Attack

The division into those who are for Montenegro and those who are against it is meaningless, untrue and artificial. Those who live in Montenegro and do not like Montenegro can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Even this hatred that radiates from comments about identity issues, on various portals, is fabricated. If these people were to meet and talk normally, they would go for a drink afterwards.

The only real division in Montenegro is between the decent and the rude, the mean and the arrogant, the moral and the immoral, the honest and the thieves, the hard-working and the lazy, Mitra Ćalasan, who is fighting a blizzard so that his Pivlians will get electricity as soon as possible, and those who don't move their buttocks when talking to an older person, even if he is the prime minister whom they don't appreciate. These are two Montenegros and there is no doubt that the future lies in a decent and democratic Montenegro, within which different opinions on identity and other issues are not only not superfluous, but also desirable.

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"Attack is the best defense" is a catchphrase from soccer that means not to concede a goal, to keep the ball in the opponent's half. In life, this term denotes a tactic where when we have sinned, we attack the other side before they attack us.

The recent government divided citizens into "ours" and "theirs", but it learned the football doctrine - kudos to it.

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If there was no Đukanović - the DPS would fall apart, if there were no DPS - the ruling coalition would fall apart.

* * *

One should not read two books by the same author, one after the other. No way I accept that rule. After the great novel "Fate and Comments", by Radoslav Petković, I started reading his "Perfect Remembrance of Death", about the last days of Byzantium, and here I am struggling for days with history, religion and magic, and countless names that mean nothing to me. I read almost every page twice, because my mind wanders. True, in this book I also come across sentences that I underline:

"They say that in ancient Rome, a slave always stood next to him who celebrated his triumph on a two-wheeled chariot, to whisper to him that glory is fleeting."

* * *

Montenegro is celebrating a rare jubilee this year, and I believe that it does not know that it should celebrate it. 70 years ago, in 1951, seventeen-year-old Momčilo Ćetković won his first of five Montenegrin chess championships at a tournament in Titograd. And a few days ago he turned 87 years old, strong and with a clear mind.

It was always an honor for me to be in the company of Momo Ćetković. To listen and absorb. The man was and remains a paradigm for honesty and fair play in Montenegrin chess. The greatest of Montenegrin chess players, Božidar Ivanović, wrote: "Momčilo Ćetković was a brilliant lawyer, a cheerful and witty man, one of the pillars of our post-war chess, an intellectual, a friend as one could wish for".

Ćetković is a landmark of Kotor, the oldest living champion of Montenegro in chess, and probably also in Montenegrin sports.

* * *

When I had a laser intervention on my eye three years ago in a Belgrade clinic, to my question - will this fog before my eyes disappear, the young doctor answered: "It should disappear."

"And if it doesn't go away?"

"You'll get used to it."

I thought he was joking…

* * *

I rarely leave the house in these corona days. I only take off the mask when I have to, like the other day in a cafe when I was drinking a "big one with milk". But, even then, I make sure that I drink the coffee right next to the handle and take the cup with my left hand. At one point, I turned my head, when all the left-handed people around me were almost touching the handle with their chins while sipping that wonderful drink.

And I was going to patent the invention.

* * *

As a boy I just suffered because everything has to pass. This is especially evident when I read a good book that I haven't let go of for days. Such was the "Black Pirate" of Emilio Salgari. Or when the television series with Čkalja ends, such as "Crni sneg", "Dežurna ulica", "Sačulatac"...

Now I am reminded of the transience of life by the table on which the fried veal schnitzels, with fried potatoes and sauerkraut salad, are just a few minutes away...