Martin Nečas

Nicklas Bäckström is handling the puck with his back to the boards. At every moment, he has it on the blade of his stick, ready to deliver a pass. Behind the net, in front of it... or to the blue line. And that’s exactly where he sends it with precision. As soon as the opponent moves in the required direction, the puck flies to John Carlson, who quickly fakes a shot with his shoulders and, without looking, sends the play to the left side.

Boom. Alex Ovechkin is already winding up and fires...

Stop. Back. Again.

“And do you see this move he makes here? See where he has his stick? Do you see where Oshie moves at that moment?”

Fingers move across the screen, highlighting tiny, centimeter-level differences at the start of a play that leads to yet another unstoppable shot—one everyone knows is coming but still can’t defend. While most of our teammates shuffle down the hallway toward the parking lot, a few of us are sitting in the meeting room, watching Martin Erat’s passionate gesticulations.

“Here. Look. Here. Like this.”

Then Martin presses play, the puck flies again between the Washington Capitals players, and… Bang. Goal. Another clip, another play, another perfectly executed power-play combination. And another pause from Martin to explain what each player is doing and why. Every little detail, every possible pass he knows is an option in that moment. Every move signaling what will happen in the next fraction of a second.

I sit there, amazed at how much can be analyzed in hockey, how many nuances can be worked on to beat an opponent. In my first professional season with Brno, Martin showed us things like this every day. One day, it would be Washington, one of the best power-play teams in the NHL at the time. The next, clips from our games or even practices. He noticed every little thing.

For my personality, he was the best mentor I could have asked for at the start of my career. I love talking about hockey, thinking about it a lot. I analyze on my own how to train and what to improve. And he was the one who gave me advice, explained things, and taught me so much.

Even though I’d loved hockey in all its dimensions since childhood, at seventeen, I had no idea it could be dissected to this level. Until then, in the youth leagues, coaches would give us some basic tactics, and we’d just go play as best we could. And then, suddenly, this.

It’s like I can still hear him saying: “Slow down a bit.” I’d take off along the boards with the puck, and his advice would flash in my mind: “Slow it down. It’s not just about going full speed forward right away. Ease up, then accelerate again. That makes it harder for the defenseman to lock onto you.” In the Czech league, it wasn’t as noticeable, but when I got to the NHL, I started working more with this change of pace, and I can clearly see how much harder it makes it for defensemen to defend.

These are small details, but they add up to make a big difference. And above all, they are crucial for success in the NHL. Thanks to Martin, I was prepared for them; they didn’t catch me off guard.

It’s all because he insisted on having me as a 17-year-old on his line, wanted to play with me, and club owner Libor Zábranský supported it.

Both of them saw it in me and had the will to bring it out.

Both were unafraid to entrust me with a position that rightfully should have gone to much more experienced teammates. They backed me in it.

Sure, I had some skills when I entered professional hockey. I had technical ability. But that alone doesn’t make you a hockey player. You also need to know how to behave. When to stay silent and when to speak up. You have to do what’s asked of you to earn the respect of others.

Because while I might have thought I was good enough when I stood out in youth hockey, I still listened, learned, and took something away from Martin’s analyses. The next day at practice, I’d try to do exactly what we talked about.

That’s what earned me respect. That’s what pushed me to where I am today.

The stands might be buzzing as loud as they want, but during an NHL game, all that reaches the ice is a sort of indistinct, blended hum. You’re focused, tuning out the noise.

Until the moment the crowd gasps in awe.

Whenever I slip the puck through someone’s legs or pull off a spin-o-rama, I know it’s coming. I go for it. I want that “whoooo” that sweeps through the arena. In that moment, it’s like someone plugs me into an electric current. Right then, I’m in my zone—a state where even if I played 25 minutes a game, I wouldn’t feel tired.

This fuels me. This is how I play when I’m at my best. This is my game.

That second, when I know every eye in the arena is on me, waiting for me to pull something off—that’s what I live for. All eyes on me. I absolutely love it.

Now. Now! Watch this!

The guys from Carolina already know what to expect from me. They know that even if I could just skate around someone, I’d rather go through them, even if there’s no particular need for it. Even if I don’t have to. Just because I enjoy it and I’m confident in my ability. It’s part of me. Sometimes my teammates even count the "triangles"—how many times per game I send the puck through the space between a stick and a player’s legs—and then laugh about it afterward.

Sure, hockey is my job and my livelihood, but for me, it’s still mostly about joy. I enjoy doing something on the ice that others might not be able to pull off. That kind of thing that makes people say, “Wow!”

Those are my moves, my feints. That’s where I draw energy to keep going in the game.

There is lot more in Martins's story....

- When he overdid when trying to make something special on the ice?

- How he handled remoting to AHL earliner in his career?

- When he had to laugh at coach's meeting?

- What stopped him for a while at age of 17?

- For what team he wanted to play as a kid?

- Who was his first childhood hero?