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[FM13]The Adriatic Adventure [Hajduk Split]

FM 13
Started on 12 May 2013 by tbendis
Latest Reply on 10 August 2015 by tbendis
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There is more sex than football.. JS.
2014-05-04 23:34#173247 Pauker : There is more sex than football.. JS.

We're getting to it. I've got to introduce just how much sex each character is having
Is this Game of Thrones or the Adriatic Adventure. In other news, Timmy somehow lived up to promise.


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Edit: Who the hell is Maro?
2014-05-05 08:40#173280 edu1878 : Is this Game of Thrones or the Adriatic Adventure. In other news, Timmy somehow lived up to promise.


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Edit: Who the hell is Maro?

It looks like you'll be waiting a week to find out ;)
2014-05-05 17:16#173285 tbendis :
2014-05-05 08:40#173280 edu1878 : Is this Game of Thrones or the Adriatic Adventure. In other news, Timmy somehow lived up to promise.


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Edit: Who the hell is Maro?

It looks like you'll be waiting a week to find out ;)

Damnit Timmy! This better be worth it. If I wait a week and find out he is just some shifty accountant -_-.
http://i58.tinypic.com/29give0.jpg
ANTE
An open bar awaited him in the extra long Mercedes limo, and he had absolutely no trouble at all taking advantage of it. He was relatively young – 40 was young; it wasn’t as if something small like alcohol could affect him. It’s not like there was anyone else in the limousine to judge him anyway. The black Mercedes had only a driver, who, it turned out, was strictly instructed not to speak a word to his only passenger. And so, after a few minutes of trying to make innocent conversation, the charismatic man gave up, called it a day, and just made himself a Negroni cocktail: equal parts Gin, Vermouth, and Campari, with a slice of orange just gracing the top of the glass. He downed it fast, and relished the taste. The quality of alcohol in the Mercedes was exquisite, as he simply poured himself another, before rounding it off with a cognac.

It was a quick ride to the airport, where the Mercedes was not forced to adhere to regular customs rules. Without stopping, the black car drove through the airport gate and pulled right up to a sleek black plane with a Dubrovnik call sign. Ante didn’t know anyone in Dubrovnik that could afford a private jet… at least not anyone that would talk to him. Obviously, this may have been something bigger.

“You seriously won’t tell me where we’re going?”

At this, the driver turned around, “Look, Mr. Bendiš, I’ve been told to bring you to this jet, and make sure you get on it. There is someone in the capital very interested in speaking with you regarding a job. It’s nothing I could possibly speak to you about. Okay?”

“Fine.” With that, Ante grabbed a bottle of scotch from the cabinet, climbed out of the car, and walked up the short set of stairs to the sparkling new Lear jet, and stepped into the cabin. He made a quick note that the stewardesses were, without a doubt, the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Neither was even 25 years old, and their standard stewardesses’ attire only made their legs look longer.

And when the blonde spoke, angels could not have such beautiful voices.

Ante, naturally, missed all of what she was saying, since he couldn’t concentrate on walking, much less listening… “I’m sorry?”

This time the brunette, with a voice no less beautiful, asked, “Would you like something other than the scotch Mr. Bendiš? It’s a short flight, but…” And then she smiled, and Ante was lost again…

“What… uh… no, I’m fine… thank you… um… ladies…”

“Excellent Mr. Bendiš, please sit down, we’re going to take off in two minutes”

Ante sat down in the couch on the plane, and set the bottle to the side. One of the girls, he could not remember which, brought him a fresh glass, before the plane took off.

MATKO
It was never a difficult trip for Matko… going to Zagreb. He had lived there most of his life, trained with Dinamo, played in their academy. He wasn’t ever as prolific in the academy as Andrej Kramari?, but Kramari? had been wasted at Dinamo. Stupid football politics. No, Matko’s father made sure he made it out early. Ton?i Kardum had negotiated a simple transfer to Marseille before telling anyone… only Matko had known, as Dinamo had been completely blindsided by the deal. Even the Mami? brothers, well… they were…

Zdravko and Zoran Mami? were still chairmen of the club… It had been so easy for them to take control back in the 80s, and then, when that was solidified, there was no problem to hang onto control, bribe the referees backwards and forwards, have a merry-go-round of managers.

And then Timmy Bendiš took control of Hajduk, and it had all ended. Dinamo had made a fantastic effort in trying to make it happen, in trying to ruin Hajduk in all its glory. But, where Bendiš and football was concerned, he was… well… he was the best thing that could’ve happened to Croatian football. The Mami?’s, for all their power within the FA, could not get Bendiš to play ball.

They tried a few times. Hajduk’s first two seasons were plagued with problems on selling players, watching people leave. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his new employers what his old ones did. He was happy when he left… when he knew he’d finally be done with the toxic corporate culture that was Dinamo Zagreb… but he would always remember, and so would his father…

It was 8 years ago, the last time that it happened. A relatively small man entered through the club doors. He was just a kid at the time… sitting next to his dad, waiting to go into the office to talk about his future at Dinamo. But he couldn’t help but overhear. The walls were thin, and listening was, well, easy.

“Look at this. This isn’t going to work. He’s going to want to stay. They’ve nearly locked it down, yet again, and if they do well in the Champions League again, then there’s no way to have him play at another club that simply isn’t at the same caliber.” It was the small man’s voice… panicked at best.

Then the older, less rational, Mami? brother spoke, “LOOK, I don’t care. We’re giving you two hundred fifty thousand euros to make sure that he doesn’t stay with them. He CAN’T stay in Split. Move him wherever else the hell you want, just not in Split.

“I need connections though… call your teams in Ukraine, Russia, get me with someone on the inside”

“GOD DAMNIT MAN!” A fist banged on the table, “YOU’RE AN AGENT, GET IT DONE!”
It had happened before, Matko’s father had told the 11 year old. This was not a club to get stuck in for long… it was a club that you wanted to start at, and never look at again. The academy was good; he would give it that credit. The management was bad, and that was where Dinamo had failed. Because no matter how good the club management was, the upper level directors were two steps short of completely bat shit insane… and their employees knew that. Dinamo would not receive loyalty from its employers for many years, Ton?i Kardum concluded. Not from their coaches, their scouts, even their players.

At 11, Matko Kardum didn’t watch the news often. But a week after that day when Dinamo had discussed the future, the aspiring midfielder noticed a snippet at the end of the news:
“Zoran Karoglan, a football agent best known for his association with Goran Milovi? has been escorted out of the city of Split by the local police, soaking wet, with bruises and cuts consistent with a beating dealt by several people. He is said to have worried for his own safety, and so, the authorities have felt that they have acted to this appropriately, leaving the agent in a remote part of the freeway leading out of Split, around the five kilometer mark, just a few minutes ago.
“They widely encourage that no one harms this gentleman” the newscaster showed a photograph, “as he is clearly suffering from paranoia. His flight for Moscow leaves tomorrow morning.”

Kardum was never the smartest person in the room. He was a footballer after all, it’s not like he had studied astrophysics or something like that. But, even at 11, it occurred to him that disclosing the photograph and location of the person they were trying to protect, just after leaving him alone by the side of a road, on national television, was probably not a good idea.

As it turned out, that day, the day that Zoran Karoglan had his ass handed to him by Bendiš down in Split, was the first day that Ton?i Kardum began looking for a new club for his son, and the last day that the Mami? brothers tried to directly interfere with Bendiš

---

Matko scored 20 goals for the academy that season, and then, with another 19 in the level above, a few people had begun to show up. Hajduk had been banned from Dinamo’s academy training ground for years, so Matko had never seen the 195 cm Bendiš at his training sessions… but he noticed things. He noticed the simple lapel on a shirt; sometimes just red and white stripes. He noticed that his father had begun to learn French, and he noticed, very quickly, that one man, this one with a blue lapel pin, had shown his face at every match for over a year.

When Matko turned 13, he agreed, in principle, to a move - at 16 - for Olympique de Marseille, and that was the end to the adventure in his hometown.


TON?I KARDUM
It rang, once, twice, three times… Ton?i hoped that he wouldn’t have to gather the courage again.

Four years ago, Ton?i Kardum had called every club in Europe, every one not in Croatia, to find a spot for his son. No matter what the price, no matter what the salary. He was desperate

Everyone in Serbia and Bosnia rejected him out of hand. They did not want to risk their fans on an unproved Croatian midfielder… no matter how talented he might be in the academy… it simply wasn’t worth the risk.

Maribor tried to take a bite at it… but failed to make a decision. By then, rumors had begun spreading in France that there was a talented youngster whose father was just desperate enough to flog him all over Europe… even the world…

Kardum hung up and called again… one ring… two… three… “Hello, you’ve reach-” – Click.
The very first club that came down to Dinamo’s academy game was Evian. Ton?i hadn’t noticed them for months, it was just two guys sitting in the stands, eating popcorn... enjoying a beer… going to match, after match, after match, before they finally came up to him. “Monsieur Kardum?”

“Ummm… yes?”

“We at Evian are not going to make an offer. Matko is an excellent player, but right now we do not want to invest money in bringing him to France only to lose him to a bigger club…

“Bu-“

“We weren’t… how do you say… finished. We will however, forward the information that we have collected with two or three clubs in France, and we guarantee that, if none of them contact you within the month, then we will revisit you and your son, and attempt to bring him to Evian.”

“Oh… Thank you so much… Thank you. You don’t know what this means.”

Marseille called him the next day. They had the transfer negotiated by the end of the month.

“You have reached” – click. Ton?i Kardum called one last time

Maro Dadi? finally answered the phone, “Yes?”

“Look, we need to talk. We need to talk now. It’s about Dinamo.”

MARO
“Ante Bendiš… it has been a long time, no?”

Five people were in the room. Four people, and Ante Bendiš. Five people, seated at a table, with Maro at one side of the table, and the manager of GOŠK Dubrovnik at the other. There was not a Croatian FA member within any reasonable distance of where they were.

“Welcome to Bled”, Maro stated. “This is where I do my business in the summer.” He stood up, and gazed out the window into the steady snowfall onto the lake. The castle was closed to the public for Maro’s use during the winter.

Ante and Maro had already met on several occasions. Maro and Timmy were very close associates. In fact, during the last fifteen years, the two were practically inseparable, becoming close friends. So, it was only right that Ante – Timmy’s cousin – and Maro, his best friend, would meet. But Maro was more than the best friend of an illustrious Croatian football manager. No… Maro and Bendiš got rich together. And it was Maro who controlled half the business on the Balkans.

“Why are we in Slovenia?” was naturally the very first, idiotic, question that Ante had asked. Maro had never liked him very much, but he need him.

“Slovenia is my office. See… when I do business, I prefer to do it in an office than a bedchamber. We, here, are not barbarians.”

Ante began to look around. He had not noticed at first, but one of the four other gentlemen was the chairman of NK Zagreb… the club that had given him his major break. The other two were obviously the business end of, probably Rijeka or Istra. Ante was a bit drunk… he couldn’t exactly tell.

“See… Ante… we need you to do something… we want you to take the Croatia post.”

TIMMY
It was never a difficult trip.

He had gone to Zagreb so many times before. To beg for a job, to beg for his job, to earn his job, his paycheck. No, he had gone and done so many things in Zagreb, that he had finally bought the penthouse apartment on the main square. He didn’t care that he wouldn’t stay in there more than 5 weeks in a year… his bio-tech start-up had recently been acquired by a minor firm with a bit of money… Microsoft, was it?

But this was the first time that Zagreb was just a bit more than easy, since it would be the first weekend that he would be away from Ana since they got back together.

There was something about waking up in the morning to the person you loved that made it a little bit easier.

He made it through okay though… he had a few things to keep his mind occupied before he made his way to the stadium.

It was six o’clock by the time Bendiš arrived at Maksimir. His Ferrari pulled up right next to the front door when he threw the keys to the valet at the stadium. The red car dashed off to the parking garage below.

He was tired though… it had been a long ten years… sometimes… just sometimes, he wished he could send an assistant to these meetings just so he wouldn’t have to deal with the press. Three questions in, he gave up:

“Look guys… can we not go into this for the several hundredth time? It’s not happening. Dinamo’s not winning. With their new manager? Their new manager is an even bigger moron than Scoria. He literally could not win the league if he was all on his own in it. So don’t expect to hold them to some fantastical standards. This is mine. I’ll take the three points through my door, thank you very much…”

Leaving a stunned journalist crowd, and an equally stunned Dinamo assistant manager wondering what the hell just happened.

Timmy was right though. He knew that there no one was going to beat him… especially not Dinamo.

“MATKO! Come here”.

The seventeen year old dashed over, clearly excited. “Yes, Mr. Bendiš, sir?”

“It’s Timmy… we’ll get that out of your system soon enough. You’re starting, Kiš is still a bit injured, we don’t want to rush him back in and get him hurt.”

Bendiš knew what he was doing, sending Kardum out. Less than a year ago, Matko Kardum had played in the academy setup of DInamo, and all 25 000 people on the stands knew that there was 20 million euros to be made and that the board in Zagreb fucked it all up. 800K out of a 20M € deal is bad by anyone’s standards, especially when it’s a year apart. It threw the fans against the management, and, as soon as Matko scored his opener, against the team itself.

Teo Peši? made the assist. A simple Cruyff turn left Dinamo for dust, and, with a dinked pass in the 5th minute, Kardum just latched on in the middle to score the goal for 1-0.
The floodgates were opened. By the time half rolled around, Hajduk had another goal to their names, and had hit the woodwork twice.

When Kardum scored his second, Bendiš showed mercy. He pulled off his experience players: Baši?, Peši?, Trifkovi?, and just threw on youngsters that had no business playing against Dinamo.

The final score? 3-0. Like Bendiš said… Dinamo never stood a chance.

The drive home was a simple one. With the game over at 6, Bendiš pulled up in front of the café around 9… ignoring the people waving in the streets, and the giant tiremarks he left at the corner form when he drifted into the alleyway, he bounded up the stairs to be greeted by Ana standing in the open door. Ana squealed as he lifted her off her feet and slammed the door behind him. The phone rang for a minute before Bendiš disconnected the line, forwarding all calls to the café.

Bendiš was done for the evening… at least with business stuff…
Talk about a mega update! Loved it.
2014-05-13 05:08#174538 Arvind : Talk about a mega update! Loved it.

Small growing pains... they'll get longer. I anticipate 5000+ word updates soon. Right now we're hovering around 3000. Mostly because of the fact that I have a Political Science essay due tomorrow
I can see why your updates are getting so long. We have exactly the same scene in our latest updates. A driver taking the manager to the airport and you manage to use almost double the amount of words. But at least I now know how you manager likes his Vermouth. ;)
2014-05-13 10:29#174554 Northwood : I can see why your updates are getting so long. We have exactly the same scene in our latest updates. A driver taking the manager to the airport and you manage to use almost double the amount of words. But at least I now know how you manager likes his Vermouth. ;)

Oh hush... my brilliance is wasted on PolySci. There was football in this one.

Also, last time, there was no one driving to the airport!
That was pretty intense...as if your updates couldn't get any more in-depth, well...they just did. I'm pretty sure I even heard some talk of a match in there ;)
Looking forward to the next :)
dude I freaking love this story, i think it was 5% match talk and 95% anything else goes :P i cant wait for the next one but can u do more than 10k words :P
WHAT AN UPDATE!
http://i62.tinypic.com/fw094.jpg

ANTE BENDIŠ
Three weeks had passed. Three weeks had passed since the end of the winter break. Since he had been dragged to Slovenia and back to mull over his position. He didn’t like it. He really didn’t like it.

Ante Bendiš, the manager of third division GOŠK Dubrovnik, had been offered the Croatia top post. The national team manager; there was no greater honor. There was no catch… oh wait… there was one: he wouldn’t actually do anything. Ante Bendiš would only be hired as the national team manager if and only if his cousin, Timmy Ivo Bendiš, was hired as the Croatia U21 manager, and the assistant manager, AND that Ante delegated everything to his assistant.

After the World Cup was over, Luka Pavlovi? would be dismissed, for no reason whatsoever, and the two Bendiš cousins would be hired.

It was a position that millions of Croatians across the world would kill for. Even the unqualified children would dream of standing on the touchline, as the checkered flag waved behind them… in front of hundreds of thousands of fans.

But this was not the position that Ante Bendiš had been offered, and he knew it. Ante Bendiš would be the figurehead… while his own cousin took control of the team, and made it great again.
In that room, that castle in Slovenia, there were four men, a woman, and Ante Bendiš. Ante immediately recognized Miro Kvrži?, the chairman of NK Zagreb, but it was only several hours later that he recognized the director of finances for NK Istra, and he would have never guessed that the financial director of Osijek was a woman. On Maro Dadi?’s right hand was Ricardo Mužini?, the chairman of RNK Split.

In all honesty, Ante had never known what Maro Dadi? did. He was someone… he had never known how powerful he was until that evening… and even then, he got a hint that he was not letting on much.
But that evening, Maro let on enough to give Ante the idea that he was, at least somewhat, in control of the selection of the next Croatia boss, provided that it wasn’t Timmy. And then he connected some dots.

His first major break was two months after Bendiš had been rejected for the Croatia job for the first time. He was given the U16 academy post. It was a basic thing, nothing spectacular. But it was something… more than he had, and more than he had expected. It was also completely out of the blue.

Slowly, he had advanced… the U19 squad, and then, with the affiliation of NK Zagreb, he got the top-dog spot. He got it at the insistence of NK Zagreb. The same NK Zagreb that has, currently, three Hajduk players on loan at the club.

Ante Bendiš had always thanked Miro Kvrži? for his first major break, and Miro always brushed it off. He had always said that he wasn’t worthy of the praise, and that Ante had truly deserved the post. He had, at least, demonstrated that, with future performances from GOŠK, as they had gotten promoted, not once, but twice. Miro never took credit for giving Ante the job... because he never did it…

“You’re colluding with Timmy… you’ve been doing it for years. Ever since he first got snubbed the Croatia post… but… how?...”

There was a long pause. Dadi? did not speak, despite the room looking at him. Then, “You have been our candidate for the Croatia top-spot for many seasons now. It is not for your talent as a manager, I can assure you that. It is for your surname. Timmy knows that, given the resources, you should be able to take a mid-table club in a major league to precisely that point… the mid-table of a major league. He knows that you are far from stellar. We know that you are far from stellar. You are in this position because, and only because, your cousin wants you here.”

Another long pause…

“But… even the kids? Even the 15 year olds after school?”

“You were chosen over a certain Franjo Martini?. After the GOŠK chairman was flown to Split, and was given certain assurances, you got the job for the U16 manager. Martini?, is, if I recall, managing a U19 team in Novalja.”

“And I’ve just been offered the Croatian National Team post”

“Remarkable how fast things can be done from the inside,” Maro folded his hands, while Ante considered the ultimate proposal. It was so obviously corrupt that there was no way he could accept it and pretend that his conscious would accept it. But then again, his cousin truly deserved this post. There was no double guessing it, he was one of the greatest managers of all time, and not having this would be robbery.

Maro spoke again, cold and calculating, “Your starting pay is 500 000 euros per year. Your assistant’s is 1 000 000 per year.”

Ante looked at the check presented on the table. It was a fat check. It was a check that was life changing, and more than any person could ever dream of. And yet, his cousin was taking the ultimate pay-cut to do this.

He downed another scotch, signed the contract, which may as well have been written in blood as nefarious as it was.

“Let’s do it then…”

That night, Ante still hadn’t the foggiest idea what it was that Maro Dadi? did. He just knew that he held a lot more clout than he could have possibly imagined.

TIMMY BENDIŠ
He woke up the next morning, early, as he was sometimes prone to. He never slept much anymore. It wasn’t really a “sleep is for the weak” concept, but even after years of not sleeping much at all, sometimes his body resorted to old habits, and he was up at six in the morning. He kissed Ana before slipping out of bed, and heading down to the ground floor. Getting dressed on the stairs wasn’t easy, but he never had problems with it.

He stopped just before the last step on the ground floor, turned around, and grabbed the crossed oars from the wall above the stairs. Most people thought that they were decorative. Spoiler: they weren’t. Walking out the door in February, with a pair of oars over his shoulders and flip flops on his feet, he crossed the street to the harbor, pressed a button and watched his single scull come out of a secret part of the harbor wall.

It was an absolute beaut. All teak wood, refinished to perfection. It was so slick, that it would even give the modern composite boats a run for their money. It already had, naturally: Tomo Šui? had won the Olympic gold medal for single sculling in Rio. It was the first gold medal won in a wooden boat in nearly forty years, and it was surely the last.

Bendiš calmly sat in the boat, and pulled out of the harbor and into the calm sea. There was not a wave for ages, which was the only time he could really exit the harbor. The sun calmly rose over the islands as he beat stroke, after stroke, after stroke.

It was an hour before he came back, pulled into the harbor, and left the boat in the spot that no one would think to look, the stone wall of a harbor. The stones lowered on the “garage” and there was no trace of the scull to be found.

The manager casually made his way back to his villa and stepped into the shower, before going back outside to the café. He made himself a simple macchiato, grabbed the newspaper, the mail, and his laptop, and went to the second level, his balcony.

He grabbed the newspaper every morning, but never had the time to read it. Since Microsoft had acquired a small portion of his company, he had to sign all the papers that Maro gave him. Go over the finances; make sure everything was okay, etc. It was difficult work.

But he finished with that remarkably early, and got around to finishing reading his email. But what he found there was…

MARO DADI?
“Congratulations, you are next manager of the Croatian National Football Team.”

Bendiš naturally nearly collapsed in his chair. It was finally done. Years, and years of work had brought him to the point of finally being at the helm of the team he had worked so hard to perfect. It was, without a doubt, the perfect fairy tale ending.

The next was his voicemail, a single call to Maro and Timmy simultaneously. He briefly remembered that he had disconnected the phone last night on his way upstairs with Ana… He didn’t regret it.

Hi, Mr. Bendiš? Mr. Dadi?? This is Ton?i Kardum… I’m the father of Matko Kardum. Ummm, I was wondering if you could give me a call back. I have to discuss some information regarding some of the… well… the financial transfers for Dinamo a few years ago. I don’t know if they’re going on anymore, but… it may be important.

Ummm… so, if you need me, my number is 091/5555417. Have a nice evening.

Something Maro would take care of, surely. That was the political part of the game, and Bendiš had no interest in it, regardless of how good he was at it.

No, all he had to do was to prepare for the Olympique de Marseille game. 2nd place in the Champions League group had cost him an ideal situation, and now… well… welcome back to the Champions League final, no?


MARO DADI?
“Why isn’t he answering his phone?”

Dadi? had last heard from Ton?i Kardum the evening before, where the two of them had a fairly in depth discussion on some of the debauchery that Dinamo had gotten up to. Most of it was fairly harmless, especially a decade later, but there was some bit that might have been a bit more interesting.

The part about the bank.

“Ton?i… where are you? I can’t get to you if you don’t answer your phone…”

Dadi? waited an hour. He stepped out onto the balcony with a cup of tea. Bendiš may have enjoyed the sea, but for Dadi?, the lake in Slovenia would always have the best view in the world. Well… only if you had the right property.

Money was, fortunately, not an issue.

But seven years ago it was. Ton?i Kardum had glossed over it, probably believing it not to be a major issue, and he was right, at first. But when Maro looked over the dates, and the times. There were a few things that added up that weren’t supposed to.

He couldn’t ask the bank. There was some stupidity about a financial non-disclosure agreement. But then again, that would be following rules. And, if what Kardum glossed over was true, then that was something Dinamo had no interest in following.

It didn’t stop Dadi? from calling the bank in Split… the bank in Zagreb. The accounts had been closed. Bendiš and Hajduk all did their finances in house now, and a bank in Paris took care of the rest.

But this… this was interesting.

Maro Dadi? called the Kardum’s home line in Zagreb… and Ton?i’s wife answered, mildly distressed.

“Hi Mirna, my name is Maro Dadi?. Is your husband home?”

“I haven’t a clue. It is the first evening in twenty years of marriage that my husband has not come home for the night. I don’t know where he is. I DON’T KNOW WHERE HE IS?!”

“He didn’t come home?”

“No… well… he might have… but when I found his car in the morning, it was parked in the front drive, and the front door was open. There was no one in the car, just the keys, but the door was open, and he wasn’t there.”

And with that tidbit of information, Maro connected some dots that he’d have rather never have connected, “call the police, CALL THEM NOW.”


PERO BAŠI?
Poljud was always intimidating, and Baši? was one of the greatest players Hajduk had ever seen. He was coming off an injury, but the line-up against Marseille was one of the better ones in recent times… because… well… he was in it. He was always pleased when he got to play with Trifkovi?, Peši?, and Kiš. The four of them, were, without a doubt, one of the most potent striking forces in Europe.

Fucking FIFA didn’t even think to nominate a single one of them.

Baši? listened to Bendiš go into the pre-game speech. Bendiš was one of the few managers in the world that was always tactically on point, but could also inspire his team to greatness.
He always finished with aplomb, “Do it for the fans, do it FOR GREATNESS!”

“FOR GREATNESS!” the team cheered back at him, before heading up to the pitch. Baši? shook hands with the captain, Nicolas Nkoulou, who would, without a doubt, be covering his runs this evening. But he felt good tonight. There was no stopping him.

The game started, and 30 000 people cheered for Hajduk. The cheers grew louder, and quickly, when Kiš outdid Michael Bradley, and nearly shot against Steve Mandanda. The French goalkeeper got lucky, and parried it out, but Kiš’s shot did what it was intended to: get Marseille nervous. The blonde striker winked at Baši? on his way back, and he returned a quick smile. It was going to be a fun game.

Trifkovi? spotted the opening first. With Kiš dashing in the center, the Slovenian playmaker looked to the right and lobbed a ball to Baši? rushing up the center. Pero loved being on the ball. He trained on it so much that it had become easy. Everything was easier in Hajduk though… they had become family.

Baši? started going up the left, but he came against Nkoulou quickly. Baši?, ever the showman, flicked the ball over the Cameroonian captain’s head with his heel, and continued on his way, dribbling towards the center. And, while Peši? was on the other side, Baši? knew he had the ball.

It was his, just like in training.

Planting his foot just in the corner of the box, Baši? curled the ball around Mandanda into the top right corner.

After that, there was no stopping him. Kiš assisted the second ball, as Pero could not be contained, smashing the ball into the bottom corner, before missing and hitting the post ten minutes later.

The minutes were ticking down though. Bendiš kept the trio on through the second half, and said, “just give me one more. Let me go there in peace.” Marseille was going to be difficult for Bendiš. It was less than a year ago… just more than six months.

Baši? though, made it easy on him. It was only a simple shot, but he got to the ball in the box first, and he made Marseille pay.

The streets of Split carried Baši? on their shoulders that evening, as Bendiš played the recent hit, “That’s how it’s done” on the piano. It was to be a long night, but it was worth it. Time was running out for both Kiš and Baši?. At 26, Kiš only had a few more chances, and that Champions League title… well… It was just a little different than everything else.

There truly was no comparison.

And Baši? wanted it again.

The next morning, Pero Baši?, only 24, woke up with a beautiful... jawdropping girl who he did not remember the name of, next to him in bed. There were perks in football... and this was one of them
THAT banner. THAT update. Wow, boy you got skills!!! Love it.

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