Tomas Cerny – Behind the Gloves

In October 2012, I played in the Eternal Derby for CSKA Sofia. Outside the changing room there was noise, smoke, flares and tension. Inside, an Orthodox priest stood among players from all around the world and gave us a blessing before we walked out.

20 October 2012 — Национален стадион „Васил Левски“, Sofia, Bulgaria

You could feel the derby long before kick-off.

The sound carried through the stadium. Flares, fireworks, shouting. Red and blue split across the stands. Police everywhere. The atmosphere wasn’t building, it was already there.

And then you walked into the changing room.

Quiet.

Players from all around the world stood shoulder to shoulder. An Orthodox priest stood in the middle, in traditional robes, long hair, big beard. He spoke softly, said a prayer, and gave us a blessing before we went out.

It felt completely different to what was happening outside.

Outside, everything was on edge.

Inside, everything was calm.

Outside, noise and chaos.

Inside, stillness and focus.

When I think back to that game, I don’t remember every save or every cross. I don’t remember every kick or every pass.

I remember the feeling.

Walking out from that quiet changing room into the noise. The smoke still hanging in the air. The colour in the stands. The first few seconds when your body adjusts and your mind tells you, this is real now.

As a goalkeeper, you are slightly separate from everyone else. You are part of the team, but you also spend long moments alone. You hear things differently. You see the game differently. You feel the crowd behind you, but you have to stay calm enough to make simple decisions under pressure.

Catch the ball.

Organise the defence.

Slow the game down.

Do your job.

In a derby like that, doing the simple things well matters. You cannot get carried away by the emotion of the occasion. You cannot play the game in your head before it happens. You have to stay in the moment, one action at a time.

Sofia Was Never One Thing

That contrast stayed with me, and not just from that afternoon.

It was Sofia.

Madness at times. Crazy situations you couldn’t predict or explain. Moments that made no sense.

You would see a Lamborghini drive past a horse cart in the same street. A modern glass building standing right next to a small wooden shack. It shouldn’t have worked, but somehow it did.

And right alongside that, there was beauty. There was peace. There were moments of real humanity and genuine happiness.

It was never one or the other.

It was always both.

That afternoon, it all came together.

We won 1–0.

And I kept a clean sheet.

What Stayed With Me

Looking back now, I think that afternoon summed up so much of my time in Bulgaria.

There was pressure, uncertainty and madness around almost every corner. But there were also moments of calm, connection and meaning that I have never forgotten.

Football has a strange way of placing you in situations you could never plan for. One day you are recovering from an injury, unsure where your career is going. Not long after, you are standing inside a stadium in Sofia, about to play in one of the biggest derbies in Eastern Europe, receiving a blessing from an Orthodox priest before walking out into smoke and noise.

You do not always understand the moment while you are living it.

Sometimes, you only understand it years later.

In football, and in life, the job is not always to control the chaos.
Sometimes, the job is to stay calm inside it.

Lesson for Goalkeepers

As a goalkeeper, you will often stand in the middle of noise, pressure and chaos.

You cannot control everything around you. You cannot control the crowd, the occasion, the referee, the mistake before yours, or what other people are feeling.

But you can control yourself.

Your breathing.

Your focus.

Your next action.

Your response.

In football, and in life, the job is not always to control the chaos.

Sometimes, the job is to stay calm inside it.