Serbia is a country riddled with songs, sayings and poems, and the national psyche is built around this oral tradition, especially when it comes to football. Indeed, that’s the reason I ended up here. To cut a long story short, a large-breasted language student I met in London was travelling out to study the songs and folk traditions of the country. Her breasts, coupled with a need to escape gambling debts in London and the promise of cheap beer lured me to the country. I escaped the debts, the big breasts escaped me, and the cheap beer resulted in arguing about the finer points of football with a barman called Zojan in some back street watering hole. He knew little about football, but did have an overwhelming passion for local club Novi Sad; enough to get me slagging them off just to annoy him. To be honest, I didn’t have a clue who they were, but as with any team, all the usual jokes fitted – stadium has structural fault, all the seats face the pitch; they put 10 grand’s worth of manure of the pitch every week, and so on. I even perfected a line in praising fierce local rivals Veternik just to really piss him off.