Reprezentacija Srbije na Svetskom prvenstvu ~ 'Ajmo Orlovi! :: Arhiva: Svetsko prvenstvo u Fudbalu ~ Juzna Afrika 2010

Ne znam dal je bilo ali jedan jako kvalitetan tekst od Britanskog novinara (Gardijan).
Mrzi me da prevodim, ko zna engleski zna, ko ne zna ... jbg:(

World Cup 2010: Serbia battle their own demons

Volatile Serbia need to find their inner self in their final World Cup Group D match against Australia

Discussing Lionel Messi with an Argentinian friend recently, he suggested that Messi will never reach the level of Diego Maradona, not for any reason of technique or skill, but because he is too "clean". A real hero, my friend said, has to give a sense of battling with himself as much as the opposition, partly because we can't stand the thought that geniuses do not in some way have to pay for their talent.

I'm not sure I entirely agree, although his theory does seem to explain why Ayrton Senna was more popular than Michael Schumacher and why Alex Higgins was more popular than Steve Davis, at least until Davis began to battle with that universal enemy, age. It also, I think, explains why I fell for Yugoslav football, and why, if I were allowed to watch just one football video for the rest of my life it would be Red Star Belgrade's 2-2 draw with Bayern Munich in the second leg of European Cup semi-final in 1991.

The political situation, of course, amplified every emotion around that game; as civil war approached it was clear that that this wasn't just another chance, but Red Star's last chance. Three times in succession Yugoslavia had reached the Olympic final, and three times they had walked away with silver. They had lost also in the final of the European championships of 1960 and 1968, while Partizan Belgrade had been beaten by Real Madrid in the 1966 European Cup final and Red Star had lost to Borussia Monchengladbach in the 1979 Uefa Cup final – then there had been the five European semi-finals lost by Serbian clubs and Yugoslavia's defeats in the World Cup semi-finals of 1930 and 1962. Admittedly, Yugoslavia won the football gold at 1960 Olympics, but all other precedent suggested Red Star would choke.

They nearly did, as well, in that semi-final. When Sinisa Mihajlovic's deflected free-kick put them 3-1 up on aggregate they seemed home and dry, but they then conceded twice in four second-half minutes. At that moment, vertigo seemed to suck them into the abyss, and yet, by force of will, they hauled themselves back, and stole the game with a preposterous last-minute winner. Overcome, Mihajlovic thrust his head into the turf, as though so unable to comprehend what had happened he was listening for the horsemen of the apocalypse. There were three teams on the pitch that night: Red Star, Bayern, and Red Star's demons, and somehow Red Star had beaten both their opponents.

That was an extraordinary, unique occasion, and yet there is a sense that it was a distillation of the Yugoslav tradition. With Slovenia efficient (or at least so they seemed until that second half against the USA), Bosnia erratic, Macedonia and Montenegro minnows and Croatia comparatively breezy, it has been left to Serbia to carry forward the legacy of Yugo-neurosis and football culture in which, at moments of crisis, self-doubt tends to suppress the imagination and bring to the surface the cynicism that has always underlain the technical excellence.

The defeat by Ghana was in the more recent trend of post-Yugoslav teams shooting themselves in the foot almost before the tournament has begun, sacrificing what would have been a creditable draw with an idiotic red card and an even more idiotic handball. This, it seemed, could be Germany 2006 redux, high hopes followed by a pitiful, self-induced capitulation.

But the Germany game tapped into the deeper tradition, for there was always a tendency by Yugoslavia to exceed expectations against better opponents. The second half in Port Elizabeth felt almost parodic. A goal up and a man up after the harsh dismissal of Miroslav Klose, they should have been able to close out the game, particularly as Milos Krasic was skinning Holger Badstuber at will, but instead they allowed the match to develop into a frenetic end-to-end affair, fraying nerves all round. At one end, Milan Jovanovic and Nikola Zigic both hit the woodwork, and at the other Nemanja Vidic conceded another bewildering penalty.

I watched the game in the stadium media centre in Rustenburg, and as it wore on, I became aware I wasn't the only one tearing at my hair and slapping the desk at Serbia's beautifully agonising insistence on tiptoeing along disaster's edge. Usually games are watched in press rooms amid a gentle hubbub of other work being done, with the odd collective intake of breath and occasional smattering of applause; this one provoked visceral oohs and ahs. Perhaps some of the Europeans there – certainly the French journalist opposite – were driven by anti-German feeling, perhaps some were instinctive Slavophiles, but when the three locals at the MTN (South Africa-based mobile telecommunications company) desk reacted to the final whistle with a group hug and collective dance, the appeal of Serbia's inner turmoil becomes difficult to deny. Unless they'd had a bet, I suppose, but when asked one said he'd decided to support Serbia because "they seemed to be trying to lose".

Whether that tells us anything ahead of tonight's game against Australia in Nelspruit is hard to say. Raddy Antic's decision to drop the second striker, Marko Pantelic, and switch to 4-3-3, giving Krasic and Jovanovic greater licence to attack seemed a success, and Australia conceded chances to both Germany and Ghana in the full-back areas, but with Serbia the issue is almost always mental. They could be inspired, or they could be complacent. "We are a team with character," Antic said; which is true, the problem is that the prime characteristic is volatility.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/2010/jun/23/world-cup-2010-serbia