Author: Yugo Joe

Forget any of this happened. Stay away from people like me.
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Family Affair

Joe smiled as he sat beside Nelly.

“You know what’s always made me smile?” he asked.

Nelly looked over. “What’s that?”

“I grew up with your cousins. We shared the same neighborhoods, knew many of the same people, and our circles have overlapped for years. Every time I think about it, it reminds me how small the world can be.”

Nelly smiled. “That does make it feel like we’ve always been connected in one way or another.”

“Exactly,” Joe said. “When you realize you’ve known the same families and have many of the same friends, it feels like there’s already a foundation of trust. It’s a good sign when people from different parts of your life end up sharing the same community.”

Nelly nodded. “It’s funny how those connections appear. You don’t always notice them until you stop and think.”

Joe laughed.

“Life has a way of weaving people together. Sometimes you discover you’ve been walking through the same story from different chapters.”

Nelly smiled warmly.

“Maybe that’s why conversations between old friends feel so natural.”

Joe raised an imaginary toast.

“To shared roots, familiar faces, and the people who remind us that the world is smaller than we think.”

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Gospa’s Protection

Yugo Joe looked at Nelly over a tiny cup of coffee that seemed far too strong for civilized society.

“Nelly,” he said, “you should come to Croatia. Or at least to Medjugorje. The place runs on prayer, stories, candles, and people looking for something bigger than themselves.”

Nelly smiled cautiously. “You make it sound like an airport terminal for mystics.”

Joe pointed a finger.

“Exactly! And listen — the six Medjugorje seers? Their story brought pilgrims from everywhere. Believers, doubters, curious tourists, exhausted people carrying heavy lives. Lovers of Gospa, you could say.”

Nelly tilted her head. “Lovers of Gospa?”

“People devoted to Nossa Senhora. People who pray. People searching. People who want mercy, meaning, maybe even a miracle.”

The church bells sounded faintly in the distance.

“In our story,” Joe continued, “the six seers are expecting not celebrities, not influencers — but ordinary lovers of Gospa. The woman with the rosary worn smooth from use. The guy who hasn’t prayed in twenty years but walks up the hill anyway. The skeptic who says, ‘I’m just here for cultural reasons,’ and somehow ends up lighting a candle.”

Nelly laughed softly.

“So you’re recruiting me into a pilgrimage?”

Joe shrugged dramatically.

“I’m inviting you into a conversation older than both of us. Canada says, ‘Keep spirituality polite and personal.’ The Balkans say, ‘Pull up a chair, argue theology, drink coffee, and tell us your story.’”

“And what if people think I’m strange?”

Joe grinned.

“In the Balkans? Strange is practically a citizenship category.”

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Team Canada

Nelly,

Hey linda,

I’ve been watching you light up stages with that voice that could make even a grumpy linesman smile, and it got me dreaming about a proper Canadian soccer day together. You in red and white looking like the queen of the pitch, me right beside you with my maple leaf jersey hiding a little Balkan eagle underneath. We’d belt out the anthem (I’ll keep the opera to a minimum, promise), lose our minds when we score, and turn poutine into a full-contact sport afterward.

What makes it even better? Team Canada has some serious Balkan flavor running through it. Shoutout to Milan Borjan — that giant Serbian-Canadian keeper from Knin who stood tall for us like a true Yugo warrior. The guy was born in the old country, grew up in Hamilton, and became our wall between the posts. And we’ve got rising stars like Niko Sigur, Canadian-born with strong Croatian roots, repping the hybrid pride just like this Toronto kid with a Balkan heart. It’s proof that us Balkan-Canucks bring that extra fire to the maple leaf — passion, chaos, and never giving up even when the odds are stacked.

Speaking of fire… if you say yes to the game, I’m bringing you a special treat: one unopened vintage Bobby Lenarduzzi Super Socco juice pack. Yeah, the Italian-Canadian legend himself. It’s basically liquid nostalgia from the old Whitecaps days — sweet, fizzy, and guaranteed to give you superpowers (or at least make you laugh at my chanting). I’ve been saving it like a sacred relic. Consider it my peace offering for all the overly enthusiastic yelling I’ll probably do.

No pressure at all, just good vibes, questionable chants (“Ajde Kanada!”), and maybe one confused security guard. Win or lose, it’d be legendary.

Hoping to hear from you (or at least a “you’re a dork but cute” emoji), Yugo Joe

Nelly Fan
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