Back at home, Panenka engaged in another nearly daily competition: taking penalties.
After practice with his Prague club, Bohemians, Panenka and goalkeeper Zdenek Hruska would linger afterward to work on their spot-kicks.
It turned into a very personal rivalry. Panenka would take five penalties, needing to score all of them, while Hruska only had to save one. The loser would treat the winner to a beer or chocolate after training.
“I was always the one losing money,” Panenka recalls.
“So in the evenings, I’d brainstorm ways to outsmart him – that’s when I figured out that as I approached, the goalkeeper would hold off until the last moment, then gamble on diving left or right.
“I thought: ‘What if I just tap the ball almost straight down the middle of the goal?'”
Panenka attempted this approach. He discovered that introducing an element of doubt in Hruska’s mind helped him win more often, reducing his costs while still enjoying his post-training reward.
What began as simple showboating developed into something much more substantial. Panenka realized he’d created a genuine tactical method for penalty kicks.
In the subsequent years, he tested his technique on bigger platforms. Initially in training, then in friendlies, and ultimately, the month before Euro 1976, in a competitive match against local rivals Dukla Prague.
With each attempt, his confidence grew as it consistently succeeded.
“I didn’t hide it,” Panenka asserts.
“Here in Czechoslovakia, everyone knew about it.
“But in Western nations, particularly the top footballing countries, no one paid attention to Czechoslovak football.
“Sure, they might have seen some results, but they weren’t watching our matches.”
This meant that Sepp Maier had no laminated cheat sheet or hushed guidance from a behind-the-scenes analyst.
As the West German goalkeeper positioned himself on the goal line and locked his gaze on Panenka, he relied solely on his instincts.
Maier’s teammate Uli Hoeness had just blasted a penalty over the bar, marking the first missed kick of the shoot-out after extra time ended with both teams tied at 2-2.
In a flash, the stakes were raised to sudden death and extraordinarily high. Should Panenka score, West Germany would face defeat.
Panenka’s run was swift and long. He appeared determined, much like Hoeness, to powerfully strike the ball.
Yet, when it came to the most crucial kick of his life, he reverted to his tried-and-true move. A gentle touch sent the ball delicately towards the center of the goal. Panenka raised his arm in victory before it even hit the net. Meanwhile, Maier, perplexed and scrambling, managed to get back up just in time to shoot a disappointed glance at Panenka, who was already celebrating.
