A classic David & Goliath tale, complete with colorful heroes, cold-hearted villains, and nail-biting games—with the hockey rink serving as an arena for a nation’s resistance.
During the height of the Cold War, a group of small-town men would lead their underdog hockey team from the little country of Czechoslovakia against the Soviet Union, the juggernaut in their sport. As they battled on the ice, the young players would keep their people’s quest for freedom alive, and forge a way to fight back against the authoritarian forces that sought to crush them.
From the sudden invasion of Czechoslovakia by an armada of tanks and 500,000 Warsaw Pact soldiers, to a hockey victory over the Soviets that inspired half a million furious citizens to take to the streets, Freedom to Win tells a story that ranges from iconic moments in history to courageous individual stories, including: the fearless escape by three brothers who make up the core of the national team, thrilling world championship games, one brave player taking a stand and leading ten thousand people in a tear-filled rendition of the Czechoslovak national anthem amid chants of “freedom!” while a revolution raged in the streets of Prague, and the team taking on its nemesis one last time with the Olympic gold medal at stake.
At the heart of Freedom to Win is the story of the Holíks, a Czechoslovak family whose resistance to the Communists embodied the deepest desires of the people of their country. Faced with life under the cruel and arbitrary regime that had stolen their family butcher shop, the Holík boys became national hockey icons and inspirations to their people.
Filled with heart-pounding moments on the ice and unforgettable slices of history, Freedom to Win is the ultimate tale of why sports truly matter.
About the Author:
Ethan Scheiner is Professor of Political Science at the University of California, Davis. His previous books include Democracy without Competition in Japan and Electoral Systems and Political Context. He now teaches and writes on the intersection of politics and sports. His writing on sports and political resistance has appeared in the Washington Post, Stars and Stripes, Politico, and The Daily Beast.
To Purchase:
Excerpt:
On March 21—seven months to the day since the USSR had invaded their country—Czechoslovakia’s players rode the bus from their hotel to the biggest hockey match of their lives. Some of the men focused on their tactics for the game, trying not to get overexcited. But others seemed on the verge of jumping out of their skins, saying to each other, “We need to do it for our people.” Many of the players had been on the national team for years. Yet not one had ever felt quite the way he did on the ride to the arena that day.
Years later, Czechoslovakia’s players felt sympathy for the Soviet men they faced in Stockholm. After all, their opponents were just hockey players. They had not driven the tanks that stormed Czechoslovakia. They had not planned the invasion. They were simply young men with such great athletic ability that they had been selected to play in a series of games that month. But because of where they came from, the world hated them. And no one hated them more than the players from Czechoslovakia. Over the years, it had become common for the two teams to meet for social events. Or they just sat together in their hotel rooms, drinking and talking. Sometimes complaints about their lives slipped out. When no handlers were there, occasionally the Soviet players talked about all the things they weren’t allowed to do and how their bedrooms were bugged. The Czechoslovak men found the Soviet players arrogant as a group, and they disliked some of them personally, but a number of the players on each side had become friends with their counterparts on the other.
On March 21, 1969 in Stockholm, though, those friendships were dead. To the Czechoslovak players, the other side was made up of the “f***ing Russians”—their sworn enemies. Team Czechoslovakia exulted as crowds in Sweden jeered the Soviets when they played. And the men from Czechoslovakia couldn’t wait to do far more than just jeer.
The locker room felt different that night. It was partly that most hockey changing rooms smelled like smoke and cleaning agents, but this one somehow had a fresh aroma. But the feeling had far more to do with the men themselves. Despite the best efforts of Dr. Vaněk to keep everyone calm, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The tight-knit Czechoslovak players fed off each other’s energy. But there was also deep, personal anger and desire for revenge. They invaded our peaceful country. Time crawled. The wait to take to the ice seemed interminable.
The coaches reminded the men to avoid getting too rough. Restraint was a tactic. They could not afford to become shorthanded because of plays that sent Czechoslovak players to the penalty box. The Soviets would eat them alive.
Then Coach Kostka surprised the men. Ordinarily, the robot-like hockey professor limited his comments to instructions about tactics, but on this night he added something more: “Remember, we have made a patriotic promise to our people that each and every one of us will do all that he can to defeat the Soviets tonight.”
Usually on games days, Jaroslav Holík focused on the pregame time as a moment to clear his head. When he played at home, he would lie down for a bit to settle himself, and he usually didn’t pay attention to much in the locker room except his hockey stick. He’d just single-mindedly fix the tape on the blade of his stick until it was perfect. But games against the USSR were different. As he prepared to play the Red Machine, Jaroslav thought back to his childhood, when the Communists had seized his parents’ butcher shop. He recalled how he had listened along with his family to the broadcasts of the horrific Slánský show trial, and how his father and the men in Brod said that it was really Moscow pulling the strings.
Finally, the coaches announced it was time.
As the players navigated the wide concrete moat separating the locker room and stands from the ice, they heard something remarkable: a roar of encouragement more akin to what they might have gotten back home in Prague. On average, most games at the tournament that didn’t include the home team attracted only a relative smattering of about 4,500 spectators, but this March 21 match drew in nearly 8,000. Swedes made up the bulk of the audience, but on this evening it was as if they had been transformed. As the players looked around the stands, they saw signs written in Czech, supporting the team and condemning the invasion. One otherwise unassuming young man stood holding his poster with hand-scrawled Czech writing (Vy nám tanky, my vám branky) for his hockey heroes to see:
During the height of the Cold War, a group of small-town men would lead their underdog hockey team from the little country of Czechoslovakia against the Soviet Union, the juggernaut in their sport. As they battled on the ice, the young players would keep their people’s quest for freedom alive, and forge a way to fight back against the authoritarian forces that sought to crush them.
From the sudden invasion of Czechoslovakia by an armada of tanks and 500,000 Warsaw Pact soldiers, to a hockey victory over the Soviets that inspired half a million furious citizens to take to the streets, Freedom to Win tells a story that ranges from iconic moments in history to courageous individual stories, including: the fearless escape by three brothers who make up the core of the national team, thrilling world championship games, one brave player taking a stand and leading ten thousand people in a tear-filled rendition of the Czechoslovak national anthem amid chants of “freedom!” while a revolution raged in the streets of Prague, and the team taking on its nemesis one last time with the Olympic gold medal at stake.
At the heart of Freedom to Win is the story of the Holíks, a Czechoslovak family whose resistance to the Communists embodied the deepest desires of the people of their country. Faced with life under the cruel and arbitrary regime that had stolen their family butcher shop, the Holík boys became national hockey icons and inspirations to their people.
Filled with heart-pounding moments on the ice and unforgettable slices of history, Freedom to Win is the ultimate tale of why sports truly matter.
About the Author:
Ethan Scheiner is Professor of Political Science at the University of California, Davis. His previous books include Democracy without Competition in Japan and Electoral Systems and Political Context. He now teaches and writes on the intersection of politics and sports. His writing on sports and political resistance has appeared in the Washington Post, Stars and Stripes, Politico, and The Daily Beast.
To Purchase:
- Signed copies from a wonderful independent bookstore in the US (you can also request here whom the author should make it out to): https://www.orindabooks.com/book/9781639363513
- Amazon US: Amazon.com
- Amazon Canada: Amazon.ca
Excerpt:
On March 21—seven months to the day since the USSR had invaded their country—Czechoslovakia’s players rode the bus from their hotel to the biggest hockey match of their lives. Some of the men focused on their tactics for the game, trying not to get overexcited. But others seemed on the verge of jumping out of their skins, saying to each other, “We need to do it for our people.” Many of the players had been on the national team for years. Yet not one had ever felt quite the way he did on the ride to the arena that day.
Years later, Czechoslovakia’s players felt sympathy for the Soviet men they faced in Stockholm. After all, their opponents were just hockey players. They had not driven the tanks that stormed Czechoslovakia. They had not planned the invasion. They were simply young men with such great athletic ability that they had been selected to play in a series of games that month. But because of where they came from, the world hated them. And no one hated them more than the players from Czechoslovakia. Over the years, it had become common for the two teams to meet for social events. Or they just sat together in their hotel rooms, drinking and talking. Sometimes complaints about their lives slipped out. When no handlers were there, occasionally the Soviet players talked about all the things they weren’t allowed to do and how their bedrooms were bugged. The Czechoslovak men found the Soviet players arrogant as a group, and they disliked some of them personally, but a number of the players on each side had become friends with their counterparts on the other.
On March 21, 1969 in Stockholm, though, those friendships were dead. To the Czechoslovak players, the other side was made up of the “f***ing Russians”—their sworn enemies. Team Czechoslovakia exulted as crowds in Sweden jeered the Soviets when they played. And the men from Czechoslovakia couldn’t wait to do far more than just jeer.
The locker room felt different that night. It was partly that most hockey changing rooms smelled like smoke and cleaning agents, but this one somehow had a fresh aroma. But the feeling had far more to do with the men themselves. Despite the best efforts of Dr. Vaněk to keep everyone calm, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The tight-knit Czechoslovak players fed off each other’s energy. But there was also deep, personal anger and desire for revenge. They invaded our peaceful country. Time crawled. The wait to take to the ice seemed interminable.
The coaches reminded the men to avoid getting too rough. Restraint was a tactic. They could not afford to become shorthanded because of plays that sent Czechoslovak players to the penalty box. The Soviets would eat them alive.
Then Coach Kostka surprised the men. Ordinarily, the robot-like hockey professor limited his comments to instructions about tactics, but on this night he added something more: “Remember, we have made a patriotic promise to our people that each and every one of us will do all that he can to defeat the Soviets tonight.”
Usually on games days, Jaroslav Holík focused on the pregame time as a moment to clear his head. When he played at home, he would lie down for a bit to settle himself, and he usually didn’t pay attention to much in the locker room except his hockey stick. He’d just single-mindedly fix the tape on the blade of his stick until it was perfect. But games against the USSR were different. As he prepared to play the Red Machine, Jaroslav thought back to his childhood, when the Communists had seized his parents’ butcher shop. He recalled how he had listened along with his family to the broadcasts of the horrific Slánský show trial, and how his father and the men in Brod said that it was really Moscow pulling the strings.
Finally, the coaches announced it was time.
As the players navigated the wide concrete moat separating the locker room and stands from the ice, they heard something remarkable: a roar of encouragement more akin to what they might have gotten back home in Prague. On average, most games at the tournament that didn’t include the home team attracted only a relative smattering of about 4,500 spectators, but this March 21 match drew in nearly 8,000. Swedes made up the bulk of the audience, but on this evening it was as if they had been transformed. As the players looked around the stands, they saw signs written in Czech, supporting the team and condemning the invasion. One otherwise unassuming young man stood holding his poster with hand-scrawled Czech writing (Vy nám tanky, my vám branky) for his hockey heroes to see:
You Send Tanks, We Bring Goals
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