Ondřej Palát

"Oh say can you see, by the dawn's early light." Those words are the start of the USA’s national anthem. There is no need to translate them. I do not see any deeper meaning in them. Yet I know them by heart, because every time I hear them, a chill runs down my back.

I listen to the American anthem standing on the blue line before the start of every NHL game. I've played nine seasons in the best hockey league in the world, but I still can't believe it.

That's why I always look around while listening to that anthem. I take a deep breath and scan the crowded grandstands of all those modern arenas in cities stretched out over a country as big as Europe — and that doesn’t even include Canada. I often catch myself asking: "Dude, Paly, what are you doing here?" 

Playing in the NHL is not a matter of course for me, even after all these years. I always say to myself: "Wow, twenty thousand people are looking at us here. At all the stars. And me, a boy from Frýdek-Místek, who just a few years back cried in Prague on his mother’s shoulder at the airport, saying that he didn't want to go to America to play hockey."

There’s always a brief moment during which my flow of time stops. My parents saved every crown so I could chase my dreams. They, and my sister Michaela, sacrificed all of their time for all of this. In those moments before the game begins, all of my childhood memories flash through my head. 

I remember in juniors when I was exhausted and vomited into a bin on the bench after training, thinking to myself that I had no chance here. I remember feeling like an unwanted boy, whom no one talked to at Tampa's first training camp. And also about the time when, during a game, I shouted out loud, instead of to myself: "Finally get fucking hyped and show everyone you're the best!"

That's when everything turned upside down in my hockey life.

I grew up in a classic Czech family. We weren’t exactly poor, but it was not like we were drowning in coins. Until I was 15, I could only play hockey with old wooden sticks. I saw the first carbon sticks as a teenager after moving to Vítkovice. I stared with my mouth wide open.

In our city, hockey has always been seriously retro. When I first came to the big club at the age of 15, wearing my old gear, I felt really embarrassed in front of the others. I never had anything brand new as a child, moreover, I had really bad luck in this sense. When my parents saved for my first composite CCM stick, my opponents broke it in half in my second game using it. I cried while my dad tried to weld it in the garage.

I always dreamed of white Nike skates; exactly the same ones that Wayne Gretzky used to wear with the New York Rangers. I wished for them so much, but it wasn’t easy to buy them. Dad saved for them for many months before I got them for Christmas. It was one of the most beautiful gifts I received as a child. And I lost them pretty soon after.

I was in fifth grade then and it still feels like yesterday. We were coming home from the match in Kopřivnice and on the way home, with our old Škoda 120, we stopped at Tesco for some groceries. The equipment bag wouldn’t fit in the trunk under the front hood, so I had it next to me in the back seat. We were in the store for half an hour max and when we returned to the car, the bag was gone.

Just like that, someone stole it from us during our shopping. From the parking lot in front of the largest store in the city. In broad daylight. We were shocked. The window wasn't even broken. To this day, I don't understand how the thief got in. In any case, he caused us a lot of trouble. It was a tragedy for the whole family, and especially for me. My parents were penniless at the time and I had no gear. What now?

Fortunately, Mr. Nogol saved us. He was an old gentleman who worked as a custodian at the stadium in Frýdek-Místek at the time. He is dead today, sadly. Back then, he did the best for me. To him, I owe the fact that some bastard who was never found did not end my career. Mr. Nogol managed to put together a set of hockey gear. He gave us absolutely horrible equipment and terribly old hockey skates for free. I played in that for the next two seasons. There was simply no other option back then.

You'll probably think it’s funny, and it must sound crazy, but I've been afraid to leave my car in the parking lot ever since. I really have an incredible fear in my head that something would happen again. Back then, I cried for three days nonstop. The skates which were in the bag I truly loved. I often slept with them in bed. And someone suddenly stole them from me, just like that.

This memory stays with me and partly illustrates my nature. Maybe you have noticed it yourself in interviews with me. I'm more of an introvert; a person who protects his own privacy and does not let a stranger get close.

I don't remember my parents ever telling me that I’d be playing the NHL or at least the Czech league one day. Just the idea would sound ridiculous in the light of all the circumstances described above. I only played hockey because I wanted to and I really enjoyed it from an early age. I lived and breathed hockey.

In the family cottage outside the city, I shot at the net from dawn to dusk, and in the summer, at home, I’d put on my gear like an idiot every day. The summer break was absolutely unbearable. Whenever they would melt the ice in the old and now long-demolished hall in Frýdek after the end of the season, I used to have tears in my eyes. I just totally loved hockey. Posters above the bunk bed that I shared with my sister were posters of Datsyuk, Jágr and Hašek. Those were probably my biggest childhood role models. I played against the first two, fulfilling a dream that I never dared to imagine for a long time.

Later, I also admired other hockey players. In the makeshift gym that my dad built in the basement of our cottage, I hung pictures of Alex Ovechkin and Sidney Crosby. As a junior, I worked there every summer, lifting dumbbells while looking at them. In my NHL debut, we played Crosby and the Penguins..

It helped me a lot in my career that I started in a small club. I was able to play two years higher from the first grade. I was born in 1991, but I played with players born in 1989 all along. I guess I could have played with my year, been a star there and had a million points, but I played against stronger and taller boys all the time, so I had to learn to be smarter on the ice. I had no other choice in order to keep up with them.

My dad is a hockey coach. At that time, he was still working as an electrician, and for a few years he also led the teams that I played for in Frýdek-Místek. He always told me: "Just get used to it, hockey is a tough sport."

I only met my age peers on the ice at the end of the season when they needed help or at Christmas tournaments. The guys were great, they always welcomed me and we won those matches. It was a great time.

From an early age, I was very precise, even in training. While my dad taught me tenacity, my mother added value to it with her incredible service. If she could, she wouldn't miss a single game. From the stands, she filmed all of my ice time on an old camera, so already as a young child I could look back at my games at home and think about what I could have done better in a given situation. I really enjoyed this analysis.

Even later, after moving to Vítkovice, where as a junior I earned my first money (about two thousand crowns a month), hockey was no fun for our family. It required a lot of time and money, because gasoline for daily commutes to Ostrava cost a lot. At that time, I’d go with another friend and our parents took turns driving. We’d stand on the sidewalk by the roundabout behind Tesco, waiting, wondering who would pick us up this time. Here and there, of course, we also had to travel by bus or train. My mom is a teacher and she tried to do the best she could. Many times, she took her notebooks with her and, while waiting in front of the arena before our training ended, she corrected the children's papers and tests on the steering wheel.

You realize all these sacrifices they made over time. What things are parents willing to do for their own children, who take it for granted. Just as easily, they could have given us a bike and sent us to a football practice in the village behind the town, and they wouldn't have had to worry about anything. They wouldn’t have to care about us, and no one could have blamed them. But they were there for us. Although it was often not easy, my sister and I always got what we wanted most in the end. I am very grateful to them for that. And I hope that thanks to their sacrifice, I have remained grounded.

From an early age, we were brought up at home to be humble and to keep our feet on the ground. I will never act like a star. That is my basic life credo. I rely on it and I try to behave in public accordingly. I'm not completely comfortable posing in front of the cameras, I don't even feel natural during interviews for the media. That's probably why relatively few people recognize me on the street, and it suits me perfectly. I don't want to be known and admired. I like my peace and freedom. I still just want to be the guy from Frýdek-Místek.

That’s why I can't even imagine flying private planes, even though I could probably afford it. I save my money or spend it completely differently. I still love pastry with pâté for dinner, but that doesn't mean I don’t know how to enjoy myself. I like to go to expensive restaurants and treat myself to a holiday that we never even dreamed of before.

That I could make a living playing hockey and have such a comfortable life didn't occur to me at all until I was about 15 years old. In fact, it really couldn't occur to me. The absolute priority in our family was school. Even though I attended a hockey class at the elementary school, I had to go to grammar school. I didn't pass the entry exam for the state one at the time, so I started out at a private one.

It started to dawn on me that hockey could one day be my job for the first time in Vítkovice. We used to train early in the morning before school, so I’d always leave the room at the time when the extraleague A-team went on the ice. Among the players were famous faces like Burger, Ujčík or Malík. It was an absolutely incredible team that made it to the finals twice in a row back then. I always stopped at the boards behind the glass, looked at their smiles during practice or some drill, and dreamed how beautiful it would be if I could one day make a living by doing what I enjoy most in life.

Even though I already knew that the players were living rich lives, I wasn't interested in the money at all. And the idea of the NHL? That was complete nonsense. I only came into contact with it on the weekends, when the highlights were running on TV in the morning. I watched with my mouth open, thinking it was impossible. My goal was the highest Czech competition, the extraleague, and my sights were set no further.

I remember every minute of my first NHL game.

The farm team took the bus on a two-day trip and the coach told us not to wear suits. We wore team sweats. In the evening, however, Steve Yzerman, then the Tampa Bay GM, called me in my hotel room to tell me that the Lightning needed me for a game in Pittsburgh the next day. The limousine was already on its way for me.

I was shaking. I used to be super stressed about new experiences. I had been like this since I was a child. I still remember the horror when my teachers called on me and I had to speak in front of the class, standing in front of the blackboard. I felt the same way then. Nervousness overwhelmed me before I hung up. The next thought that popped into my head was: “I don't have a suit!” Am I going to my first NHL game in sweatpants?

Yzerman, being the man he is, said that it didn't matter at all. But it mattered to me. A lot. Everyone in Tampa's room would have just made fun of me. I immediately went to the shopping center in this terrible city, knowing that I did not have much money in my account. Instead of going to Hugo Boss, I headed to some shop with a sale ad, where I just happened to find one suit that fit me. I was still very stressed, but at least I was a little calmed by the knowledge that I wouldn't go to my NHL debut like the biggest hobo.

The limousine dropped me off in front of the hotel, where I met Alex Killorn. Today, he is a longtime teammate and a very important player for Tampa. Back then, he had only been in the NHL a few days more than me. We both remained mostly silent, staring in amazement and wondering if what was happening was real.

I only had one practice with the team before my big day came. Captain Vincent Lecavalier, a legend of the club, played a joke on me during warm-up. As custom demands, he sent me to skate around the rink on my own. Every newcomer in the NHL goes through this. He told me in the tunnel that I had to go on the ice first and lead my teammates. And while the whole team stood behind me, I skated out on the ice in Pittsburgh with nobody following me, and the fans staring at a fool.

In the game, however, I experienced a feeling that I knew well from past crisis situations. I didn't feel tired at all. I flew back and forth on the ice, played a few shifts against Sidney Crosby, and even recorded my first point. A completely crazy pass. I was looking for Nate Thompson, but the puck bounced off one of the sticks, hit Tom Pyatt in the nose and then bounced into the net. 

That goal was pathetic, but the guy from Frýdek-Místek didn't care. I had my first point in the NHL and I got the puck as a souvenir. I have it hidden at home to this day. And I never leave it in my car.