u/Patrickk_batemann

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Dear children of Bosnia and Herzegovina, I have a message for you.

Nothing is impossible.

Nothing.

We're lucky to be Bosnians. I'm not saying this as a man living his dream, but also as a child who survived the war. My fate could have been entirely different.

I don't like talking about those days in Sarajevo, but it's very important that you understand them. I was 6 when it started. I remember the first moment the sirens went off. My mom picked me up, and we hid behind the shoe cabinet. That was day one. It lasted four years. We didn't fully understand what was happening, but every day was terrifying. When our home became completely unsafe to stay in, we moved to my grandparents' place. Fifteen of us in a 40-square-meter house. We all slept on the floor.

We'd play Monopoly together. Going outside was dangerous because snipers were waiting everywhere. I'd sit on the floor with my cousins and play for hours. We'd hear the sirens and the bombs. Sometimes the ground would shake.

For a few minutes while playing, we'd forget about the war. We were only allowed to be kids for a moment.

We wanted to play soccer outside, but every day we saw innocent people being taken to the hospital in ambulances. So how do you keep a child cooped up in a house for four years? Of course you can't, and the grown-ups knew it. Rarely, when things seemed calm around us, my mom would let us go out. We'd go out and play soccer with the other kids in the neighborhood.

I'll never forget the way my mom looked at those moments. There was a smile on her face because she was happy to see me playing soccer. But when I looked into her eyes, I could see how scared she was because I might not come back home.

Sometimes our water would run out. We'd grab our buckets and get in line. There was no electricity, so no elevator either. We'd carry those buckets. Third floor, fourth floor... six more floors to go... I was the skinniest kid in Sarajevo. Food was a problem for us too. Our families risked their lives for it. Sometimes boxes full of food would be dropped from the sky, like magic... We didn't know where they came from, and we didn't care. They tasted incredible. When you eat the same thing every day, peanut butter feels like a gift from heaven.

At the end of the day, we survived somehow. Looking back, I'm shocked at how strong we were. We were just little kids. Dozens of innocent people died. For what?

For money. For power. For ego.

So, for nothing.

Whenever I see war on the news today, I feel awful.

I don't want this to happen anywhere.

But somehow, adults never seem to learn.

I was 10 when the war ended. I had no plans to become a soccer player. It seemed impossible; I didn't even dream about it.

Everything had been shattered. I only played soccer because I loved it. My dad used to carry bread for a living. When I joined my first club, he'd take breaks from work to drive me there and back. On the way, he'd always tell me, 'Be kind, treat everyone the same, it doesn't matter where they're from or what they do.' I'll never forget that. He had played soccer in the lower leagues himself; he was my hero. When I got out of the car, he'd give me a banana and say, 'Good luck, son.'

On weekends, we'd watch matches on TV together. Back then, Serie A was the best league. Have you heard of Shevchenko? I adored him. I loved Italy so much. It felt like a fairy tale on the other side of the world. I couldn't even imagine playing soccer there. My only goal was to play for Zeljeznicar's first team. One of my coaches started calling me Sheva because I was blond and scored a lot of goals. I liked it.

At 19, another coach came and said he wanted to take me to Czechia. I didn't want to leave Bosnia, but he said if I went, I'd have a better chance of making my dream come true. To be honest, I didn't even know what my dream was. I just wanted to get better. The strongest part of my body is my mind. When I went to Teplice, I told myself: 'Edin, you have to work harder than these guys, or they'll send you packing.'

They had bought me for 25,000 euros.

Two years later, I signed with Wolfsburg. We faced Milan, and I swapped jerseys with Sheva.

Then Manchester City bought me for 37 million euros.

Then I went to Roma.

I had grown up in war. I was truly living a fairy tale.

Nothing is impossible. Not even taking Bosnia to the World Cup.

Do you remember 2014? Most of you weren't even born yet. That was the first time we went to the World Cup. It was the best day of our lives.

We played a qualifier in an old stadium in Lithuania. The referee blew the final whistle, and Bosnians stormed the field. They had climbed over a 2-meter wall. I thought to myself, 'They're crazy.'

Then I saw a man running slower than the others, coming toward me with tears in his eyes.

It was my dad.

'Dad, what happened?' I said.

'I hurt my foot jumping over the wall, but it's okay, I don't feel the pain,' he said.

We hugged and cried.

Sadly, luck wasn't with us in Brazil. You don't remember this, but I scored against Nigeria—it should have counted. There was no VAR back then, and that's why we got eliminated from the group. But our little country had stepped onto the Maracana. We had shown the world who we are.

And now we're going back.

You know what's funny? In March, I turned 40, and I didn't celebrate. I'm Muslim, it was Ramadan then, and we had business against Wales and Italy. So I thought, fine, then I'll turn these matches into a party.

It was the 85th minute against Wales, and I looked at the scoreboard—we were down 1-0.

The only thing I felt was panic. Time was running out.

Then there was a corner. A skinny guy was marking me. 'Perfect,' I said. I sent the ball into the net, celebrated, and it hit me: 'I've been in four shootouts before, lost them all.'

Thank goodness the young ones know how to take penalties. Us veterans overthink it.

Then we played Italy. I was scared of Donnarumma. He's huge. I didn't know if I could score on him in penalties. I'd also hurt my right shoulder and had to come off. I couldn't watch our first penalty because they were bandaging my arm. I didn't watch, and we scored.

That's when I said to myself, maybe I shouldn't watch. I'll just follow the sound from the stands. I'll listen to my people.

Italy missed, and the crowd roared even louder than when we scored.

Then they missed again. I was just praying. All I could see were our coaches' backs.

When Esmir took the ball, our coach turned around too and said, 'I can't watch either.'

He came over, hugged me. We leaned our heads together, closed our eyes, and just listened.

Then we heard the biggest roar we could ever hear.

Getting here was never easy. When you hit 40, your back can scream in pain. You run for painkillers too. But whenever my body wants to quit, I think about all the celebrations I missed, the days I spent away from my family, the summer vacations I skipped. Mentally, it's so tough. Criticism still hurts, but when I step onto the field, I still feel like a kid. Just like you. Butterflies in my stomach.

Every time I come home, I think: It was worth it.

Everything was worth it.

Without the bad moments, the good ones don't come.

I've been away from Bosnia for 20 years. The farther I am from Bosnia, the more my love grows. Nine of those 20 were in Italy. My kids were born in Rome. It's still my second home, but whenever I visit Sarajevo, my mom cooks. Everyone's there. And I'm so happy. Wearing the Bosnia jersey makes my heart beat differently.

I play for my people. I play for the kids on the streets of Sarajevo. I play for the people from our different cultures and different religions. That's what makes our country beautiful. Even though some people still try to divide us...

They never succeeded.

Not because of me. Not because of the adults. We never learn. Because of you, kids.

Do me one last favor, okay?

Whether you're in Sarajevo, Rome, or St. Louis, wherever you live; whether you're Muslim, Jewish, Catholic, or Orthodox. Never forget where you come from.

You're Bosnian. The world is at your feet.

I love you all so much.

Best wishes,
Edin.