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From Serbia to CFB
At 6'8" and 325 pounds, offensive lineman Ilija Krajnovic has a future waiting in college football and a dream of the NFL—without ever having played a game in the United States.
Adam Kramer
August 3, 2020
He is all alone in Room 225 at Ascender Hall East. It is a Friday afternoon in the middle of June. Dinnertime nears. His workouts for the day are done, and his nightly routine will soon commence. Ilija Krajnovic is both thankful for an opportunity that will change his life and homesick in a way he can't quite put into words.
His roommate left months ago, back when everything first started to shut down in the United States. Here at IMG Academy in Bradenton, Florida, one of the most prestigious high school football programs in America, June is normally a time when the campus is flush with future collegiate stars preparing for the season. But not this year. Not with the COVID-19 pandemic wreaking havoc on the world—prompting IMG to send each one of its football players home.
With the exception of one.
Krajnovic stayed. Not because he wanted to stay, but because he had no choice. First, because he wasn't allowed to return to his home in Zrenjanin, Serbia. Then, because he wasn't sure he would be allowed to come back and his dream of becoming the first player from his country to play in the NFL would be derailed.
It's a dream that has existed for only 16 months. That's how long Krajnovic has been playing football. But that short time has convinced him it can be reality.
He has yet to play in a game on American soil. And his game, by his own admission, has a long way to go. At 6'8" and 325 pounds, though, Krajnovic is blessed with a professional lineman's body and a champion's fire.
"I know this: If he was a kid in Cincinnati, 247Sports and Rivals would have him as a 5-star prospect," says Paul Alexander, a longtime NFL offensive line coach who helped discover Krajnovic. "If he came up with football, he'd be one of the top high school offensive linemen in the country."
Boston College saw the talent. The school was so intrigued by the size and the gifts and the potential that it extended him a scholarship offer before seeing him play. The 17-year-old senior-to-be didn't hesitate with his response.
Amid chaos and loneliness, Krajnovic's breakthrough arrived more quickly than he could've ever imagined. And while he is anxious to go home and celebrate with his family and friends, he also wants to be here, where his dreams are coming true, where he knows that somewhere beyond this current life of loneliness and waiting, a debut and another step toward his future await.
From the chest up, Krajnovic looks a bit like Rob Gronkowski: lime green tank top with black trim, gray reading glasses, shaved head. Although his shoulders, neck and head seem to occupy much of the computer screen on the Zoom call, he still has a babyface and an overpowering smile that he is not shy in sharing.
"You can call me Elijah," he says through a thick Serbian accent. "In English, that's my name."
He began learning English at his elementary school in Serbia. On occasion, he'll take a long pause—not to search for the appropriate words but to gather his thoughts.
While his English lessons began early, he credits football for his rapid improvement. Spending six months in the United States has allowed his vocabulary to flourish. Even with his teammates gone, Krajnovic says, YouTube, Call of Duty and movies have only fast-tracked his growth.
But the language Krajnovic speaks most fluently is actually music. He starts each morning by blasting electronic in his room. With the hallways empty, he can listen as loud as he likes as he showers and brushes his teeth.
"To the max," he says. "I want my mornings sounding good."
At night, after he plays a few games of FIFA 20 in the lobby with the select few athletes in other sports still on campus, he retreats to his room, and the music blasts again. Once he finds the proper inspiration, he then fires up his black keyboard, PC and speakers—things that were given to him when he arrived to help pass the time—and creates some music of his own.
While many experiences since he came to the U.S. have been firsts, this is not one of them. Since elementary school, music has been a fixture of Krajnovic's life. It started with the trumpet and then the piano and then came a love of electronic music.
As the love grew stronger, Krajnovic ventured out to electronic music festivals in Serbia. He eventually connected with a few local DJs in search of advice. In a matter of months, at the age of 15, he was DJing at nightclubs across Serbia.
"Elite nightclubs," he emphasizes. "The most elite clubs in my country."
Because of his size, Krajnovic was rarely questioned about his age. If an owner of a club asked, he never lied. Nor did they ever seem to care.
His nights often started around 11 p.m and ended sometime near sunrise. If the nightclub was close to home, he would walk home. If it was in another city, his father, Rade, would drive him and pick him up the following morning. In some instances, if the gig was in the middle of the week, he would sleep an hour or so and head to school.
The money was good. So good that Krajnovic thought it would be his calling. So good that some weeks he would earn nearly as much money as his father—who works as a forest ranger—made in a month.
DJing wasn't just a passion. It was a necessity. It was a chance to take financial pressure off his family.
"I learned that I needed to have my own money because my parents were not in a situation to provide it sometimes," he says. "I wanted to help them. They didn't have to think or worry about me anymore."
His last night of DJing came on New Year's Eve of last year. A few weeks later, he got on a plane and headed to America.
Before football, there was volleyball. Before volleyball, there was water polo. Before that, kickboxing and mixed martial arts. Basketball. Soccer. At some point or another, Krajnovic tried every sport available to him. He always seemed to gravitate to contact sports, though.
"The referee can't see what happens underwater when you play water polo," he says. "That's a nasty sport."
In his final game, after playing water polo for two years, Krajnovic was kicked in a place no one wants to be kicked. He responded with a punch, breaking his opponent's nose.
In volleyball, he was a middle blocker for the U19 Serbian team. His height provided a natural advantage. Over the course of seven years, his game blossomed. But when his coach asked him to lose weight, he began searching for something else.
His older brother, Jovan, encouraged him to try football. Jovan had picked it up years earlier, playing defensive end, and sold him on the idea.
"He told me that this was a sport where you can beat up people legally," Krajnovic says. "So, I was really excited about it."
In March 2019, Krajnovic joined a local league composed of men mostly in their 30s and 40s. Working men who, like Krajnovic, were into the idea of regulated violence.
On his first day, he was largely unable to participate because they didn't have pads or a helmet that fit him. When they found him some that did, he was immediately disruptive. Krajnovic played nose tackle at the start. Knowing little about the rules and strategy, his size took over.
When the league's season ended later that summer, Krajnovic latched onto the Serbian U19 team in the fall. He switched from the defensive line to offensive line at his coach's recommendation—a change he protested at first.
At 6'8" and 325 pounds, offensive lineman Ilija Krajnovic has a future waiting in college football and a dream of the NFL—without ever having played a game in the United States.
Adam Kramer
August 3, 2020
He is all alone in Room 225 at Ascender Hall East. It is a Friday afternoon in the middle of June. Dinnertime nears. His workouts for the day are done, and his nightly routine will soon commence. Ilija Krajnovic is both thankful for an opportunity that will change his life and homesick in a way he can't quite put into words.
His roommate left months ago, back when everything first started to shut down in the United States. Here at IMG Academy in Bradenton, Florida, one of the most prestigious high school football programs in America, June is normally a time when the campus is flush with future collegiate stars preparing for the season. But not this year. Not with the COVID-19 pandemic wreaking havoc on the world—prompting IMG to send each one of its football players home.
With the exception of one.
Krajnovic stayed. Not because he wanted to stay, but because he had no choice. First, because he wasn't allowed to return to his home in Zrenjanin, Serbia. Then, because he wasn't sure he would be allowed to come back and his dream of becoming the first player from his country to play in the NFL would be derailed.
It's a dream that has existed for only 16 months. That's how long Krajnovic has been playing football. But that short time has convinced him it can be reality.
He has yet to play in a game on American soil. And his game, by his own admission, has a long way to go. At 6'8" and 325 pounds, though, Krajnovic is blessed with a professional lineman's body and a champion's fire.
"I know this: If he was a kid in Cincinnati, 247Sports and Rivals would have him as a 5-star prospect," says Paul Alexander, a longtime NFL offensive line coach who helped discover Krajnovic. "If he came up with football, he'd be one of the top high school offensive linemen in the country."
Boston College saw the talent. The school was so intrigued by the size and the gifts and the potential that it extended him a scholarship offer before seeing him play. The 17-year-old senior-to-be didn't hesitate with his response.
Amid chaos and loneliness, Krajnovic's breakthrough arrived more quickly than he could've ever imagined. And while he is anxious to go home and celebrate with his family and friends, he also wants to be here, where his dreams are coming true, where he knows that somewhere beyond this current life of loneliness and waiting, a debut and another step toward his future await.
From the chest up, Krajnovic looks a bit like Rob Gronkowski: lime green tank top with black trim, gray reading glasses, shaved head. Although his shoulders, neck and head seem to occupy much of the computer screen on the Zoom call, he still has a babyface and an overpowering smile that he is not shy in sharing.
"You can call me Elijah," he says through a thick Serbian accent. "In English, that's my name."
He began learning English at his elementary school in Serbia. On occasion, he'll take a long pause—not to search for the appropriate words but to gather his thoughts.
While his English lessons began early, he credits football for his rapid improvement. Spending six months in the United States has allowed his vocabulary to flourish. Even with his teammates gone, Krajnovic says, YouTube, Call of Duty and movies have only fast-tracked his growth.
But the language Krajnovic speaks most fluently is actually music. He starts each morning by blasting electronic in his room. With the hallways empty, he can listen as loud as he likes as he showers and brushes his teeth.
"To the max," he says. "I want my mornings sounding good."
At night, after he plays a few games of FIFA 20 in the lobby with the select few athletes in other sports still on campus, he retreats to his room, and the music blasts again. Once he finds the proper inspiration, he then fires up his black keyboard, PC and speakers—things that were given to him when he arrived to help pass the time—and creates some music of his own.
While many experiences since he came to the U.S. have been firsts, this is not one of them. Since elementary school, music has been a fixture of Krajnovic's life. It started with the trumpet and then the piano and then came a love of electronic music.
As the love grew stronger, Krajnovic ventured out to electronic music festivals in Serbia. He eventually connected with a few local DJs in search of advice. In a matter of months, at the age of 15, he was DJing at nightclubs across Serbia.
"Elite nightclubs," he emphasizes. "The most elite clubs in my country."
Because of his size, Krajnovic was rarely questioned about his age. If an owner of a club asked, he never lied. Nor did they ever seem to care.
His nights often started around 11 p.m and ended sometime near sunrise. If the nightclub was close to home, he would walk home. If it was in another city, his father, Rade, would drive him and pick him up the following morning. In some instances, if the gig was in the middle of the week, he would sleep an hour or so and head to school.
The money was good. So good that Krajnovic thought it would be his calling. So good that some weeks he would earn nearly as much money as his father—who works as a forest ranger—made in a month.
DJing wasn't just a passion. It was a necessity. It was a chance to take financial pressure off his family.
"I learned that I needed to have my own money because my parents were not in a situation to provide it sometimes," he says. "I wanted to help them. They didn't have to think or worry about me anymore."
His last night of DJing came on New Year's Eve of last year. A few weeks later, he got on a plane and headed to America.
Before football, there was volleyball. Before volleyball, there was water polo. Before that, kickboxing and mixed martial arts. Basketball. Soccer. At some point or another, Krajnovic tried every sport available to him. He always seemed to gravitate to contact sports, though.
"The referee can't see what happens underwater when you play water polo," he says. "That's a nasty sport."
In his final game, after playing water polo for two years, Krajnovic was kicked in a place no one wants to be kicked. He responded with a punch, breaking his opponent's nose.
In volleyball, he was a middle blocker for the U19 Serbian team. His height provided a natural advantage. Over the course of seven years, his game blossomed. But when his coach asked him to lose weight, he began searching for something else.
His older brother, Jovan, encouraged him to try football. Jovan had picked it up years earlier, playing defensive end, and sold him on the idea.
"He told me that this was a sport where you can beat up people legally," Krajnovic says. "So, I was really excited about it."
In March 2019, Krajnovic joined a local league composed of men mostly in their 30s and 40s. Working men who, like Krajnovic, were into the idea of regulated violence.
On his first day, he was largely unable to participate because they didn't have pads or a helmet that fit him. When they found him some that did, he was immediately disruptive. Krajnovic played nose tackle at the start. Knowing little about the rules and strategy, his size took over.
When the league's season ended later that summer, Krajnovic latched onto the Serbian U19 team in the fall. He switched from the defensive line to offensive line at his coach's recommendation—a change he protested at first.