'I'd buzz-cut them all and send them to the circus!' Zoran Čutura opens up to Sportal on modern players, Novosel's visionary era, Obradović, and 74-year-old Šakota's drive: 'What are you doing? You've had heart surgery!' /VIDEO/

This is my second time here. I had such a wonderful time last year that when the invitation came again, I gladly accepted. It's a privilege to be part of an initiative rooted in sports, friendship, and camaraderie—things that are always genuinely positive. We've all somewhat lost sight of these values in everyday life, yet you find them in abundance right here.

It's not just people I hadn't seen in a long time; some of them I had never met in person before, and I've always been fascinated by them. These are members of older generations. I just shared a few words with Dražen "Frfa" Mužinić, the legendary Hajduk Split player. Last night, we spent time with Igor Milanović, whom I've known from way back, though we rarely had the chance to cross paths. Then there's Ivo Daneu, who won gold at the 1970 World Cup in Ljubljana back when I was still just a kid playing in the dirt. He and his peers paved the way for all of us who came later. The calibre of people gathered here is truly extraordinary. I honestly don't know what other word to use.

Judging by the crowd's reaction, you'd think I was speaking Norwegian, Icelandic, and Japanese all at once. Then I said, 'Thank you, Praja,' and received a polite round of applause. It was a great story, perhaps just told at the wrong time and place, so I won't rehash it. But that's the thing—these anecdotes are part commedia dell'arte and part deeply personal memories involving people who are still among us or whose legacies remain very fresh. Allow me to keep those private for now.

Our playing careers overlapped briefly. I think it was Peter Vilfan who once said that Praja could have played in the NBA even back then. Athletically, he was way ahead of his time—much like Michael Jordan later on in the NBA. He'd leap, everyone else would drop back down, and he'd just hang in the air, bank it off the glass, and score. That move across the Atlantic never happened, but he remains a towering figure with an astonishing list of accolades, crowned by his Hall of Fame induction—the pinnacle of recognition for any basketball player.

Hold on—right now, you're talking to a retiree. Keep that in mind, not just from a formal or administrative standpoint, but mentally as well.

Not quite in those terms—let me rephrase. I was always frustrated by mainstream clichés. What's traditionally expected of an athlete? Someone who spends most of their youth chasing a ball is usually expected to say: 'May the better team win,' 'The ball is round,' 'We'll give 110 percent,' or 'We're facing a tough opponent.' That kind of talk drove me crazy. I'd like to think I never uttered those phrases in my life—I can't swear to it, but I certainly tried not to. That mindset carried over into my sports writing, steering clear of standard templates. Let's be honest, sports reporting can get monotonous. In a match report, someone always wins, someone always loses, fans cheer, and the referees do their job, well or poorly. By the time you cover all that, your column inches are gone. I always tried to weave in social commentary and pop-culture references. Whether I succeeded or not is another story. Perhaps I should have started this answer by saying: thank you for reading, and thank you for the kind words.

Yes, his drive and ability to stay at the top level are remarkable. Coaches are a unique breed. You see veterans step away, only to return to the sidelines. My initial thought is often, 'What on earth are you doing? You've provided for three generations, you've achieved everything, you've had heart surgery!' But then it hits you—they thrive on adrenaline. They live for that final-second free throw. Whether it goes in or not doesn't even matter; it's all about that rush. 'Šale'—Mr. Šakota—is someone I worked with closely as both player and coach, and we hit it off on a human level. We're still in touch to this day. Not constantly, but we check in periodically. If this reaches him: all the best to you and your family, Šale! As for me, I'm the exact opposite when it comes to adrenaline. I've had more than enough to last a lifetime—please, spare me any more. I never had the urge to coach; that's entirely another world to me.

You have to realise you're asking about something that happened forty years ago—that's two whole generations. But how did it feel? We were at our absolute best when the training session right before a game was on the verge of a full-blown brawl. That fiery tension, nerves, and raw adrenaline would channel directly into competitive drive on matchday. That's how we'd put together disciplined, high-octane performances against elite opposition. That was the recipe.

You're younger than both of my kids!

It was a phenomenal league, without question. To quote the late former president of the Croatian Basketball Federation, Danko Radić—we used to fight like cat and dog in our official roles, but we genuinely enjoyed our conversations because there was always substance to them. Danko once pointed out: 'Yugoslavia was a country of 20 million people with a single top flight.' For simplicity's sake, say ten clubs, a hundred top players, ten head coaches, ten presidents. After the breakup, you suddenly have seven separate national leagues, all branded as elite 'A' divisions. Overnight, those ten clubs became seventy clubs, seventy coaches, and seven hundred players—that's the dilution of quality in a nutshell. Add to that the transition to a free-market economy, and players in their prime who once starred domestically are now playing in the NBA, Spain, or Italy. It's night and day. People make a mistake trying to draw direct comparisons between those eras. A clear line separates them, and trying to equate the two simply doesn't work. It's apples and oranges.

Just yesterday, during a casual chat with Dino Rađa—who has an incredible resume, including his NBA career—we were talking about Jokić and Dončić, as they naturally come up in any modern basketball conversation. Dino spoke very highly of them. Across the table, I asked him: 'How do you think they would have fared in the 1980s?' That's the era I'm most attached to. That was when I first started closely following the game—the legendary Celtics-Lakers rivalry, Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, and then Jordan. So I asked: 'How would they hold up against the Bad Boys Detroit Pistons, where every game bordered on a physical altercation? How would Jokić deal with Bill Laimbeer, the most hated player in NBA history?' I don't pretend to have the definitive answer, but it's worth pondering before launching into uncritical praise of anyone.

Very selectively, yes. Don't get me wrong—basketball is a magnificent game, and I still love it. It's a sport where an athlete must make split-second decisions at the highest level while constantly interacting with teammates, opponents, coaches, referees, and even the crowd. But after decades of playing and covering it, I'm very particular about what I watch. I'll gladly tune in for the NBA Conference Finals and Finals, or the knockout stages of the EuroBasket, World Cup, and Olympics. But the buildup? I just don't have the patience anymore. If I spot ten fundamental tactical and technical blunders by players and three questionable coaching calls within the opening ten minutes, I have to switch it off. I simply can't watch it. Please bear with me on that.

Depends on the question. Go ahead, and we can always edit if I veer off track.

There were some truly brilliant generations. Croatia's last major medal came in 1995 at the European Championship in Greece under Aco Petrović. In my columns, I often referred to everything that followed as the 'curse of walking off the podium.' We don't need to rehash that now, but there was an abundance of talent—Roko Ukić, Marko Tomas, Ante Tomić, Nikola Vujčić, Gordan Giriček, Marko Popović... What was missing? I can't say for sure, but I had the misfortune of witnessing firsthand how our team seemed to invent entirely novel, unprecedented ways to drop quarter-final games at major tournaments. Looking ahead, after years of struggles, they've finally qualified for a major event under a new head coach and a revamped squad. The World Cup format has evolved, but it's heading to Qatar, and we'll see how things unfold.

First and foremost, he is a wonderful human being, at least from everything I know of him. He built an outstanding reputation on the biggest stage, primarily as an assistant coach, and this is truly his first real opportunity to prove himself as the head man. He spent years as the trusted assistant at Anadolu Efes, stepping in as interim coach during transitions. Now he has his shot. So far, the signs are very encouraging, and I sincerely hope he continues on this upward trajectory.

It's tough to capture everything in a single conversation, but I can share my own path. In my generation, I'd bet anything that nobody picked up basketball for the money. That's the first and biggest difference compared to today. Secondly, I was born, raised, fell in love, started a family, and went to school entirely in Zagreb. I hit my growth spurt early in primary school. Back then, coaches regularly visited schools to scout youth tournaments—school sports actually meant something, unlike today in Zagreb and Croatia. A coach spotted a tall, lanky kid and asked if I'd like to join a club. That was Industrija Montaža, which later changed its name and is now Zrinjevac. That's how it started. I'd take the tram from the far eastern edge of the city all the way to the western terminus, gym bag in hand. I attended regular school classes, packed a sandwich, and headed back out for evening training. It was a natural progression. I honestly don't know what youth development looks like now—whether it's driven by parents, agents, whether kids stay in school or not... I can only speak to my own experience. That was our upbringing.

His place in history is secure—after all, he is enshrined in both the FIBA and Naismith Basketball Halls of Fame. When I joined Cibona—right after completing my mandatory military service—Mirko was a true tactical pioneer. He was among the first in Europe to adopt concepts from American basketball. Up until 1985, when Cibona won its first European Champions Cup, his tactical ideas were sharp, even revolutionary. Take the matchup zone, for instance: he picked that up from the Americans, who were always open and generous with their coaching philosophies. Mirko implemented that matchup zone, and it drove our title success. However, as modern coaching know-how evolved rapidly across the continent, Mirko and Cibona somewhat plateaued, and powerhouse sides like Partizan and Jugoplastika soon caught up and overtook us.

Duda was arguably the finest coach I ever played for. I didn't have many different coaches throughout my career—I dislike the word 'career,' but there's no better alternative. Duda was undoubtedly the best of his time. He possessed the perfect blend of tactical mastery, vast experience, and natural authority. Even though I didn't play a starring role in that national team, he always treated me with immense respect, which was entirely mutual. I will cherish his memory forever.

Selectively. With Mr. Obradović—with whom I shared time in the national team as a player, and later crossed paths with on numerous occasions both professionally and casually as a journalist—returning to take charge of one of Europe's premier clubs after a break, I find it intriguing to follow his journey there. In all honesty, that's what catches my eye.

Pure chaos. Absolute chaos. For a casual viewer—and I'm becoming increasingly detached myself—it's terribly difficult to make sense of it all. Now there's talk of an NBA Europe tournament in Manchester, and you just have to wonder... It's all drifting toward pure entertainment. It reminds me of the early 1980s: NBA coverage in socialist Yugoslavia was limited to brief newspaper snippets with virtually no video. Yugoslav clubs would tour the US playing collegiate teams, which was part of Mirko's forward-thinking approach to learn from the best. On one of those trips, we went to Madison Square Garden for an NBA game. It was a complete culture shock. The arena was half-empty, an organist was noodling in the background, and disinterested fans half-heartedly chanted 'defence, defence.' Players were just jogging up and down the floor, while spectators did everything except watch the game—munching on hot dogs, chatting, grabbing drinks. It took me ages to understand how the world's premier league operated. It was early in the regular season, teams were easing in, and for the fans, it was simply an evening out with a budget in mind. For someone raised on winning at all costs, it was bewildering. Today, it feels like modern basketball as a whole is heading down that exact path.

It's hard for me to relate. First off, I'd give every modern player a buzz cut. I'd outlaw waist-length braids and Mickey Mouse hairstyles entirely. If you want to put on a show like that, go join the circus. I have no interest in watching that. Call me rigid, old-fashioned, or whatever you like, but it genuinely annoys me.

Without a doubt. With today's broadcast packages, you can easily watch seven games a day. But nobody can actually digest seven games. It's the equivalent of banging your head against a wall for five hours straight—the end result is the same.

I remember when Yugoslav league rounds were played on Saturday afternoons at 5 PM. Each week featured a broadcast from a different city—Rijeka, Zadar, and so on. I'd watch at my grandmother's house, where a lace doily covered part of the TV screen, blocking a chunk of the picture. I still recall those days fondly. In terms of accessibility and anticipation, that era was arguably far better than today's endless overproduction.

That era is behind us now. Living in a capital city like Zagreb is all about curating your life—taking what suits you and filtering out the rest. You keep your tight circle of friends, enjoy your comfort zone, go to the cinema, theatre, or catch live music... which I still do regularly despite my age. In fact, the day after returning home, I'm heading to see Partibrejkers in concert, probably for the fifteenth time. I feel right at home here. This is my city, and I'm proud to be part of its sporting fabric.