From his spectacular vantage point on the north-west corner of Belgrade’s ancient walled fortress, The Statue of the Victor stares watchfully across the confluence of the city’s two great rivers, the Danube and the Sava. Built in the 1920s, Pobednik stands in memoriam of wartime triumphs over two fading imperial glories, the Austro-Hungarians and the Ottomans. Between them, these once-powerful, utterly contrasting empires served, as much as anything else, to shape the nature – and, by extension, the ensuing history – of the peninsula upon which their borders met.
Now, Pobednik remains a steely-bunned, dutiful sentinel at a place that once marked the bygone frontier separating the Occident and the Orient. Tasked with identifying threats on the horizon, his regard also takes in what was, in 1928, a marshy expanse of mostly-unsettled land stretching from the left bank of the Sava to Zemun, previously an Austro-Hungarian border town. For many years, this area found use as a buffer zone between Ottoman Belgrade and the lands of the Dual Monarchy. Sixty-five years ago, with the White City no longer an outpost of the Eternal State, it became what is now New Belgrade, Yugoslavia’s Brutalist capital-in-waiting. It was here, in the city that Tito built, that I played my first cricket match in Serbia.
Amidst these towering frames, shrunken babas heave enormous, oversize bags of shopping. Upon attempting to enter the perpetually-jammed public transport, these old women are capable of quite stunningly effective casual violence as they batter and crash their way aboard the buses and trams, manufacturing space in the manner of an aggressive batsman chasing away a close field.
All things considered, it’s a far cry from the placid village squares and suburban oases of Anglo-Irish cricketing yore. The leafy, soft-focus lethargy that is often – but not always – the predominant modus cricketus in the UK and Ireland is not ideal preparation for the baked-clay pandemonium of cricket in the Balkans. Here, on grounds as treacherously uneven as the mood of an especially capricious satrap, a boucan d’enfer is never far away. Outfields and pitches lovingly caressed by the shears and rollers of a conscientious groundsman are as rare as a Test chinaman.
Yet, people play cricket here. And, for the most part, they enjoy it.
Most who describe themselves as ‘cricket people’ are at least dimly aware of the existence of the game outside the Test, ODI, or IPL arenas. Teams such as Ireland, Netherlands, and Bermuda are seen as the ‘plucky minnows’ nibbling at the feet of the Full Members in the fish spa that is the ICC, with the vague hope of feeding on a bit of dry, calloused skin. But, in comparison to Balkan nations like Serbia, Romania, Bulgaria, and Croatia, the aforementioned trio are undisputed giants of the game. Whilst Associates aspire to Full status and Affiliates aspire to be Associates, for the true minnows of the cricketing universe becoming an Affiliate is a nigh-on heavenly aspiration. For Serbia, the lattermost is the next step on the ladder to acceptance; in 2013, the Serbian Cricket Federation will apply for Affiliate membership of the ICC.
Certainly, they’ve made progress.
In the early days of Serbian cricket, training sessions were conducted on a concrete path in the shadow of the Kalemegdan fortress. High above, from the great stone walls of the old Turkish stronghold, curious onlookers would stare down at the unusual group of ants far below who seemed more intent on dashing about after a small red ball than absorbing the achingly picturesque setting. How queer and unfathomable the stuttering, schizophrenic run-ups must have appeared to those watching, many of whom were tourists straight off the Danube pleasure-cruisers. The playing of cricket in Kalemegdan is roughly akin to undertaking a caber toss on the Champ de Mars.
Nevertheless, the Serbs happily tossed the caber on the very spot where the late Amy Winehouse played her final, infamous concert. Dog-walkers, blissfully oblivious to the sporting arena upon which they were intruding, sauntered casually across the ‘strip,’ as rubberneckers at a crime scene might wander into the path of a cameraman’s lens. Their canine charges were often more efficient at hunting down a cover drive than the Homo sapiens nominally prescribed with the task.
Despite meagre resources and a scarcity of practical information about the game, Serbian cricket developed its stalwarts. A core grew, and though their batting was as vivid and fluent as an inkjet printer low on ink, their bowling as elegant and accurate as a battery chicken chucking a googly, they persevered. Even during those formative years, the General Secretary of the Serbian Cricket Federation, Vladimir Ninković, believed that the game had a future in his country.
‘As soon as we registered the first clubs in early 2008, we felt that we could push it forward if we found the right balance of locals and expats from the very beginning.
‘We are generally self-taught. However, we initially received some batting and bowling tips, both from the foreign players with whom we practiced and from YouTube videos – credit to the late Bob Woolmer. Later, some of us attended coaching courses in Serbia and in the UK.’
In the past, matches would take place on various football grounds whose ’tracks’ would normally require of a year of dedicated attention from a team of lawn-manicurists in order to fall into the ’cabbage-patch’ category. Now, the SCF boasts its own ground on the outskirts of the city: the new home of cricket in Serbia is Lisičji Jarak , a gigantic aerodrome close to the semi-rural settlement of Padinska Skela. Fittingly for the earnest men and women of this country’s cricketing scene, Padinska Skela is notorious as the location of a major psychiatric hospital. These days, instead of the strollers and gawkers, matches are lent colour by plunging skydivers who parachute over the pitch in large numbers, intent on hitting their mark on the adjacent airfield. The buzz of the ’planes and the flap of the ’chutes are now the ubiquitous soundtrack to games. Beside the toilets and the restaurant, mothballed aircraft still bearing the Yugoslav star lie dormant. Hangars with doors as gapingly ajar as a Panesar defensive prod fail to conceal their secrets: mostly, strange-looking contraptions replete with wings and curved glass. And so it seems that wherever cricket is played in Serbia, a peculiarly Balkan brand of scenic quaintness is guaranteed.
In practical terms, the existence of a cricket-only facility is an important factor in the SCF’s quest for Affiliate status. As Ninković tells me, the lease and subsequent development of Lisičji Jarak was made possible by government grants.
‘The SCF has access to state funding, albeit a small one. But at least it covers the expenses of the rental of the ground and some running costs, so we don't owe anything to anyone.’
According to the ICC Development Programme, a requirement for inclusion in the Affiliate membership is ’access to at least two cricket grounds on which competition matches are played,’ as well as the ’generation of non-ICC income.’ Lisičji Jarak and the funds used to pay for it will go some way towards satisfying those criteria.
In addition to this, many of Serbia’s cricketing community have also forked out to take part in coaching and umpiring courses, meaning that a large proportion of those involved in the sport here hold some kind of official qualification.
Evidently, Serbia is getting there.
Yet, there remains a host of administrative issues to be tackled by Serbian cricket if the SCF are to become ICC Affiliates. Interestingly, they do not have far to look for an example of how to do it right, as neighbouring Hungary has recently become an Affiliate member. Andrew Leckonby, the Cricket Development Director of the Hungarian Cricket Association, kindly agreed to talk about his own organisation’s experience with the process.
‘The ICC on the whole appears to be much more focussed on countries equivalent to or above Scotland, which can be a limiting factor with regard to what can be achieved at our ‘development’ level. However, I must add that ICC-Europe loves the work going on in our region and, in fact, Rick [Hastie] and Nick [Pink] really enjoy working with countries further East in Europe, as everything is so excitingly new and we work hard on grass roots cricket, native players, et cetera. Western European cricket, having been established for many more years, can be a bit settled in the old ways, more dominated by expats, and more resistant to change. Rick is the best support imaginable, manages most things needed by us and helps in an efficient, honest, and accurate way. However, there are limits to what ICC-Europe can achieve for us due to the constraints of being in the ‘bigger picture’ ICC.’
Encouragingly for Serbia as well as Hungary, Andrew believes that the possibility of progress within the system exists.
‘There are clear pathways and, in theory, there is nothing to stop us following Afghanistan right to the top. Except talent, but that’s not the ICC’s fault.’
As for the criteria, the ICC appears to be realistic in relation to advancement, despite a recent hike in the standards required for affiliation.
‘For the most part, things are pretty clear and pretty reasonable. Having a ground specific to cricket seemed a big thing for them, which was of course the major financial investment needed. We got lucky with the investments of two KPMG partners who happen to love playing cricket and built a new ground in order for this to happen in Hungary. Otherwise it was time, not money, which was required. Having at least one cricket-only pitch and a plan that within a few years another one could exist was certainly important. It was frustrating for us to see many [already ICC-affiliated] countries in this region without a single cricket-specific ground, but the fact is that the bar was raised and new countries have to reach it.
‘Now, they are really driving a focus on junior competition. It is a little frustrating that there is such a major emphasis on 11-a-side hard-ball cricket for kids, when I believe that 8- or 9-a-side cricket is much better for developing and beginner cricketers. But, at least there is a focus on getting kids to play competitively, which can only be a good thing.’
Hungary’s evolution into an Affiliate is heartening for other prospective social climbers, particularly Serbia.
‘The recent admission of Romania and Hungary has encouraged us to follow in their footsteps,’ says Vladimir Ninković. ‘We will see what happens, but we are cautiously optimistic about getting the green light for Affiliate status.’
Whatever the future for Serbian cricket, the image of a ragtag band of pioneers taking on a misunderstood foreign sport in the shadow of a Turkish fortress is both romantic and vaguely surreal. Cricket in Serbia, and indeed the Balkans, is possessed of a certain gauche charm, a hipster’s alternative to the Strategic Timeout-cheering de rigeur. From the swaggering exiles contentedly cleaving balls into the cornfields to the enthusiastic novices pottering nervously about the wicket, the game here has no shortage of character. After all, this is a sport that so famously lends itself to eccentricity. Why should things be any different in the Balkans, a veritable stronghold of sporting idiosyncrasy?
That the Serbs were also brave enough to compete in regional competitions against more experienced players is a tribute to them. The SCF imposes a cap on expatriate players at both club and international level, so priority is given to the development of the ever-improving indigenous players. This is not a universal policy amongst Serbia’s neighbours. Some nations at this level are more than happy to defer to the myopically self-satisfied, thrash-and-bash expat dominance eschewed by the SCF. It’s not unusual for Serbia to be pitted against international teams containing eight or nine expats and a few token natives.
However, it must be said that things are improving in that regard. In May this year, Hungary and Serbia played a game in which both teams were comprised entirely of indigenous players. Recently, a team from the north-west of Serbia, near the Croatian border, took part in a six-a-side tournament in Belgrade. All but one of the team’s players are members of Serbia’s vast Roma community.
Serbian cricket has evolved into a fascinating curiosity, embryonic but emergent within its sphere. The sport here has travelled a long way from the abortive Batting on the Bosphorus days , but has an even longer way to go to reach the heady ‘heights’ of European cricketing minnowdom. Yet, in the enthusiasm of its players and the determination of its administrators, one can see a bright future for the cricketing Serbs. The road ahead is long and fraught with difficulty, but offers hope for those wishing to trek it in the company of the game they love.
This article first appeared in The Nightwatchman, Wisden's Cricket Quarterly.
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