Čech stood in front of the goal as if facing a formidable enemy.
He had arranged the wall and stood near the center, ready to dive for shots to either side at any moment.
He took a deep breath, raised his hand, and pushed up the brim of the protective helmet directly in front of him, preventing it from sitting too low and interfering with his vision and movements.
He had gotten used to the presence of this protective helmet at some point.
Many people felt sorry for him, because when he had been so young, countless people had hailed him as the goalkeeper most likely to become a legend after Buffon. He had even reached the position that countless professional goalkeepers dreamed of, but all of that had completely slipped away from him because of that foul.
Sometimes, he also asked God why he was so unlucky. Why him?
God did not answer him.
Perhaps God disdained him. Perhaps God was lazy. Perhaps even God had no answer.
His career still had to continue. He had to overcome his psychological obstacles, keep standing in front of the goal, and launch charge after charge toward the heights he had once reached.
Tonight, the kid called Courtois standing opposite him really did resemble him, yet was also very different.
Courtois lacked some experience. Although he had performed steadily, he still seemed somewhat immature in certain aspects of handling the ball. That was unavoidable, after all. He was only nineteen, a full ten years younger than Čech.
Oh, right. They had both been born in May. Čech was born on May 20, while Courtois was born on May 21.
When Čech looked at Courtois, it was as if he saw his younger self.
He had joined the Czech powerhouse Sparta Prague at