Even though I didn’t know Graham Norton, I ended up playing simultaneous chess alongside Nemanja Vidić. I should explain. A couple of brothers from the Croatian city of Split came to see me in London, hoping I could put them in touch with Graham Norton, which I couldn’t because I don’t really know him. The brothers, Zdravko and Slaven Marić, told me about a sports tournament they organised for kids from countries that were once part of Yugoslavia. What, really? Kids from Croatia, Serbia, Slovenia, and Bosnia and Herzegovina, all coming together in Split to play and compete together? Apparently so. And Norton came into it because in Croatia he’s a big star. Everyone loves his show, subtitles and all. So they wanted him to come to Split to be a guest of honour at their Youth Sports Games.
At short notice I was unable to make their wish come true, but they didn’t seem to hold it against me, as they insisted I come to Split to see for myself the finals of these Youth Sports Games. This I did, and I was completely blown away. It wasn’t that I hadn’t taken them at their word, or disbelieved them when they shared the list of sporting legends who had lent their support, but nothing prepared me for the magnificence of the enterprise when I saw it with my own eyes last month.
Here for a start, taking lead roles in the event in Croatia’s second city, were the Serbian football legends Nemanja Vidić and Aleksandar Kolarov. Both winners of multiple Premier League titles, with Manchester United and Manchester City respectively. And both with frankly terrifying dispositions on the field of play. United fans had the following chant for Nemanja: “He comes from Serb-ee-ya; he’s going to murder ya.” As I first clapped eyes on him face to face, even in the heat of high summer on the Adriatic, a chill went down my spine. But a more charming and intelligent man you’d go a long way to meet. And the same was true of Aleksandar, who, along with the former Croatian international Šime Vrsaljko, was introduced as a new ambassador for the organisation.
The scale of the thing is extraordinary. Well over 300,000 kids take part in heats around the four countries, and now more than 800 of them, from Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia, and Bosnia and Herzegovina, were in Split for the finals – running, throwing, catching, kicking and generally jumping for joy. The miracle of it – and there’s no delicate way of putting this – is that many of their parents’ generation were at war with each other. To see these children now, at competitive play, felt like being in a decidedly unrealistic, overly sentimental film. All too good to be true. Except it wasn’t.
In the simultaneous chess match, against a grandmaster called Aleksandra Dimitrijević, Nemanja and I were each paired with young Slovenes. My lad, Val Vodnik, bless him, patiently explained his every move to me, and every move Ms Dimitrijević might make in response, and every move he might then make in turn. Every now and then, Nemanja and I exchanged a glance which said: no, I haven’t really got a clue what’s going on either.
In the evening, we moved on to a four-nation dodgeball contest, with girls and boys, men and women on each team. Thankfully, my participation wasn’t required, so I looked on in considerable delight as Aleksandar Kolarov competed alongside Serbian nippers a quarter his size. No less entertaining was the sight of EU Commissioner Johannes Hahn, a longtime supporter, mercilessly targeted by tots of all nations who had worked out that he, not being an athlete, was least able to dodge the balls slung at him, poor chap.
I don’t know what Graham Norton is up to next August, but I’ll be stopping at nothing to get him there. And I’ll be sure they promise not to make him play dodgeball, for his own safety.
Adrian Chiles is a broadcaster, writer and Guardian columnist
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