The huge metal door to the main arena was closed, so I couldn’t see which team, if any, was on the ice. I had come to the arena to see if Russia’s goalie was on the ice, or whether he had really got injured the night before.

I was about to open the smaller door, the one that’s meant for people, not Zambonis, but just as I put my hand on the handle, it went down on its own. I pulled and the door flew open, but not all the way because the person on the other side was holding it. The first thing I saw was a dark blue jacket. As I looked up from the Czech logo on the jacket, I saw the man’s face. I recognized him.

His name is Jaromir Jagr.

» Continued

So, I’m sitting at the Coffee & Co at the Laurinska street in the Bratislava Old Town. The sun is shining, the coffee is good, and the mind peaceful, so I just leaned back in my chair, and looked at the people walking past me. Many of them are tourists, most even, as always in all the Old Towns in all the world.

One of the people who just passed me was a big man in a beige jacket, blue jeans, blue sweater. He was wearing sunglasses like Jack Nicholson, and he had done some shopping. The big man walked like big men do, in long and heavy steps, as if he had to make an extra effort to beat the gravity with every step. But, as he walked by my table in the sun in just a few seconds, he also had a special jump to his step.

» Continued