Mark Madden: From Kladno to Bayside, Jaromir Jagr put smiles on hockey fans' faces

Only in a city that’s had a hockey timeline like Pittsburgh’s since 1984 could a player the caliber of Jaromir Jagr get somewhat lost in the shuffle.

But that’s what happened. Out of sight, out of mind.

Obscured by the permanent shadow of Mario Lemieux and by the commotion and Stanley Cups of the Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin era.

Jagr played a season for the Philadelphia Flyers, too. That might have hurt, not least because he teased a return to Pittsburgh just prior.

Heck, Jagr played for a lot of teams: nine in the NHL and the KHL’s Avangard Omsk, the pride of snowy Siberia. ($9 million per year tax-free buys lots of warmth.) Jagr was the forerunner of a recent sports phenomenon, the millionaire journeyman.

But more than anything, Jagr was a great hockey player.

He hovers around being a top-five player all-time. Second-most points in NHL history.

The truly great have one thing that’s unique. Jagr couldn’t be knocked off the puck. His control of the disc was special. (Still is, probably, at least in the Czech Extraliga.)

More than any other team, Jagr is a Penguin.

His longest tenure (11 seasons) was in Pittsburgh. His peak years were in Pittsburgh. He won his two Stanley Cups in Pittsburgh. He won his five scoring titles and his MVP in Pittsburgh.

Jagr grew up in Pittsburgh. Even though he never really felt like anything besides a stranger in a strange land.

Jagr was booed when he returned to Pittsburgh with other teams, and for no remotely good reason. It hurt him deeply.

But when No. 68 ascends to the rafters of PPG Paints Arena on Sunday, that will be forgotten in the wash of an ovation that will be loud, long and Lemieux-like. (It’s not official, but No. 66 is expected to be there. Regardless of any rift between Lemieux and current owners Fenway Sports Group, this is about teammates and legacy.)

It will be special.

I had a good relationship with Jagr, though he yelled at me a few times. Once when he mistakenly identified me as the author of a critical column actually written by Ron Cook. Hilarity ensued when Jagr’s error was realized. Fat-shaming and cursing had occurred.

When I was in Las Vegas working for World Championship Wrestling one summer in the ’90s, I was in a casino bar with some wrestlers when Jagr walked by. I called his name and was immediately fearful: What if he big-times me? But Jagr ambled over, spent a few minutes and was incredibly gracious. Got me street cred with the boys.

Jagr was a big kid. I mean that as a compliment. When Jagr was happy, he beamed.

Most remember Jagr for that spectacular goal in Game 1 of the 1992 Stanley Cup Final vs. Chicago.

For single-handedly leading the eighth-seeded Penguins to the elimination of top seed New Jersey in the first round of the 1999 playoffs despite playing on a badly hurt groin. That series victory likely saved the Penguins from bankruptcy.

The mullet. The big backside. When he succeeded Lemieux as undeniably hockey’s best player.

My favorite Jagr memory is more personal.

Like many European players, Jagr learned English from watching television. Teen-focused sitcom “Saved by the Bell” was among his favorite programs.

The Penguins once hosted a celebrity game at Mellon Arena following one of their own. Among the participants was Mark-Paul Gosselaar. Gosselaar played one of the main characters in “Saved by the Bell,” preppie Zack Morris.

Jagr spotted Gosselaar, then came barreling into the Penguins’ dressing room to shout gleefully at fellow Czech Petr Nedved.

“Petr! Petr!” was followed by a lengthy torrent of enthusiastic Czech. And then, with more than a hint of absolute rapture, “SAVED BY THE BELL! SAVED BY THE BELL!”

It might have been the happiest I ever saw Jagr.

I hope he’s that happy Sunday. I suspect he will be.