it in the same flowing style that Dominik Hašek used.

But you know, when you’re catching a ball in a block of flats, it’s a hard impact; a crash that hurts, but also infuriates the neighbours. How many times have I heard a voice screaming through the wall: “Knock it off, you rascal, or I’ll come and get you!”

My bedroom was small, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t care about the threats either, and when I did get a little bit nervous about them, I simply hung a basket on the wardrobe and played a bit of basketball.

I did return to ice hockey – a sport that always has been and always will be close to my heart – but, surprisingly, it happened in London. Some four or five years ago I met Miloš Melicherík, a Slovak playing for Guildford Flames, a club based on the outskirts of London. They really did everything to accommodate me, and even though I only attended training sessions and never played any real matches, I was so happy when we advanced into the top British tier in February 2017. And six months later I could finally get into the goal during an unforgettable exhibition game in Brno, where my friend Martin Havlát was saying farewell to his ice hockey career.

It was wonderful! I couldn’t refuse such an invitation. Even at Arsenal they understood how much it meant to me. I flew in, got on the ice for one third of the game, then quickly changed into normal clothes again and hurried back to the airport, because I had to get back to England and get ready for the first league match against Leicester.

When reporters stopped me after the exhibition game, I didn’t even hesitate and told them the truth. “I’ve loved ice hockey since I was a child and when I’m in the goal, it’s not only fun but also good for my training routine. I can practice my reflexes, my speed, my reading of the game.”

And that’s good practice, right?