The Introduction
Ever since its inception, the most important of all unimportant things in this world, as beloved Polish Prime Minister Wojtyła so accurately put it during the zenith of his country's surprising performance at the 1998 World Cup, the world's most popular sport has proven time and time again its incredible magnetic pull, with people flocking to each and every game in droves since the 1870s, and even soccer's more primitive forms dating all the way back to the Han period of Chinese history, also making it one of the oldest sports still played to this day. From its meager beginnings, it was simply
evident: a bunch of rugged Scots and Englishmen chasing a leather ball around like madmen on a muddy field, on an even muddier, colder rainy night in Glasgow will lead to great things.
And lead to great things it did. A few years after the fact, with the formation of the first ever official football league in 1888, word of the new game quickly spread like wildfire, over the Channel and later the high seas to all corners of the world, enveloping thousands, even millions of people into the fold, like a plague that seemed to bring only positive things to everyone involved. The players and managers were given an extraordinary opportunity to blow off some steam by sweating out their frustrations from every pore on their body while the public enthusiastically cheered them on, relishing the amazing escapism the new sport offered with each and every exciting match.
Soon, football became known as the poor man's game, oft played by amateurs coming from penurious places who could focus their free time away from the incessant and many a time unforgiving jobs in factories and other vocations to whom they were bound not by choice, but rather out of despair, only wishing to be able to have enough money to scrape by and keep a roof under their heads. Back in the day, professionalism was something unheard of, being only a limited commodity to the fortunate few whose talents or simply blind luck enabled them to focus their adoration completely on the art of the game. The public cared immensely, and the minority of players who have reached stardom quickly came to be worshipped by fans and onlookers alike, often becoming main topics of conversation in local pubs, squares and streets on every weekend following their weekly successes on the pitch.
Members of the upper class also took note of the popularity of the incredibly popular new trend, and quickly started emptying their pockets in order to fund and help establish new soccer clubs hoping to lessen the long-present divide between the rich and the working class. Of course, with larger towns and cities came the need for equal representation of many districts within the settlements, and many clubs quickly sprang into being trying to assert themselves as the strongest and most prestigious in order to shine the spotlight on their own borough, the most glaring example of which is London. The capital of a fledgling British Empire from times that have long gone, The Smoke, as it is commonly referred to by both its residents and critics alike, has been home to clubs such as Tottenham, Chelsea, Arsenal and West Ham United who have continuously vied for hegemony and dominance in English football for decades and decades on end, without any side quite managing to edge out the other, leading to fierce and heavily publicized derbies that only resulted in more bombastic newspaper (tabloid, really) headlines with less than objective front covers whose brightly colored, boldly written exclamations and exhilarating heaps of journalistically unethical praise became subject of frequent ridicule by their readership, who nonetheless continued to consume the outrageous fluff pieces adorned with bits and pieces of accurate, digestible information about their favorite pastime well into the Internet Age.
With such a rapid expansion of football also came the need to form organizations in order to easily bring every willing participant together. FIFA, as the International Federation of Association Football, was formed in Paris in 1904 to better oversee international competition among the national associations. Numbering eight European members at first, the governing body of world football was soon joined by countless others, consuming the world administratively much in the same vein as the sport itself did with the public consciousness over the years. Moreover, the idealists within FIFA's administration (chief among them being Frenchman Jules Rimet) had long hoped to bring different worlds together through a tournament that would host nations from all over the blue planet that would be willing to set aside their differences through decent, sportsmanlike behavior and be able to enjoy themselves without prejudice, without hatred or any other ulterior motives. Monsieur Rimet's ceaseless persistence finally bore fruit with the hosting of the first World Cup in Uruguay in 1930 that was received unanimously well, leading to the competition soon growing larger in size (regarding both the attendees on field and in the seats) with each and every iteration that followed every fourth year (with the notable exception of the 1942 and 1946 tournaments that had to be canceled because of the financial difficulties European countries endured following the destructive Second World War). Additionally, the press always goes into overdrive every fourth Summer, allowing people to take their mind off the harsh realities of life by following the everyday escapades of their favorite players who are representing their homeland so far away. Of course, it can be argued that its effects are largely negative, but the interpretation of this is entirely up to you and your worldview.
Clock-wise from top left:
- Prime Minister Karol Wojtyła sporting his signature black fedora, being interviewed after Poland's stunning 2-0 victory over France in the Round of 16
- Cuju, ancient Chinese version of soccer (painting by Huang Shen)
- typical modern tabloid headline pertaining to soccer
- first ever football game (Scotland versus England)
- photo from the unforgettable 2010 World Cup match between Belgium and England that ended in a dramatic draw, allowing the former world champions to knock out the favorites and go through to the Round of 16
The Dark Side
Unfortunately, as has been the case with everything since the dawn of time, the plaudits have to end when the other side of the medal starts rearing its ugly head again and again. Actions have long spoken louder than words, and no matter how many times managers and players promise camaraderie, fair play or anything of the sort, the conduct of their supporters is what either makes or breaks those words. Many might not even pay much attention to it, but what happens in the stands is commonly just as important as every kick, chip or flick happening on the green pitches between twenty two sweaty, fired-up people. Passions run rampant within people, easily blurring the thin line between love and hate that can so easily wrestle control of the human soul at the most risible of provocations, however if it lands where it irks the most it can make for a wildly uncomfortable incident for all sides involved, like a red flag to a bull. Be it because of prejudice, blind hatred, suppressed memories or passion that was lost control of, causes of a nature most foul such as this one are as common as dew or sunshine.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and the sad truth of the matter is: everyone and everything can be corrupted and twisted into something truly ominous with enough patience and persistence, a lovable game such as football being no exception. From its early days back in the 19th century, on occasion the football pitch erupted into brawls and sporadic outbursts of violence, one of many good examples (and might I say amusing) examples being the
drunk and disorderly conduct of a seventy-year-old woman in a 1905 derby between Preston North End and Blackburn. As football slowly but surely changed and morphed into the game we know and adore today, the problem of bigotry and lack of understanding seemingly grew with its popularity. Brawls and general stadia destruction in combination with questionable refereeing in crucial moments (such as the chaotic Semi-Final match between Yugoslavia and Uruguay during the inaugural World Cup) and even under-the-counter payments favoring the hosts (four years later in Italy) only serve to further certain people's agenda of football being yet another tragic stage play creating fools out of its spectators with such blatant and many a time nonsensical showcasing of corruption, not to mention the numerous controversies bursting onto the scene regarding FIFA's countless shady irregularities with granting the hosting rights of the most prestigious sports tournament in the whole world to Saudi Arabia in 2006 and China in 2014. Many argue and continuously grunt that they would never forget, but ironically enough they always elect to ignore mentioning that some injustices do get avenged, as the bewildering 1950 iteration of the competition showed to the whole world.
Englishmen always tend to get the shortest end of the stick when it comes to discussing hooliganism, and undeservedly so if you ask me. While a centuries-old trend that never seems to die in Britain, many blame the specific political and social circumstances of the times on the increased activity of thugs and ruffians after the relatively quiet interwar period, and largely they do seem to be right, however, just blaming it on the numerous crises plaguing the largest empire in human history during the course of the 20th century seems to cast a much maligned, evidently empty image that does not tell the whole story sufficiently. From the 1950s, many of the dreaded
ultras, as they came to be known due to their nigh-unwavering, fanatical support for either their club or country, started filling the headlines through various means, each more destructive than the former, slowly forming their own niches of support and thereby reaching a minor celebrity status within their cities and municipalities, and even rarely on the national level. Still, the question of the frankly surprising level of readiness, energy and order showcased in every incident since the 50s only proved that there was something more hidden behind the veil of self-described
service to the homeland during World War II and unfairness resulting from racism and practically intoxicating paranoia resulting from the aggressive foreign policy pursued by the Soviet Union right after the end of the greatest conflict in history. In many of the interviews conducted during the Golden Age of British football that are incredibly difficult to seek out in this day and age, many of the die-hard roughs cite
the Slavs as their primary source of inspiration for reigniting the process that led to the deaths of tens of thousands of innocent people to this very day. Biting venom mixed with apprehensive respect in their voices aside, such a response can easily lead to confusion within many people who are not appropriately acquainted with the reference, and coming from notorious anti-Slav bigots no less. In fact, one can take an educated guess, and with utmost certainty be correct in assuming that the event they keep referencing to this very day is the infamous
Battle of Zagreb from April 1942.
Clock-wise from top left:
- William B Joyce, self-proclaimed neo-Nazi and leader of one of the largest hooligan formations in Britain during the height of the Red Scare
- stadium filled to the brim with people eagerly awaiting a match, Portugal, 2011
- Dragoslav Mihajlović's threatening stance against Teóphilo in front of Milovan Jakšić during the YUG v BRA game (July 14, 1930)
- first Duce of Fascism Mussolini bought his team's way to victory by bribing referees and officials in order to strengthen his vile totalitarian regime in Italy
- male members of the House of Saud, many of whom were implicated in the controversial fight between a joint United Kingdom bid and Saudi Arabia for 2006 World Cup hosting rights
The Inspiration
The backstory behind the bloody tale of passion, betrayal and uptight, uneasy attempts at cooperation between the two polar opposites is a lengthy one, but it is still necessary to be as informed as possible in order to form a fair, substantiated opinion on this very oft glossed over part of history, so here goes. King Filip of Croatia, being closely related to Italian King Victor Emmanuel III, wished to foster better relations with his father-in-law's nation following the Croatian-Italian War of June 1941. The state of affairs between the two countries during the period from June 1941 to April 1942 could only be described as
almost permanently frozen, with nearly nonexistent trade and even fewer people passing through from one country to the other. Vladko Maček, Ban of the failed First Croat Republic, and his cohorts who formed a supermajority in the national parliament and all other government institutions wanted nothing to do with the invasive neighbor to the west. Filip, however, either because of his unending idealism, or cunning opportunism (if his very fruitful relationship with Luftwaffe head honcho Hermann Göring is anything to go by), decided to go against the grain yet again, offering a hand of peace to Roberto Farinacci, Mussolini's successor, and the two, each for their own secretive reasons, arranged a football match to take place eight days after Easter to bring the Tripartite Pact member states closely together as the events of the Eastern Front and North Africa slowly (and painfully, I might add) unfolded.
On the other side stood the Republic of Ragusa. A perplexing little nation firmly in Italy's sphere of influence very quickly became a textbook example for many Fascists around the world as to how a perfect fascist nation should look like. The total mobilization of its population, a feverish devotion to its leader and his cult of personality as well as the unbreakable support for its military created for a nightmare even George Orwell would've cried at the mere thought of. The Regent of the small republic, Ante Pavelić, firmly held the reigns of the country, and after hearing of the news, ordered to quickly gather the best footballers of Croatian descent coming from the territories of Ragusa and Italy, and seemingly everything was ready for what would become a match for the ages, but not for the reasons anyone had hoped for.
When it rains, it pours, and it definitely showed on April 13, 1942 on Koturaška Stadium. Following a string of non-stop cold days full of rain and grey colors resembling fall more than early spring, Koturaška was drenched in mud, losing all semblances of glamour the Građanski home ground was known for before, resembling a pig sty more than anything else, if photos from the time are anything to go by. The gloomy atmosphere was definitely not backed up by the constables of the Croatian Gendarmerie incessantly patrolling the streets a whole week before the game was to even begin. According to some interviews from back in the day, even the public officials, in spite of all their posturing and apparent readiness for anything, were never expecting things to escalate as quickly as they had. And so, the day of reckoning came.
Surprisingly, the entire Croatian capital was quiet, its citizens having a seemingly universal telepathic understanding of the severity of the whole match. The markets and pubs by record low numbers of people, a rare sight to behold, certainly, because of it all weighing heavily on everyone's mind, which is likely why all men, women and children could be found huddled around the radios within the safe confines of their homes and on the stadium itself. All ten thousands seats were taken up by working class people, peasants and anyone able to afford the tickets, bourgeoisie included, and the imposing crowd was carefully observed and guarded by merely a handful of constables. Pro-royalists, however, were not the only attendees in the diverse sea of people, as was proven at a later date. About six hundred tall, striking men of muscular build with an unquenchable fire in their eyes, had arrived from the Ragusan Republic in order to show their support for the Regent and his fascist government. Yet, later analyses had shown that only about a sixth of the
Barabanti (as the supporters of the team called themselves) actually participated in the drama that evolved on the pitch as the game slowly progressed, while others were scattered around the stadium's exterior.
The two teams left the changing rooms in two lines, side by side, glaring daggers at each other as they were soon greeted by thunderous applause and boos, understanding very well who was on the receiving of each of those. As the captains and managers of both shook hands and exchanged awkward, reluctant glances, they readied themselves for the anthems. First came
Our Beautiful Homeland, the hymn of the Kingdom of Croatia, chanted unanimously by the entire stadium and followed by richly layered sounds of clapping that enthusiastically followed.
And then again… Our Beautiful was played again, this time in the name of the Adriatic fortress-state, leading to incredulous and confused looks from most of the observers, while a hundred or so Barabanti chanted the anthem together with their players on the field, and as the feeling of déjà vu dissipated with the patriotic song, a Roman salute was exchanged between the Ragusan national football team, their supporters in the seats and Coregent of the Republic of Ragusa Marko Došen with a loud exclamation of „
For Homeland – Ready!“
- The Handshake of Discord between Croatian manager Jozo Jakopić (left) and Ragusan manager Marcello Mihalich (right) that would come to define the relationship between the two currents of Croatian political thought in later history as well as the complex relationship between the hooligan armies and the government, as had become the case in parts of the Apennine Peninsula during the Cold War
- footballs kits of Croatia (left) and Ragusa (right)
- Barabanti greeting the world with a Roman salute before the match
The Battle
Swedish ref Rudolf Eklöw blew his whistle, and the much anticipated game had finally begun. Talented Croatian technicians immediately found themselves in hot water as their finesse and proficient maneuvering could hardly shine through as the men struggled to stand upright in the muddy puddles scattered like mines over the battlefield. The much younger, physically stronger Ragusans had held their own and quickly took the leading role in the game, conducting the tempo and pace of play with relative ease as the Croats struggled to overcome them. Pass after pass, shot after shot, the crux of the combat still took place in the center of the field, neither side really managing to pass the sturdy defenses of the other, but one unlucky deflection from Croat defender Miroslav Brozović granted the first corner of the match to the away team. The penalty area of the hosts during the 12th minute was a place of unimaginable chaos. Pushing,
accidental elbows to the ribs and stomps on the feet of unsuspecting players were there only as a prophecy of the things that were about to come, and Eklöw was powerless in his attempts to stop the commotion.
Gajetano Raffanelli's (RAG) shot flew like a soaring eagle through the air, the now-dirtied ball flying like a precisely shot bullet at the goal. A dozen men pushed each other around in the tightly confined space in front of goalkeeper Franjo Glaser (CRO), each expecting the ball to reach them while trying to kick down their opponents flocking around them. In all the disorder, Glaser tried to punch the ball as far as he could've, hoping for one of the midfielders to catch it in the distance to lead a successful counter attack while the Ragusans scrambled to retreat back to their own half of the field, however it was not meant to be. Instead of flying off to meet his teammates, the ball fell into one of the puddles, getting completely stuck in the mud, and the first player to get to the ball before anyone could react was Božo Broketa (RAG). The tall defender and member of GOŠK Dubrovnik youth team kicked the ball as hard as he was able to in order to beat four Croatian defenders trying to gang up on him. Before Glaser could even throw his hands in hopes of catching the ball, the thing had already buried itself deep inside the net. The cheering died down in an instant as time seemingly ground to a halt. Nothing. Pure, terrifying silence emanated throughout the large venue, enveloping all corners of the place as no one had dared to make a move. And then, screams and cries of joy. While minuscule in numbers, the Barabanti still succeeded in being just as loud as the rest of the royalist supporters as they screamed praises about the Regent and responded to the team's action with a Roman salute and a slew of fascist phrases and exclamations as the downtrodden Croats stood about, shoulders slumped and shame clear on their faces.
„It's as if we were locked in an arena with a pack of feral beasts while a dozen thousand people were out for blood. And it sure came.“
The Croats proceeded with the kick-off, and it quickly grew apparent that any attempts at maintaining the hard-working pace from the first thirteen minutes would be futile at best, as the fierce team from the Adriatic kept at it all the same. Despite the heavy push toward Glaser's shaky figure, the Ragusans were still unable to accomplish much, each ball hitting the bar and the eager heads and feet of Croatian defenders who continuously threw themselves in harm's way, making for several impressive photos and set pieces hailing from the time.
But one careless blind pass by Raffanelli (RAG) was expertly intercepted by Zagreb-native Jazbinšek (CRO) whose well-handled lob found its way to Zvonimir Cimermančić (CRO), who in turn stormed the right flank of the surprised Ragusan defenses, even sustaining a dangerous slide tackle by one of the bulky Ragusan midfielders but still remaining tall above the rest. His mad dash toward the penalty box seemed almost like a flurry of blurred lights as his eyes quickly detected the superstar of the Croatian national football team eagerly following his every movement, almost in tandem with the twenty-four year-old defender/attacker. Cimermačić kicked the ball with ferocity, but also with a surgical precision the kind of which Zagreb had rarely, if ever seen. The ball is almost stopped by a defender of Ragusa but the youngster is too late to respond well, and Franjo Wölfl (CRO) slows the ball down with the heel of his left foot, before rolling it to his dominant side and taking the fateful shot. Gino Gardassanich (RAG) tried to stretch out his hand as tall as he might, but he was powerless to stop the Croatian top-scorer who netted his fifth goal for
the Checkered (
Kockasti) in stunning fashion, sending the whole stadium into overdrive. After merely twenty one minutes, there were already two goals scored and a whole roller coaster of emotions traversed, and things were only looking bright for the rest of the befuddled spectators, but the Ragusans and their disdainful glares had other, much more ominous plans in mind. As the cheerful Croatians returned to their half of the pitch, a loud thunderous sound erupted from the depressingly silvered clouds, surely a disconcerting sign of things to come.
With the scoreboard coming to 1-1, the tempo slowed down dramatically, and both quiet managers clutched a pen and some paper in their hand, scribbling random notes down incessantly as their men struggled to overcome the opposing side in the game. The royalists, having regained their voice and a confidence already weary from one of the harshest winters in recent memory steadily chanted and uttered the famous
Ustani bane, a song intoned so many times in the once glorious past of their homeland that it never really left public consciousness, even after almost a century. Each pass and motion by the exuberant Croats was adorned perfectly by the universal voice of over nine thousand people, making for a harmonious, nigh-empyrean display of skill and above all elegant ball-work that could not be hampered even by the dissonance of Ragusan tackles and attempted rough interceptions. The artistry might've gone for even longer than twenty two minutes had it not been for a dangerous slide tackle on captain and midfielder Mirko Kokotović (CRO) that threw the HŠK Građanski player face-first into the cold mud while the away team had already started a hasty offensive, and before the Croats could even regroup to their respective positions in front of Glaser, Opatija-born Stojan Osojnak (RAG) was in front of the stiffly positioned goalkeeper, their eyes locked in a one-on-one struggle. Facing an
either-kill-or-be-killed situation in front of him, the eighteen-year-old attacker lunged to Glaser's right side, taking the goalie with him while the ball flew to the left, hitting the post. Unfortunately for the Croats, the round object just barely passed over the line and Eklöw blew his whistle. It is to be 2-1 for Ragusa.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Barabanti outside the stadium had long since the initial whistle scattered throughout the city, easily blending into the colorful and diverse crowds of people, all the while contemplating their next move, as if anticipating a cause for their intentions to finally start taking effect. The stadium, though, was a whole other matter entirely, with everyone staring perplexingly at the celebratory faces of the Ragusans, followed by the eager clapping of Došen. The old Coregent gazed at Croatian Viceban Adam Pribićević with a satisfied smile, his positive expression saying more than a thousand words, each more cheerful than the former. The awareness that the first half is going to come to an end in what seemed like an instant only amounted to more stress in the minds of the stunned Croatians.
Kokotović (CRO) lightly tapped the ball over to Cimermančić (CRO) as the Swedish ref blew the whistle, while others followed suit to what would become the final attack of the first forty five minutes. Mihalich's team was fierce to respond as the eleven men formed a bunker in front of the assaulting Croats. The ball found its way toward Svetozar Đanić (CRO) who came at a crossroads: he could either pass the ball back to Dubac (CRO) and risk prematurely ending the attack, or he could take the shot, even if it was at least thirty meters away from the goal. The Syrmia-born ethnic Serb chose the latter, and before a particularly tall blonde Ragusan defender had a chance to slide in to stop him, Đanić (CRO) kicked the ball with the toe cap of his cleats with all the power remaining in his tired legs. Everyone looked on in amazement as the ball traversed the cold air in a visually perfect parabola, even bypassing the soft but freezing breeze of wind that lay dormant for days within the Croatian capital. Gardassanich (RAG) could only hopelessly offer a look of contempt as he did not have enough time to even raise his hands before the ball entered hit the net behind him like a mad bullet shot from a rifle. Merely ninety seconds after Osojnak's goal, the score was a hard-fought draw yet again, and after Eklöw auditorily denoted the end of half-time, Osojnak (RAG), who stood close to the smiling Đanić (CRO), spat in the Croatian midfielder's face before shoulder-checking the Manđelos-born footballer, prompting an angry response from both Đanić and his teammates who gathered dangerously close to Osojnak in an attempt to intimidate him for his outburst, perhaps even try something more radical on the embittered youngster. As the incident was about to escalate into something much more violent, Eklöw and his assistants intervened in the nick of time and just barely forced both teams into their respective locker rooms. The things that happened inside, away from the public eye, though, are a matter of heated discussion even to this day, and for reasons that were rather clear fifteen minutes after.
„They'll pay for this dearly!“
„They better…“
Clock-wise from top left:
- Ernest Dubac (CRO) clears the danger from the goal line with an overhead kick
- Wölfl (CRO) nets the equalizer
- Osojnak (RAG) beats Glaser (CRO) and takes the lead back to Ragusa
- Đanić's (CRO) long-distance shot evens the score before half-time
The Culmination
As significant amounts of commotion left the locker room of the Ragusan national team, with at least a dozen Gendarmerie officers having to intervene and separate the brawlers that fought it out during the break, occasional droplets of rain coming from above turned into a torrent of frigid water, drenching the unsuspecting, one might say naively optimistic, spectators who had observed the platoon of constables hurriedly entering the inside of the stadium while trying to block out the bigoted chants of the Barabanti who, while few in numbers, certainly made up for it with their ebullient and energetic bellows that were up to par with the rest of the assembled crowd standing opposed to them. And then the twenty two men left their locker rooms, but instead of the teams' respective captains leading their teammates forth to what would become a fierce second-half battle, there were half a dozen Gendarmerie officers overlooking the players, the faces of whom were marked with bruises, cuts and specks of blood that told more than anyone present needed to know. Some limped, some were trying to clean the crimson stains from their face and fix their hair in hopes of looking presentable enough for their supporters, but it was far too late for such semantics. The most difficult part of the day had only just begun.
Another whistle, another kick-off, another conflict of venerated mastery against sheer brute force. This time, though, with the generous help from the above, the tactful Croats successfully parried the Ragusan blows, their lighter style of play easily overcoming the heavy, oft clumsy display of the Ustaše team who trudged through the muddy pitch with much trouble. Things finally came to a head during the 49th minute as the tireless Cimermančić (RAG) sprinted yet again alongside the right side of the field, leaving behind him most of his comrades as well as his bitter rivals, whose heavy-set footsteps only buried them even deeper in the quagmire that was the Koturaška Stadium on that particular day in history. The twenty-four-year-old's astounding energy left both Mihalich and Jakopić incredibly surprised, the latter's shock, though, was adorned by a large, beaming smile hiding behind his thick mustache. Expertly dodging every larger puddle that stuck out like a landmine on the field, Cimermančić found himself in front of Gardassanich (RAG) for what seemed like a hundredth time already. The Ragusan goalie, caught between a rock and a hard place, decided to lunge forward and tackle the vigorous Croatian defender. The two landed in the mud with a large and pained thud, but it was already way too late. Cimermančić's barely noticed ankle shot sent the ball flying on a downwards spiral, having barely crossed the line as the two men almost buried themselves beneath the brown mire. Deafening silence settles upon the stunned stadium as time seemingly stops following the crazed Croat's solo outing. And then… an earthquake of ecstasy and happiness as the ten remaining Croatian players ran toward the downed HŠK Građanski player, joined by the congruent chants of never-ending support coming from the stands.
„They won't know what hit them.“
As the loud celebratory sounds emanated from Koturaška, hundreds of suspicious men were scattered throughout Zagreb, mostly in pubs and taverns, hoping to enjoy the differing tastes of Croatian beer and brandies before they were to accomplish what they have set out to do. The rapid spate of cold little drops had finally ceased, and all that the citizenry could feel was the pleasant petrichor seeping through the concrete roads and walls scattered throughout the capital. Perhaps, in some other universe, this calming atmosphere would've resulted in something favorable for each participant of this fortuitous and eventful day. Not here, though, not here…
The fifties and early-to-mid sixties of the match were painfully slow, filled only with hapless shots on target by Peričić (RAG), Antolković (CRO), Wölfl (CRO) and other attackers who, despite their countless attempts, were unable to overcome their opponents, still leaving the public on the edge of their seats, all of whom tried to boost their teams' spirits through songs and simple, singalong phrases directed at their favorite players. Marko Došen did much of the same with his Barabanti, and despite being eighty-two, still managed to stir quite some noise within the luxury box, much to the chagrin of Pribićević who remained mostly quiet during the match, attempting from time to time to interrupt Došen's escapades with sensitive topics related to politics and the horrible relations maintained between Italy and Croatia ever since the latter's inception, but to no avail.
In the 64th minute though, Šime Milutin's (RAG) rough tackle hurled Đanić (CRO) down onto the ground with a pained scream. The midfielder, whose membership in the Communist Party of Yugoslavia was an open secret that a large part of Zagreb was quite aware of was most likely what caught the ire of the vehemently anti-communist Ragusans who have been especially unkind to the Serbian midfielder during the match. Following Đanić's fall, Dubac (CRO) and Antolković (CRO) hurriedly carried the injured player outside the field, but even the acetonic colorless
rakija poured straight from Jakopić's hip flask onto the large bloodied cut on the man's leg could not save him from not continuing the game. Đanić tried to enter the game again, though, but his limp was too much of a burden, and thus, one of, if not the finest outing of his career had to be stopped ahead of time. As it turns out, the foul play ended up with a painful rupture that put the poor Serbian midfielder out of commission for three whole years, with him having to use a cane to support himself for most of the period, leading to his unfortunate early retirement from the national football team after only eight games and two goals scored. He only returned to the game in June 1945 when he started playing again for one of the small local clubs around his hometown in Voivodina. To this day, Đanić is still among the go-to examples of a technically clean, self-sacrificing midfielder who is still held in high regard by everyone who had the pleasure of seeing his displays during the first period of his football career. Milutin (RAG) was also justly punished for the gross offense, his angry march toward the locker room followed by boos that echoed long after he left the judgmental gazes of thousands of supporters scattered about. Thus, there were only twenty men left to fight for the ball and the prestige that would come from a hypothetical victory attained in this fierce battle of both brain and brawn.
Đanić's horrific cry seemingly brought the team together, and captain Kokotović's (CRO) strong words of encouragement only boosted the team's spirits even more, leading to stronger, more head-on clashes in the coming minutes. From these numerous skirmishes came a terrific solo effort from Antun Lokošek (CRO) whose well-placed side foot kick hurled the ball into the penalty box. Franjo Wölfl sprinted madly toward it, believing he could reach it before it goes over to the other side of the field. He was correct. However, midfielder Petar Manola (RAG) had the same idea, and as the twenty-four-year-old Ragusan jumped to head the ball away, Wölfl had an identical idea in mind. The Croat star-player was triumphant in the duel, winning clearly over Manola, but not before elbowing the unsuspecting Jajce-born footballer in the nose, breaking it, and heading the ball in an impressive lob over Gardassanich into the net. The Ragusans immediately jumped in front of Rudolf Eklöw to protest it and demand foul play, but the Swede did not budge. He declared the result 4-2 for Croatia.
Not everyone was supportive of the Swedish ref's decision, however. Barabanti, while few in numbers, spouted many derogatory remarks at both Eklöw and the Croatian side, and some even started tearing the seats and throwing them onto the pitch. Things came to a head, finally, when the platoon of Gendarmerie constables entered the stands where the Ragusan supporters were, which prompted the one hundred men to rush the officers and enter the field. The alarms were quickly sounded and the whole stadium went into chaos. Croatian supporters also broke apart the gates so they can enter the pitch as well in hopes of protecting their favorite players from the mad rivals. Fists soon started flying, and plentiful screams filled the Koturaška Street during the afternoon that later came to be known as one of the most disorderly in the city's history.
Clock-wise from top left:
- Zvonimir Cimermančić, whose solitary effort led to Croatia taking the lead for the first time in the match
- people of Zagreb fending off the freezing drops of rain, April 1942 (photo by Tošo Dabac)
- Franjo Wölfl scores a controversial header to double Croatia's lead
- rioters wreaking havoc on the streets of Zagreb after Wölfl's goal
The Drama
Once the sirens went off, a lot of the remaining Barabanti scattered throughout the city stood up from where they were seated, and all who had a drink in their hand suddenly started throwing the bottles and glasses everywhere, either at windows or at unsuspecting innocent bystanders. Of course, most of the victims of these outbursts also decided to retaliate, and many brawls began to occur at about the same time as the worrying news started reaching the offices of the Gendarmerie in Zagreb.
Eklöw postponed the game in the face of the overrun pitch, continuously debating himself internally if he should just suspend the whole thing or not. As it turns out, it would take almost half an hour for him to make his decision, as hundreds more officers stormed the grounds, beating anyone and everyone who even looked at them in a suspicious manner.
Marko Došen looked on in shock as the Barabanti viciously attacked the officers and footballers, not caring for any consequences that might arise from the chaos. Pribićević stared at Došen incredulously as well, spouting obscenities at the Coregent, urging him to stop the barbarians taking swings at everyone down and away from the safe confines of the luxury suite the two were located in. Swiping sweat from his brow and breathing heavily, Došen had to take a seat as he tried to collect himself while Pribićević tirelessly attacked him. Some even attribute the events of April 13th, 1942 as a main cause of Došen's rapidly deteriorating health that resulted in a fatal heart-attack only a month later, but it is considered by many historians simply as a cherry on top of all the political intrigue and backstabbing that were commonplace for the Republic of Ragusa at the time.
In around half an hour, the riots in Zagreb amounted to dozens of thousands of Reichsmark in property damage and a situation that saw the Ragusan government blamed for all the violence by the cabinet of Ban Vladko Maček, many members of which sought war against the small Italian satellite state, but fortunately enough, cooler heads led by Maček himself prevailed, burying the desire for bloody vengeance under a careful cover of careful diplomacy. Some even consider that the Barabanti acted upon the instructions directly from Regent Ante Pavelić, however no discernible proof can be found to back up this claim, even if its popularity today can be understood, but not supported, at least not in good faith based on unbiased objectivity.
After the Gendarmerie officers had finally gained the upper hand, beaten down and arrested many of the hooligans, the game could finally start again. By the time of the match resuming, the team from Dubrovnik was utterly demoralized, having lost all semblances of energy and drive toward victory, and it showed. When the final whistle of the match could finally be heard, the scoreboard read: 8-2 for Croatia. Milan Antolković ('76), Antun Lokošek ('82), Ivan Jazbinšek ('84) and Branko Pleše ('89) netted four more impressive goals and sealed the victory for the Croats, both a moral and a political one that resonated deeply within the people and the press which was unable to shut up about the event for weeks on end. Despite the shameful appearance of his men, the Regent expertly manipulated the situation and made his team seem like victims who were
robbed of a certain victory by the abominable Germanic referee and his cronies, only serving to increase the burning hatred the Ragusan people felt for Germany and Croatia, one that would soon come to a messy climax that would only end in more misery for everyone involved.
All in all, sources differ on the exact number of casualties, but an estimate of either six to nine people killed and about seventy to a hundred wounded (not counting the ones inflicted by the Gendarmerie, as a precise record of those was, wisely enough, not kept at the time) and over a hundred arrests (meaning, in all likelihood, that not all Barabanti participated in the mess, for unknown reasons that can only be presumed, even today) can be thought of as
accurate enough, all things considered. But even the tragic outcome of the game did not deter the crowds from attending the derby between HŠK Građanski and Hajduk Split in overwhelming numbers the following weekend, proving once again the old adage of
forgiven, but not forgotten.
Clock-wise from top left:
- a couple of men walking by a pair of broken windows; it is estimated that about a hundred similar incidents were documented on the day of the match
- an example of a wound dressing, a frequent sight in Zagreb during April and May 1942, overwhelmingly because of the riot that ensued after Wölfl's goal
- Vladko Maček, first Ban of Croatia, credited with preventing a potential second Croatian-Italian War by calming the hotheaded hawks in his government
- Pavelić addressing a crowd of people in Dubrovnik a day after the riots
The Lesson
Many would think there is not much to be learned from this exceptional event that seemingly only divided the public consciousness within a nation, but again, it is completely up to the observer to decide what lesson to take from such developments. What everyone must realize, though, is that the extremists and radicals always form a small minority within any group, however their bombastic, unabashedly reactionary messages always tend to drown out the soft-spoken, reasonable majority of people. With a heavy heart, despite all the pessimistic newspaper covers that arrive to people every day, the belief that in the end, with a more vocal, tolerant majority a real difference can be made to show that really, in the end the moderates can win, still lives deep within many of those same, quiet people. Only with the confidence and mutual support can the moderate people triumph and allow everyone the same freedom and ability to enjoy life to the fullest without any fear of violence or any similar incidents that the radicals bring forth.
With the century-old words of
live and let live, I leave you all to contemplate the ideas brought to the table by just one among many of the misfortunate accounts describing the downfall of the human condition, because good ideas never die, they never disappear so long as there is someone directing attention and support to them, so long as there are hearts burning to keep them living and breathing.