One is America.

With a big city it's like with the best play, film, book. When I was a student, once upon a time, I saw Radovan the Third, six times, I always had the feeling that I was watching a new play. Zoran Radmilović was like that. "Once Upon a Time in America" ​​by Sergio Leone, in its complete version of almost four hours, I watched it four times and I would watch it again. "The Tunnel" by Ernesto Sabato, or "Blindness" by José Saramago, no matter how many times you read them, you will have the same feeling - that you are reading a new novel.

This was my fifth time visiting New York. When I landed at JFK from Atlanta, with lightning and thunder, I even received an SMS alert that I should not leave my house for the next few hours - none of that bothered me. Not even when I arrived at Jamaica station from JFK airport by air train. After a 20-minute ride on the LLIR, I entered the heart of the "Big Apple", at Pennsylvania Central Station, or Pann Station for short. And the adrenaline kicked in. I started recording a video as the escalator took me to the square between Seventh Avenue and 36th Street, the words coming out of the camera themselves: There's a magic about this city that you feel even before you see it with your own eyes, as you climb from the bowels of the subway toward the exit. NY City. Manhattan. And again, no matter how many times you return to it, it's the same thing, only here, on one of the New York avenues, you feel a miraculous energy. I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I kept repeating into the microphone as if in a daze - miraculous, miraculous... that's just the way it is... And when it rains and when the sun warms. And when the sky is blue and when the sky is gray. One, the only and unrepeatable. New York, the city where I was born... In some previous life. From a father from Senegal and a mother from the Dominican Republic. New York black, New York white, New York yellow, no one can convince me that New York is not the city where I was born...That, after all, was the lyrics of a song written long ago, about JFK, after my first encounter with the city.

Similarly, four decades ago, Zijo Musić landed in Manhattan. A Belgrade student, born in Plav, came for ten days in 1988, to visit relatives, and then stayed for the rest of his life. And he built an empire - Wolfgang's Steakhouse, a restaurant chain that has now spread all over the world - from New York to Jakarta. That is New York, but also America: the land of those who come for a short time, but stay forever. And you will meet them at every turn, coming from all over, from the Philippines and Bangladesh, through Somalia and Senegal, to Mexico, Argentina and Ecuador. They will tell you how they are returning to their homeland as soon as tomorrow, or next year, just so their child can finish school. And then back home, to their family. Like the Uber driver, Ramy, who came from Bangladesh 16 years ago and can't wait to return home because, he says, he will be so rich and important there with a US pension that he will have his own driver - while here he is just a driver. Danilo asks him if he is for Argentina like most of his fellow countrymen from Bangladesh, but he replies that they are actually divided - half for the Gauchos and the other half for the Celso. Tomorrow night at the match I will take a photo of the championship - a married couple from Korea, with a little son in their arms - the head of the house in the jersey of the first team of Spain, the wife in that of the reserve team, while the little son is in the famous blue and white combination of Argentina. What a confirmation of the main message that both Uefa and Fifa have been promoting for a decade and more - united in football! Not only that scene, but thousands of others, confirmed the magical power of the ball.

But let's not forget Dallas and Atlanta. Because America is not New York. In addition, the best football was played there - in New York there was a boring execution of the champion from Qatar. Although one of the most beautiful cities in the USA, Dallas is a symbol of the greatest trauma of modern America. And part of the world. Because back in 1963, from the window of a building on Dealey Plaza, Lee Harvey Oswald shot President JFK with a sniper rifle. Danilo and I are standing in front of the old Texas School Book Depository building and we are looking at the sixth floor, and a window that is different from all the others, in order to mark the crime scene in that way. Down on the street, ballistics experts calculated that it was 90 yards, or 80 meters as the crow flies, there is an X in the middle of Elm Street, the exact location of the Lincoln Continental Cabria at the moment the president was shot. He had to be a professional to hit the target on the move and at such a distance, A friend of mine, a security guard, explains it to me expertly. Hence the numerous conspiracy theories that to this day "prove" that Kennedy was killed by the Secret Service and not some right-wing lunatic.

We will remember Dallas for another stressful episode. Although we were supposed to be in the city of cowboys and oilmen the night before the semi-finals, we arrived at the stadium only for the second half. We hide the brook, not ours but that of the local airline Frontier, from our friends, when asked what the atmosphere in the stadium was like before the match, I answer nothing special. More French people, more Spanish people noisier, but almost like in a theater. We report from the stadium to our family even though we were still on the plane on the runway in Dallas at that moment. For an incredible reason - the flight from New York was delayed twice, and finally, after midnight, when we had already entered July 15, the flight was canceled! And rescheduled for the next day at 10:10. A group of French people who were with us at the gate waved their tickets, paid for 4 thousand dollars each, which they will now lose because they will not arrive on time - but in vain. We have no crew., coldly replied a representative of Frontier, the worst low cost airline you can imagine.

There was no choice but to go to the airport hotel, to catch a few hours of sleep and then to the gate in the morning. This time the flight was on time, which did not save the crew from harsh criticism. We cursed them in our language, and scolded them in English. That they were the worst company we know of, that they were even worse than the former JAT, which had an excuse, because when they were canceling flights en masse, Serbia was at war, although Slobo and Momir claimed the opposite. But America is also at war, Danilo ironically remarks in English, but the crew does not react to the provocations, only repeats that they are personally not to blame for anything. It may not be your fault, but you work for the wrong company., Frontier needs to be shut down immediately. I poured fire until I realized the absurdity and pointlessness of being annoyed. Isn't our first arrival in Dallas, two days of sightseeing in the magical city more important than whether we'll make it to the start of the match?! I was still convinced that "my" Spaniards were trampling over the favored French.

Only when I regained my balance and "let go", I mean the game, did things start to work out in our favor. To the point that when we got off the plane, a young Mexican, Romero, from Monterrey, who has been living in Dallas for ten years, offered us a ride to the stadium. And he didn't just drive us - he flew us. So that we could arrive as soon as possible. What a brother. E viva Mexico. But also Texas. I asked him if he would also return to his native Monterrey next year, and he replied in the negative. I love my country but life is better here.Well done, boy.

After the match, we went to the most famous cowboy gear store, bought a hat and a belt, to hang them at home as souvenirs that will always remind us of unforgettable Dallas. And the best football in the most beautiful stadium in the championship. Ole…

But there is no rest while the renovation is going on. We had just fallen asleep when the alarm clock rang - we had to get to Atlanta and watch the second semi-final match between Argentina and England, which brought with it the greatest emotion. Not only because of the game but also because of politics. Another time zone, an hour difference, the match starts at 3 in Texas, but actually at 2 in Georgia. That's how big a country it is. The flight is at 10:10, it lasts less than two hours - so we are still short. But the realization that the more we chase it and the harder we hold it to our chest, the further it gets, and the more we squeeze it, gave results that morning - we arrived at Dallas International Airport two and a half hours early and found the final boarding of passengers for Atlanta, the earlier flight at 8:05. If you don't try, you won't succeed - I approached a representative of Delta, the best US airline, showed my boarding pass, explained that we had an England - Argentina match, that we would be fired if we didn't join the program on time, she first said that the plane was full, and then I guess she felt sorry for us when she looked at our sad faces and said, wait over there. When boarding was over, she called us and checked us in - two passengers didn't show up for the flight, luck was on our side, and we were already in the capital of Georgia around 11 am. Danilo got info on AI that the best and fastest transportation from the airport to the Mercedes Benz Arena in Atlanta is Marta. I ask him, isn't it Kos?! She is primarily responsible for driving Mandić, and it's easy for us. No, the editor tells me - this Marta is the city's public transportation network and takes us to the stadium faster than Uber. Atlanta is a city with less than 600.000 residents, but every day 4-5 million people pass through the center and midtown. Until Marta was born sometime in the late 70s, Atlanta was almost unbearable to live in. Even today, the boulevards are still crowded, especially during rush hour, but thanks to the network of train and bus lines operating under the Marta brand, life is much easier and more pleasant.

Although Derrick, a former American Marine who now drives Uber, would disagree. He agrees that Martha is great, but he disagrees that the lives of today's generations are easy and beautiful. As in the past, he adds a famous saying. I teased him about Trump, remarking that I couldn't understand how "his" African Americans could vote for him, a racist. He replied that Georgia has always been "red" (meaning Republican) because whites are the majority in the state, and blacks only, and only slightly, in Atlanta. Derrick also indirectly shows sympathy for Donald by justifying him with the remark how all politicians are the same, cheaters and liars. Obama was "ours", black, meaning he promised us cleaner air, new jobs, cheaper apartments and houses, and what he delivered - nothing. Only for himself and his own fame. And money. I say I understand the disappointment, but no one can compare to Trump. In evil. And false promises. Well, I said, was one of his main promises that he would end all the wars in the world and not start any new ones. And look what he has done - from Gaza, to Venezuela, to Iran, he is up to his elbows in blood.

If the ride had lasted longer than half an hour, he might have managed to convince me that Trump is not the worst, but the most similar to all his predecessors. Because, as he said, all politicians are liars and frauds. And the Beltline is one of the most authentic parts of Atlanta. Once a neglected and unsafe part of the city, whose factory halls testified to the collapse of industry, over the past decade and a half, it has been transformed into an urban center, based on street art and sustainable development. Everything is green, in paths for pedestrians and cyclists, dotted with numerous unique restaurants, with a specific design, and a vibe that can be felt in the air. The Beltline is like a small Soho.

Tomorrow night we will "try" the opposite part of the city, East Midtown, an elite part for living, with some business skyscrapers. In one of them, on the 22nd floor, with a spectacular view of the entire city, we discovered Wagyu House, a restaurant with the best Japanese beef. The kind that my friend Čajo Vukčević has been raising in Kokoti for years. If you haven't tried it, go to Hemera. But what a big country and market - the restaurant manager tells us how they have 80 locations all over America, that they import meat and other goods, incredibly delicious seaweed and shiitake mushrooms, directly from Japan! That's why everything is so delicious and unforgettable. Even the soup, which Danilo never skips - this one was special, made with lobster and red pepper. Spicy, but bearable.

The last day in Atlanta actually decided who I would root for in the final. Although I believed that Spain was a sure winner, I have been an Argentina fan since Mario Kempes and the 80s of the last century. However, the imminent entry into the EU, and when I see how our new house has changed Mandić and Vučurović even before crossing the threshold, imposes on me a kind of obligation to be for my Europeans. And to leave Millei and the other Latin right-wingers to Trump. Sorry Messi, but business is business.

Even when I had a close encounter with fans from Argentina in the hotel, next to a pool that looked more like a large bathtub, there was no doubt that in a few days I would be cheering for Spain in the final. Namely, everything was calm and dignified, some couples from the USA, one from London, and me. Discreet greetings, exchanging a few words and reading books. Or chatting on mobile phones. Until at one point the gauchos arrived. Three couples, all in Argentine jerseys, I counted nine children, aged from 3 to 15, by my free estimate. Lots of gold and tattoos on the adults, only tattoos on the younger ones. All overweight, and quite a bit, but so that they wouldn't get hungry, three full bags of groceries from a nearby supermarket were brought. Fast food, chips, peanuts, chocolate bananas. And then the screaming and jumping in the pool, which was 20 meters deep, started. I just prayed that no one would get hurt. And one more feature - all the ladies, to the pride of their partners, were visibly cosmetically corrected. I remembered how 30 years ago, in London, a colleague at a language college, originally from Rio, explained to me that cosmetic surgery is a fetish in Latin America. From birth, people start saving up for the first intervention, which therefore comes very early. I don't know if you've noticed lately, but it seems to me that the new Podgorica seems to be following in the footsteps of Buenos Aires, or Sao Paulo. At least in that respect. But even better than coca and the cartels. Where we have long been in a "team" with Ecuador and Colombia. That's why it's no surprise that to many Americans, when I mention my homeland, Montenegro first sounds like some region of Latin America.

E viva Espana! It was a blast at MetLife Stadium, in the middle of some swamp in New Jersey. Which should not be tied to Manhattan, even though they are connected by an undersea tunnel, shorter than our Sozina. It would be unfair and painful for the most wonderful city in the world to be insulted by that provincial and neglected growth of New Jersey, which even has one wonderful thing - from various points there you have the most beautiful view of Manhattan.

There you go. It was once in America. World Cup. And if Infantino and Trump, or rather their brotherhood and business, last, it will again. If we're lucky. Not in another 50 years, but much sooner. If after Qatar, Saudi Arabia could win the championship in 12 years, Infantino could do the same to Trump. So that in 2040 we're already watching a new World Cup on the American continent. If that happens, then definitely go. There is one America.