From the pen of journalist James Horncastle, Americans write about an unprecedented night in Zenica, the fall of mighty Italy, a new generation of heroes, as well as the war scars and defiance of our homeland.
The American newspaper begins the text by recalling the legendary Ivica Osim and his tears at the start of the aggression against Bosnia and Herzegovina, drawing a parallel with today's generation led by Edin Džeko.
The text, originally titled "The Night Bosnia and Herzegovina Gained New Heroes," is reproduced in full below:
"In the Sarajevo neighborhood of Grbavica, a mural depicts the moment when Ivica Osim resigned as the coach of Yugoslavia on May 23, 1992. The 'Švabo' was and forever will remain a man from Grbavica. This neighborhood was the first line of defense during the war and suffered horrific destruction. His words from that day are inscribed right next to his likeness.
'This is my private gesture,' Osim said at the time. 'You can interpret it as you wish; it is my personal decision. I will not say why nor explain; you know very well, but if nothing else, it is the only thing I can do for this city so that you too remember that I was born in Sarajevo and that you know what is happening there. Only that.'
Today, residential buildings still bear the scars of shells. Right there, in the vicinity, the stadium of Željezničar is being renovated, the club that Osim led to the UEFA Cup semifinals in the 1984/85 season. That stadium was engulfed in flames in 1992.
Thirty years after the war, Sarajevo still carries these scars. The captain of Bosnia and Herzegovina, 40-year-old Edin Džeko, began his career precisely at Željo. When others left, he stayed in Sarajevo. 'Many footballers start by chasing a ball on the street. For me, that was impossible,' he recalled. 'But when the war ended, I emerged much stronger mentally.'
Zenica as a Fortress That Extinguished Italian Dreams
Experiences like these offer a small insight into what qualifying for the World Cup means for places like Grbavica, the rest of Sarajevo, and the entire country. Bosnia has only three million inhabitants, roughly the same as Rome. Seeing Džeko, with his arm in a sling, celebrating late into the night with a new generation of players, many of whom grew up in the Bosnian diaspora in America, Austria, Germany, and Sweden, was something truly special.
In Zenica, a city known for one of the largest prisons in the former Yugoslavia, Bosnia locked away Italian dreams of the World Cup and threw the key to the bottom of the river for another four years. Just like in Wales last week, Sergej Barbarez's chosen ones came back from behind in the final moments and celebrated after penalties. The spot kicks were taken against the backdrop of massive socialist-era buildings, whose residents crowded onto balconies, waving torches and setting off fireworks on the rooftops.
When the final penalty shook the net, the most fervent fans behind the goal unfurled a banner showing an American visa for the group BHFanaticos. They are packing their bags for the USA, Canada, and Mexico. The Italians, who euphorically celebrated in Bergamo upon learning that Bosnia would be their opponent in the playoff final, now stared blankly in despair. Italian coach Gennaro Gattuso needed sleeping pills to calm his nerves ahead of the playoff. Bosnians also didn't sleep on Tuesday, but for entirely different reasons.
It seemed as if all of Sarajevo took to the streets in the early morning hours. An endless line of cars stretched along Titova Street. Flags fluttered from hoods, sirens blared incessantly, and the hits of Dino Merlin, Enes Begović, and Halid Bešlić roared from throats. Twelve years after the first and only time Bosnia qualified for the World Cup, they celebrated as if it had never happened before.
New Heroes and a Lesson in Humility
Bosnia has new heroes. Over pie before Tuesday's match, my Bosnian friends Alen and Adi were still recounting how Tarik Muharemović threw himself headfirst to block Harry Wilson's shot in the match against Wales. They were thrilled with Kerim Alajbegović, Bosnia's next great hope, after he assisted Džeko for the equalizer in Cardiff and coolly scored the decisive penalty.
The eighteen-year-old Alajbegović was not in the starting eleven against Italy. But when he came on, his soft first touch and elegant moves immediately marked him as a player worth watching. Sometimes it's simply obvious when someone is a top talent. Alajbegović made it clear that, and very quickly, he could showcase his magic on much more elite stages than the colorful pitch of Bilino Polje.
There was much talk about the somewhat rough atmosphere in which the playoff final was played. Čelik from Zenica, on whose aged stadium the match took place, is a Bosnian second-division team. The Italians are hardly a nation that should be giving lessons on infrastructure, given the state of their own stadiums. Still, that didn't stop them from declaring Bilino Polje a third or fourth-league pitch back home.
Just like with the national team's training camp in Sarajevo, where the Dragons trained right next to a stud farm and the neighing of horses, the humility of Bosnia's story stood in sharp contrast to the arrogance and humiliation ultimately suffered by Italy.
Džeko's leadership from the first to the last minute was textbook. Aware of how ugly it looked when Italian players celebrated drawing Bosnia, he asked the fans to rise above it, stand up, and applaud the Italian anthem.
'Italy was the first national team to come play in Bosnia after the war,' said Džeko. 'Maybe people don't remember or don't know, but Italy came for a friendly match in 1996. For that, we should be forever grateful to them. On the field, there will be war. After the match, friends as before. Whatever will be, will be. That's football.'
Yet, as a river of people flowed towards the Eternal Flame in Sarajevo, the celebration reminded us that football is never just a game. It is a story about culture, identity, belonging, pride, memories, and myths. It is about 120 minutes that, in places like Grbavica, Zenica, Mostar, and everywhere Bosnians breathe, can last an eternity.
Years from now, even the walls will tell of that night at Bilino Polje," concludes the New York Times text.