Today's story sent to us from Kresimir, is taking place during the late 2000s in Zadar - Croatia.

Basketball in my hometown is like a religion. Despite the town having a population of just 80,000, our city’s basketball team has enjoyed considerable success, both during the era of the unified Yugoslavia and now in Croatia, with multiple championships and cups under its belt. Today, most kids are more focused on football, but in the past, basketball was the dominant sport. In my neighborhood, built in the 1980s, every residential building had its own basketball court!!! Well, a half-court, actually, slightly smaller than a full one (so no corner threes). Now, imagine every building in the neighborhood having its own basketball court.... Sometimes, there wouldn’t be a single available court in a neighborhood with just 10,000 people. That’s where my friends and I spent most of our days. None of us played basketball seriously - just recreationally, playing ball in the streets, as they say. I, myself, had only one season of formal basketball training. Yet, that didn’t stop us from developing the specific skills needed to play real basketball. Some of us were above-average three-point shooters, others were Rodman- like rebounders, some were unstoppable at driving to the basket, and so on. Though we all participated in other sports, basketball was primarily for fun, though of course, winning always mattered. This sets the stage for a story I’ll never forget.

At the time, I was around 18 or 19 years old, spending most of my summer on the court, playing for at least 4-5 hours a day. There was always someone to play with, from the 60-year-olds to the 14- or 15-year-olds. On one particular day, a few players we knew came by to join us - or rather, to challenge us. All three were part of one of the regional teams in our hometown. They had played at a serious level for years, mastering all the fundamentals. Since it’s a small town, we all knew each other. We started a 3v3 game, and the rules were a bit different back then, varying from city to city, but here they were favorable to the offense. As long as you scored, you kept possession. After a score, you had to pass the ball outside the paint before continuing play. There was also an unspoken rule: no staying too close to the paint before passing and scoring.

Given the differences in experience, we were the clear underdogs—not just in their eyes, but even in our own. They were spot-on shooters, knew how to set perfect screens, and executed pick-and-rolls to perfection. The first two or three games were easy wins for them. But then things began to shift. The next game was close, and by the fifth game, we surprised them with a win. They didn’t take it too seriously at first, assuming it was a fluke. It had taken us an hour and a half to win that first game, and they thought that would be the end of it. But that was far from the case. They weren’t prepared for the fast pace of our passing game, constantly moving in and out of the paint after every score. Our physical defense caught them off guard, and, crucially, they didn’t view us as a serious threat, which was a big mistake. The first four games had essentially been our warm-up. Remember, we were playing 4-5 hours a day.

As the games went on, the tempo of our play increased, as we were used to the fast pace. Meanwhile, theirs slowed down. They weren’t accustomed to playing for such long periods at such a high speed. We became unstoppable, hitting three-pointers, driving to the basket, and even dunking, much to their shock. We were on fire - everything was falling, and we were in rhythm. By the end of the day, we had played 8 or 9 games. We won 5, they won 4. From that moment on, they knew we weren’t an easy win anymore. Whenever they came back to play, they understood they had to bring their best. It proved that passion, will, and persistence could work wonders.

There’s a famous quote from a fan in Zadar stands that perfectly sums up my city: "Here, basketball is everything.... everything!"

Story overview