As a kid, I used to follow football matches on the radio every Sunday. I also loved to listen when grown-ups talked about Hajduk (a football club from Split, my home-town) from the good old days, when players used to play for joy of the game, for pride, for Split. These stories enchanted me. I fell in love with football, Hajduk and the Croatian National Team to an extent that is very difficult to describe in words. The war in Croatia and later my studies in the US have multiplied the effect of my infatuation and yearning. Now, when I look back, my love of football was, like every other addiction, an escape from reality into some “better world”.

Officially, I was never a member of Torcida (an organized fan club of Hajduk), because I always tried to distance myself from those fans whose priorities were to be seen, to be loud and important, rather than for Hajduk to win. My being a fan had only one purpose to it, and it was to help Hajduk and the National Team win. However, I would be Torcida once on the north stands of Poljud stadium, because the mass and frantic chanting would always end up becoming one body. All that was individually mine would vanish, and only one thing existed then, only one voice and only one goal. I was never myself when chanting and raving with the others, I was then a fan club. Of Hajduk and the National team I though every day. In a very serious manner football became my religion. As a matter of fact, all Croatian football fan clubs call to God and ask for divine intervention during football matches when things are not going their way. Torcida, for example, is known to sing: “Oh Jesus, up in heavens, please help, help the whites, white kit, white color, oh Jesus, we belong to you!” I used to sing that as hard as my throat would permit me, most often in the dying minutes of losing matches, and most often without any effect.

I met many different types of football fans. I’ve seen those that didn’t finish an elementary school leading the college students. Most of them were employed, but in spite of the fact, many of them would play bums during away matches. Almost always so many of the “hard-core” fans would hold players prisoners in the hotels where they resided, asking money, food and jerseys from them. We often slept outside. But even if we stayed at a hotel during visiting matches, only one of us would pay for the room, and other five would be smuggled in for free. At stadiums, fan scarves and banners became national flags, even weapons in fan warfare.

War and nationalism were two cornerstones of all chanting and cheering that would end up in open attempts of humiliating the opposing fans, and finally in violence against the opposition and the police. Although I was employed and successful at what I did professionally, it was football fever that held me in its grip for the entire week preceding a match, and on weekends the fever would culminate in uncontrolled shouting, all-nights out and gallons of cheep alcohol. Each football fan was aware of the code of honor, and I myself was a witness to this most holy of codes. I was also, however, a witness of how this code was easily dismissed. A lot of people believe that many football hooligans seek football as a way of venting their violence and aggression. This is partially true, because violence is ever so present where football fans go (ie English, or East Europeans). I believe that most of fans seek to belong to something first, as well as they seek the escape from reality to which they think they don’t belong or that isn’t fair. And only when they bond with those alike, they think themselves stronger than the law, which leads to violence.

My way of living as a fan has brought a lot of grief to my family. I used to wake up in places I’ve had no clue how I came to, lived through countless drunk-fests, automobile accidents, fights, even two overnights in jail. The photograph of me being arrested in Slovenia gets printed in newspapers even today, whenever there’s news of fan violence somewhere, and I still feel the creeps of my being in jail in Malta. Most people only smiled when I would tell them about my “adventures”. Only few well-meaning friends tried telling me how bad I was having it, prime amongst them being Kristijan, a colleague from work who used to say that God Himself was watching over me. I indeed felt that to be true. Regardless of it, I kept going, every Monday tying my tie after an exhausting weekend, trying to work as diligently as possible. It was a real “double life” I led, tied together only through the wild stories I used to tell to my colleagues at work, trying to be funny and “special”. At work I had my audience and repertoire. I would exaggerate stories, make them more interesting and in the end I became fairly popular because of them. In spite of it all, I felt empty. No stadium frenzy and not even frequent pats on my back for “jobs-well-done” could not replace my deepest cries for true fulfillment.

For years, Kristijan tried to talk me into going to church with him, offering to go to a football match with me in return. For years I’d just laugh, push him away with words, or physically. I regarded myself a catholic, and he was belonging to a “sect”. Just before Christmas of 2005, I was spending my last days in Croatia, as I was transferring to a position in Slovenia, and at an office party Kristijan asked me once more “do you want to come with me to a Church on Saturday?” I was drunk both with alcohol and pleasure of going to a new working position, so I accepted without much thought. That Saturday Kristijan opened the door to his apartment wearing slippers, and instead into a Church, he asked me to come into his apartment where their prayer team was meeting. I was angry and disappointed, but he sat me between himself and another colleague from work who was born-again Christian of a few months. My anger passed as I was listening to their worship, their prayers and their laughter. The following days I’ve been repeatedly attacked by the Evil one (through fears and dreams), but I was also saved by God. I’ve started to believe in Jesus and all that I’ve once held in contempt and have ridiculed, has now become precious to me. My life has changed completely, and a sense of fullness, sense of joy and a sense of being loved by my Father fills me every day more and more. Hollow joys of my previous life and all those once-funny and adventurous stories could never do the same.

Football?

Now I think that normal football fans are those who can sit and watch a football match on TV and stay un-affected by the outcome of it, whatever it may be. Actually, I’ve found that there are many such people, but none call them fans.

If any have a need to chant and cheer, may they replace their gods of football with the Creator, because the scripture does not say it in vain:

“I give you thanks, O Lord, with my whole heart; before the gods I sing your praise.” (Psalm 138:1)

PODIJELI ČLANAK