19th Mar '13
Some MPs are crying foul over the names of some fellow parliamentarians: their last names sound Serbian. Never mind that they may not be Serbs. Nationalism is on a high, said Vjeko. I told him it reminded me of a wedding party I saw in Split last year: the couple was being cheered on at the steps of the main cathedral, their relatives and friends were dancing, and in the background, someone was waving the Croatian flag. I was told people are asserting their patriotism at any given opportunity. People need to be sure of who you are, your allegiances. Loyalties cannot be suspect.
Especially not at this time, when there's going to be a football match between Croatia and Serbia in a matter of days. The game, a World Cup qualifier, is the first between the two sides in at least 10 years. It is to be held in Zagreb, and Ognjen told me Serb supporters would not be allowed to enter Croation territory to attend the match. There's no guarantee for their safety, especially if Croatia loses the match. As it is, matches between rival clubs within the country have often triggered violence, so one with the (former?) enemy would not be spared, he pointed out. I was reminded of the soccer war between El Salvador and Honduras in 1969.
The day of the match
The game between Croatia and Serbia took place while I was in Belgrade. Walking back to the hostel, I passed bars and pubs with flat screen TVs mounted on walls and scores of eyes glued to them. The same was true of the hostel, where I found one of the receptionists standing behind his counter. The other one, however, had his back to the TV and was surfing the web.
'I'm back in time it seems.'
'Yes!' the first one said to me. I looked at Max, the one on the computer, and asked why he wasn't watching.
'Why bother? Serbia is going to lose.'
'How can you be so sure?' I asked.
He turns towards me, 'The Croatian team is ranked way higher than the Serbian one. The stadium is filled with Croatians, and there are no Serb supporters. So what do you think?'
'Yea but who knows? Things can happen, no? Maybe the lack of supporters might spur them on, you know, reverse psychology and all..'
'Uh huh.'
'What do you think?' I ask the first receptionist (whose name I've forgotten).
'I think there's no saying what would happen. Serbia might win.'
'That's such a typically Serb position. We're always hoping against hope,' Max countered. 'Don't get me wrong, I love my country. But I know when to call a spade a spade.'
'OK, but I'm not Serb..what do you have to say about that?' We waited for a response. Max went back to what he was doing.
After the first half, Serbia was down 0-1. Sometime into the 60th minute, Croatia gave the Serbs what they were waiting for: a guaranteed exit. I could not watch anymore. That night, the streets of Belgrade were quiet.
The next night..
I met Nikolai in his pub behind Novi Sad's famous Cathedral. At some point the game took centrestage in our conversation.
'Did you watch it?' I asked.
'Yes, we lost 2-0.'
'Oh well.'
'Too much attention was given to it anyway. You know Serbs weren't allowed to attend the match?'
'Yes, security concerns and all. I also heard that the Croatian side had a lot of media attention while the Serbs conducted their training under tight security and a media blackout.'
'I don't understand..why does a football match have to be politicised? I have Croatian friends, I have Bosnian friends. Why does it always have to be 'us' against 'them'?'
'I heard similar rumblings in Zagreb. Nobody wants another war.'
'The politicians do. The other thing is this: Serbia has talent in other sports, but they never get as much attention. Everything is focused on football even though we don't do well in it.'
'Sounds familiar,' I offered.
Towards the end of my trip two weeks later..
I was walking down from Ognjen's apartment to the main square. Nothing much has changed here from the last time I was in the city. The same cafes, the same pubs. I went past a chocolaterie, and made a mental note to drop by before flying back to Singapore. A few doors down is a pub, whose tables outside were empty. I caught sight of a blackboard stuck to a wall close to the door. On it were the words 'Hrvatska i Srbija', and under it, 'GAME OF THE YEAR!'
Ognjen was probably right. It could have been very ugly, if Croatia had lost the match.
Some MPs are crying foul over the names of some fellow parliamentarians: their last names sound Serbian. Never mind that they may not be Serbs. Nationalism is on a high, said Vjeko. I told him it reminded me of a wedding party I saw in Split last year: the couple was being cheered on at the steps of the main cathedral, their relatives and friends were dancing, and in the background, someone was waving the Croatian flag. I was told people are asserting their patriotism at any given opportunity. People need to be sure of who you are, your allegiances. Loyalties cannot be suspect.
Especially not at this time, when there's going to be a football match between Croatia and Serbia in a matter of days. The game, a World Cup qualifier, is the first between the two sides in at least 10 years. It is to be held in Zagreb, and Ognjen told me Serb supporters would not be allowed to enter Croation territory to attend the match. There's no guarantee for their safety, especially if Croatia loses the match. As it is, matches between rival clubs within the country have often triggered violence, so one with the (former?) enemy would not be spared, he pointed out. I was reminded of the soccer war between El Salvador and Honduras in 1969.
The day of the match
The game between Croatia and Serbia took place while I was in Belgrade. Walking back to the hostel, I passed bars and pubs with flat screen TVs mounted on walls and scores of eyes glued to them. The same was true of the hostel, where I found one of the receptionists standing behind his counter. The other one, however, had his back to the TV and was surfing the web.
'I'm back in time it seems.'
'Yes!' the first one said to me. I looked at Max, the one on the computer, and asked why he wasn't watching.
'Why bother? Serbia is going to lose.'
'How can you be so sure?' I asked.
He turns towards me, 'The Croatian team is ranked way higher than the Serbian one. The stadium is filled with Croatians, and there are no Serb supporters. So what do you think?'
'Yea but who knows? Things can happen, no? Maybe the lack of supporters might spur them on, you know, reverse psychology and all..'
'Uh huh.'
'What do you think?' I ask the first receptionist (whose name I've forgotten).
'I think there's no saying what would happen. Serbia might win.'
'That's such a typically Serb position. We're always hoping against hope,' Max countered. 'Don't get me wrong, I love my country. But I know when to call a spade a spade.'
'OK, but I'm not Serb..what do you have to say about that?' We waited for a response. Max went back to what he was doing.
After the first half, Serbia was down 0-1. Sometime into the 60th minute, Croatia gave the Serbs what they were waiting for: a guaranteed exit. I could not watch anymore. That night, the streets of Belgrade were quiet.
The next night..
I met Nikolai in his pub behind Novi Sad's famous Cathedral. At some point the game took centrestage in our conversation.
'Did you watch it?' I asked.
'Yes, we lost 2-0.'
'Oh well.'
'Too much attention was given to it anyway. You know Serbs weren't allowed to attend the match?'
'Yes, security concerns and all. I also heard that the Croatian side had a lot of media attention while the Serbs conducted their training under tight security and a media blackout.'
'I don't understand..why does a football match have to be politicised? I have Croatian friends, I have Bosnian friends. Why does it always have to be 'us' against 'them'?'
'I heard similar rumblings in Zagreb. Nobody wants another war.'
'The politicians do. The other thing is this: Serbia has talent in other sports, but they never get as much attention. Everything is focused on football even though we don't do well in it.'
'Sounds familiar,' I offered.
Towards the end of my trip two weeks later..
I was walking down from Ognjen's apartment to the main square. Nothing much has changed here from the last time I was in the city. The same cafes, the same pubs. I went past a chocolaterie, and made a mental note to drop by before flying back to Singapore. A few doors down is a pub, whose tables outside were empty. I caught sight of a blackboard stuck to a wall close to the door. On it were the words 'Hrvatska i Srbija', and under it, 'GAME OF THE YEAR!'
Ognjen was probably right. It could have been very ugly, if Croatia had lost the match.
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