In the Grbavica neighbourhood of Sarajevo, a mural depicts the moment Ivica Osim announced his resignation as coach of Yugoslavia on May 23, 1992. Osim was and will always be a man from Grbavica. This quarter found itself on the frontline during the war and suffered greatly. His quote from that day is painted next to him.
“This is my private gesture,” he said. “You can understand it as you like, it’s my personal decision. I won’t say why or explain, you know very well, but if nothing else, it’s the only thing I can do for that city so that you too remember I was born in Sarajevo and you know what is happening there. Just that.”
Today the tower blocks still carry the pockmarks of shelling. Next door, the stadium of Zeljeznicar, the club Osim once led to the UEFA Cup semi-finals in 1984-85, is undergoing refurbishment. It was on fire in 1992.
The Ivica Osim mural in Sarajevo (James Horncastle/The Athletic)
Thirty years after the war, Sarajevo still carries these scars. Bosnia and Herzegovina’s 40-year-old captain, Edin Dzeko, began his career with Zeljo. When others left, he stayed in Sarajevo. “A lot of footballers start to play kicking a ball around in the street. For me that was impossible,” he reflected. “But when the war finished I was much stronger mentally.”
Experiences like this give a small insight into what qualifying for the World Cup means to places like Grbavica, the rest of Sarajevo and the whole country. Bosnia has a population of only three million, more or less the same as Rome. To see Dzeko, his arm in a sling, celebrate long into the night with a new generation of players, many of whom grew up as part of the Bosnian diaspora in America, Austria, Germany and Sweden, was special.
In Zenica, a city famous for being home to one of the largest prisons in the former Yugoslavia, Bosnia locked up Italy’s World Cup dreams and threw away the key for another four years. As was the case in Wales last week, Sergej Barbarez’s side came back from behind dramatically late and won on penalties. The spot kicks happened in front of a pair of looming Soviet-style tower blocks, the residents of which gathered on balconies, waving flares and lighting fireworks on the rooftops.
Fans watched Tuesday’s game from every vantage point they could find (James Horncastle/The Athletic)
When the last one went in, the ultras behind the goal unfurled a banner showing a U.S. visa for the Fanatico fan group. They are going to the U.S., Canada and Mexico. The Italians, who had punched the air in Bergamo when they learned Bosnia would be their opponents in the final, looked on in despair. Italy’s coach, Gennaro Gattuso, has needed sleeping pills to cope with an overactive mind in the build-up to the play-offs. Bosnians had trouble sleeping on Tuesday for different reasons.
It felt like all of Sarajevo was out in the early hours of the morning. A line of traffic as far as the eye could see stretched down Titova Street. Flags were draped on car bonnets, horns were honked, and the songs of Dino Merlin, Enes Begovic and Halid Beslic were sung.
WHAT A NIGHT!🇧🇦 pic.twitter.com/mxGCcO5AWG
— Bosnian Football (@BosniaNTBall) April 1, 2026
Twelve years after the first and only time Bosnia qualified for the World Cup, they still partied like it had never happened before.
Bosnia has new heroes. Over a plate of Pita before Tuesday’s game, my Bosnian friends Alen and Adi were still talking about the headed block Tarik Muharemovic made on Harry Wilson in the Wales game. They were excited about Kerim Alajbegovic, Bosnia’s next big thing, after he set up Dzeko’s equaliser in Cardiff and scored the final penalty.
The home fans celebrate a famous night (Elvis Barukcic/AFP via Getty Images)
Alajbegovic, 18, didn’t start against Italy. But when he came on, his velvet touch and elegant footwork marked him out as one to watch. Sometimes it is obvious when a player is very good. Alajbegovic made it plain he could, one day very soon, strut his stuff on more prestigious stages than the mottled pitch at the Bilino Polje.
Much had been made of the primal surroundings of Tuesday’s play-off final. Celik Zenica, the owners of the rusting ground, are a second division team in Bosnia. Italians are not exactly ones to talk about infrastructure given the crumbling and dilapidated nature of many of their own stadiums. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop them from passing judgement on the Bilino Polje as being worthy of the third- or fourth-tier back home.
As with Bosnia’s training ground back in Sarajevo, where the national team trained alongside a stable-yard with whinnying horses, the humility of Bosnia’s story contrasted with the hubris and humiliation suffered by Italy.
So happy for Edin Dzeko. What a send off he will have! 🇧🇦💎 pic.twitter.com/UyGNd3tJ0W
— Bosnian Football (@BosniaNTBall) April 1, 2026
Dzeko’s leadership throughout was exemplary. Mindful of how bad the optics were of Italy’s players appearing to celebrate getting Bosnia, he asked the fans to turn the other cheek and get on their feet and applaud the Italian national anthem.
“Italy were the first team that came to play in Bosnia after the war,” he said. “Maybe people don’t remember or don’t know that, but Italy came for a friendly in 1996. For that we should forever be grateful. Then during the game it’ll be a war. After, friends like before. What happens happens. That’s football.”
And yet as crowds gathered around the Eternal Flame in Sarajevo, the jubilation served as a reminder that football is never just about football. It is about culture, identity and belonging, pride, memories and myth. It is about 120 minutes that can last forever in places like Grbavica, Zenica, Mostar and wherever else Bosnians live.
Years from now, even the walls will speak of that night at the Bilino Polje.
