Sports Rivals, Enemies And Nationalism

On the same drive to Ottawa I mentioned in an earlier post, my friend and I talked about a lot of things including, not surprisingly, sports. Specifically, we talked about small countries who punch above their weight in different sports. Two countries that came up were Croatia and Serbia (and Montenegro) who have been known to produce great soccer, basketball and tennis players for small populations.

Eventually, the conversation steered to Gaetan Boucher and his remarkable and improbable two gold medals for Canada in speed skating at the Olympics in Sarajevo in 1984. Even back then I understood the significance of the achievement given Canada wasn't exactly a power in speed skating. Norway - another tiny country - the Netherlands, Germany and the United States tend to own that sport. It's only in the last 10 years or so has Canada become a major player and even power.

Years later, Boucher recounted his accomplishment on RDS - a French language sports program like TSN or ESPN. I told him the story of how Bocuher walked around what was once the outdoor speed track since unkept and infested with grass thanks to the civil war that ravaged the former Yugoslavia.

The conversation inevitably turned to politics and history about the region. We talked about the nationalist fervor and long memories the peoples in the region have. In some cases, the hatred stretches back to actions that took place 800 years ago. Letting go and moving forward is not an option it seems down there.

I witnessed first hand how fanatical Croat and Serb nationalism can be. Years ago I dated a girl of Croatian heritage. Her family was Catholic and hardly ones to bring the baggage from the motherland home. They were Canadian. Period. One day, we sat at the table drinking and eating perogi's with her extended family (cousins, uncles etc.) and they spoke of the war. Suddenly, the jovial talk turned dark. The uncle spoke of how he wanted his sons to go fight and die if necessary for Croatia.

My girlfriend's brother and I exchanged uncomfortable glares just before he said, "but uncle, you're willing to let your sons be killed in a war that has nothing to do with us?" Well, fists pounding on the tables were never so powerful. The brother persisted, "you came to a peaceful and beautiful land and you mock this place with this nonsense?"

I don't remember what happened exactly after but I do remember the rage in their eyes to defend their beloved country. Me? I just wanted to watch The Simpsons.

Years later, another friend of mine had tickets for a water polo match at the Aquatic championship held in Montreal. I figured what the hey. I hate water polo but it was outside and it was a nice summer evening. It's not like I was going to watch the Expos since they split town for that lousy place. As fate would have it, we watched Croatia and Serbia - mortal enemies - do battle. At one point, it felt it wasn't a sports match anymore. The shouting between the opposing fans grew more and more sinister as the game progressed. I observed Serb fans inch closer and closer to the Croat side as the cops began to hover. There stood two hams, yours truly and my friend, between it all.

I think Serbia won. I didn't care much. I came away with much more than a water polo match.