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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
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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…