Hajduk Split: An Art of Losing with Grace
Hrvatski Nogometni Klub Hajduk Split. Saying the name of the club is to conjure up the atmosphere of a Shakespeare tragedy but one with slightly more tearful defending. This is the club whose name is referred in hushed tones in Split streets as the lead into some nefarious punch-line. Someone stops you in your tracks with the words “Hajduk? Aren’t those the team that won a league title while everyone was messing about with attempting to transfer ring tones over Bluetooth?” Ah yeah, that’s the team.
Reward yourself with the best espresso possible (believe me, you’ll be craving it). Bitter black and heart-wrenchingly sour as is the process of watching Hajduk try back-to-back passes. Acknowledge it or not, watching this team is watching “Hamlet” provided Hamlet’s soliloquy got cut short and then Hamlet will stumble over his own sword and lose the war with a court jester named Misspent Confidence.
Their football is a tragicomedy performed so impeccably it’s almost an abstract new movement within the arts. Long ball needed? Time to Desperately Overhit it into orbit like the moon needs midfielders. Penalty coming your way? Best chance of shooting so wide you’re an involuntary backpass to the other goalkeeper. Defence gameplan? Envision a housewarming and you don’t know how to shut the front door and that’s the back four.
For a team that has been able to convert losing one-on-omes into some kind of badge of honour, Hajduk Split could be the football equivalent of “to err is human.” Or then it could be “to err is Hajduk standard.”
The Glorious Hystory of Failure (1911 – Now)
Hajduk Split started in 1911 as something more than a club—a way of life, of being and also a long and ardent trial of emotional strength. To Split citizens and far beyond them too, Hajduk is more than football—it is pride and identity and and unyielding passion. If one of the Olympic sports is a spectacle for passion itself then Hajduk fans would win more medals than Real and Barcelona combined. Clearly however these gods of the football universe have been substantially less benevolent towards them in the last decades.
Six Croatian league titles in their history doesn’t sound so terrible for Hajduk but isn’t exactly dominant in and of itself, particularly when you factor that the last league title they won was all the way back in 2005. Yes 2005, the time that iPods were as hip as they ever were and whatever your MySpace top eight buddy list said was still cool. Ugh good times and all but for Hajduk supporters those are the days the league title last went as far east as Split.
Their 2013 Croatian Cup victory momentarily fueled talk of finally being back on track towards greatness. For a moment, fans could almost pray their favorite club was back on track towards greatness. But, as always, that spark of hope was fleeting—as fleeting as the rest of the world’s interest in “Gangnam Style.” That hyped resurgence produced nary an upward trend. Instead, it felt as though you’re stuck in the middle of a desert mirage, look and realize it isn’t there, then look and see your camel just devour the final granola bar.
But all those crushed hopes and disappointments in between, Hajduk supporters will not be shaken. They will stay loyal until the end of time, their voices resound through the stadia in chorus, and their Hajduk pride unashamed. Why? Well, being a Hajduk Split supporter isn’t all about the silverware; it’s all about the journey of it all, the camaraderie and the irreversible connection between man and club.
Poljud Stadium: Best Monumennt of Mediocrity
Theoretically, Poljud Stadium is a masterpiece. It was finished in 1979, has 33,987 spectators and resembles a sci-fi space ship, as if it’s constantly ready for intergalactic games between Mars and Earth. But does that stadium see great football? Oh, naive summer child.
You could write a whole dissertation on the communal groaning of the stadium over the years. People pin their hopes on them, they chant through promises of victory, they hold on to hope. And what do they receive? A team playing as though they’re allergic to cohesiveness and net-busting. If it were in Roman times, the stadium would be stocked with nothing but lions purely for variety. Consider losing your weekends trekking back and back and back towards Poljud, damned and doomed forever to that cold unfeeling chant of “Next year’ll be our year!” Yes, Poljud is quite a nice amphitheater where hope perishes rather than sports temple.
Marko Livaja and The Art of Penalty Kicks
If there is a three-act play of Hajduk Split then Marko Livaja would be the comedy/drama hero/punchline rolled into one tragically. With his hair gel-sculpted hairs and strut that walks on the brink of the dramatic, it’s the sort of guy more time has been spent on him mastering the hair gel than on penalty kicks. It’s a true statement though as penalties have been his entire act in reality. Livaja isn’t the sort of chap you witness blowing things up with ninjalike precision on the ball or spectacular highlight reels with jaw-dropping dead-balls from open play. No sir, his specialty is finesse of kicking penalties and doing it so regularly it appears his very existence hinges on it.
Hajduk’s strike here is an open secret, one likely that could be written on the back of a napkin and passed through the locker room before matches. Perhaps it might read something like this: “Take a hint in the box and then pray Livaja’s haircut holds up for long enough for him to complete from the spot.” Unoriginal as it is uninspirational, and it’s what maintains Hajduk’s strike. Open-play goals? These are a rarity come miracle expectation for a team that manages to hit average somewhere in the range of zero of those per millennium.
But it is not all about glories. Livaja deserves attention, in his swagger of self-assurance, his hot temper, or his ability to score when his team most needs him to score biggest. He is polarizing as a player, a lightning rod for love and ire. And while his penalty kicks have the ability to make him a one-dimensional hero for some supporters, for Hajduk Split, he is now a part of their story—a hero of new narratives, one penalty kick at a time.
Perhaps Football Isn’t Really Their Sport?
Clearly Hajduk are in the wrong industry. Football just isn’t their calling. Why don’t they give ping pong a go? Or synchronized swimming? Or sudoku championships? Clearly there has got to be some field where they will be less likely to end up on the losing end of things so desperately pitied year in and year out. Year in and year out, game in and game out, they’ve been able to manage performances so routinely average it’s almost deserving of an award. If such a thing as an unflinching dedication to average-ness does exist as an award then Hajduk now has a trophy room to be proud of. Supporters always hold on in hope things will turn around but perhaps the miracle lies in their genius level ability for defeat from the very depths of victory. Their record isn’t chiseled into trophies—it’s chiseled into broken hearts of dedicated fans. Perhaps it’s time they began a new dawn within an invincible arena.
The Future? What Future?
Will Hajduk Split escape the labyrinth of Endless Mediocrity into which they wanderled for decades now? Don’t hold your breath. Will they serve espressos at Poljud Stadium and see a side that counts in the grand scheme of football? A pleasant pipe dream but not. Hajduk’s destiny is as dismal as an infomercial on a dead-of-night telecast of something you don’t need. Existence itself is fate’s-bent inside jest played and replayed on an audience that winces and laughs as one. A club where tragedy is part of one’s DNA code, they’ve mastered the tragicomedy of being the football tragicomedy club. They don’t win league titles; they win odd things, moments, and memes. Hajduk Split isn’t a sports club any longer; it’s therapy conducted ensconced within a sporting body. Forget the grand finals. They were not invited. Rather, it has been pining for the existential football fans out there who crave nothing but the rush of poetic despair. One might ask though: does Hajduk dream of what lies ahead? Or has it resigned itself to its role as the hero of an eternal lost underdog saga? At the very least, it has kept us interested, and honestly that’s more of a hoot than wins of cups.