LIFE STORY OF MOST DECORATED SERBIAN DRIVER OF ALL TIME: Skipping School, Tavern Stories, Cobblestones on Boulevard, Marko Milošević, Astonishing 600+ Trophies

He is a legendary Yugoslav driver. The fact that he won 24 Yugoslav championship titles in his career, and that the number of trophies in his cabinets exceeds 600, places him at the top of the list. Yes, he is our greatest racing driver of all time. His dedication to motorsport is best reflected in the fact that, alongside his racing career, he also became an exceptional journalist, covering events from every racetrack in Yugoslavia and Serbia. This is the life story of Čedomir Čeda Brkić.

I started school at The Jelena Ćetković Elementary School, as it was the closest one to us, and I attended until the seventh grade. During that time, they demolished the entire Boulevard. New buildings were being constructed, a new road... Consequently, we had to leave our home. We moved to a flat in Konjarnik. At that time, the area around our building in Konjarnik was all fields—oh, how it looked back then... Just bare land... The turnaround points for buses 17 and 13 were right there. I continued school for one more year, finished elementary, and moved on. I was an average student. I enrolled in a traffic secondary school, where I excelled in technical subjects, while for the others, I would just be examined once a year—and that was that. In my fourth year, Professor Škerović came in and asked me to explain to everyone how an ignition distributor works. I stood up and explained it all clearly to my classmates, turned to the professor, and told him, "You are dismissed." My explanation was so thorough that there was no need for him to teach anything more on the topic—ha-ha-ha!

THE VIRUS BEGINS

In reality, I spent my childhood in the garage with my father. We repaired cars for friends, godfathers, mates, colleagues... That was my first encounter with cars. That’s when the "virus" caught me—petrol got into my blood, and that was it. Somehow, it was considered normal for boys back then—you watch and love cars. Naturally. To start with—a bicycle. Until I got to petrol-powered vehicles, I tinkered with anything that had pedals. The routine was: catch the number 17 bus to Zemun, school, with two of my friends, and then straight to the garage. Then, one day, a colleague of my late uncle roared through our neighbourhood in an Audi 80. Veseljko Videnović! We all ran after him as far as we could. He was a rally driver, and I always wanted to "help" him—any excuse just to be there and watch what he was doing. Naturally, at 18, I immediately got my driving licence. I got hold of a Zastava 750 and started, as they say, modifying it. A million little tweaks. And that was it—speed, noise—that was the adrenaline rush. We drove around the neighbourhood day and night. Back then, everything was empty, the streets were wide, there weren’t many cars or people... We raced our Zastava 750 as far as the fuel would take us. When we ran out, we’d get out of the car, leave it where it stopped, and head home. Until the next fuel-up. Of course, there were also "borrowed" keys from the fridge. Just for a little ride. We’d place pebbles on the parking spot where the car was parked, so no one else would take it while we did a quick lap. If it broke down—we were finished. We had to face our parents and confess everything

THE FIRST RACE

It was 1977. I started my first race with my Zastava 750, and immediately—disappointment. I quit. I realised I couldn’t afford it. It was just too much... Then came my military service in Mostar, and my dream had to be put on hold. And in Mostar... The heat, absolute hell! I still remember it vividly. But there was great camaraderie—our commander was Sefer Halilović from Sarajevo, and there was Buca, Brena’s manager, who was another big figure... He guided us to stay out of trouble. Belgraders always had a bad reputation, but Buca tried to keep everything in check. A fantastic man.

FIRST LOVE

Back then, everything happened within the neighbourhood. We were all kids who had known each other since childhood, everything was genuine... We drove around together as friends, then came a bit of admiration, then love. Everything that, from what I see today, no longer exists. The boundaries that existed back then have been completely surpassed.

VROOM, VROOM...

I got myself a Zastava 101 and fixed it up. An opportunity arose to drive for "Jugoauto", and I entered a new class—"1150 Group A". My first race was in Banja Luka, and I came second! Points started coming in, the adrenaline kicked in, the club was thrilled, and from that point on, I started pushing hard. By the end of the season, I finished either second or third. That opened the door for me to move up to a "Yugo" the following year. In December 1986, we established the "national class." It was a setup meant to be affordable—cheap tyres, an engine from a Zastava 101, modified just enough to work, and affordable spare parts from any scrapyard... This category became legendary. It survived the collapse of Yugoslavia and everything that followed, and it still exists today.

TO THE TAVERN FOR TIPS

My first race at Ušće—and I won! You can only imagine how I felt. I won my first Yugoslav championship title in 1987. Through various tavern gatherings, I listened carefully to learn everything about my competitors—who was capable of what, who had what tactics, who was dangerous. And then, I applied all that knowledge on the track. I was by far the youngest in terms of experience, but results kept coming weekend after weekend. I knew all my rivals both on the track and privately. When you win at the famous Ušće, it counts twice as much. That gave me great confidence, and I continued in Slavonska Požega, Kraljevo...Later, I began working with the famous Boris Bakić from Munich, who helped me a lot with car parts.

PASSION

There are records showing that Ušće had 30,000 spectators. The bridge was packed, everywhere was crowded. Kraljevo, Beranac—all those places saw massive crowds in those days. And speaking of Beranac... I once skipped school at 15 just to watch a race. Took a bus straight to Kraljevo... Had trouble reaching the track from the bus station. And getting back took ages—I arrived home late at night. My mother wanted to kill me. But I was overjoyed — I had seen Janoš Drapal, the Hungarian, dominate the track. He was unbeatable at the time..

IM.PRE.SSIVE

Then came rallies, hill climbs, circuits... And the wins and trophies kept piling up. How many? I have no idea. My wife starts counting them while dusting, gets frustrated, and gives up—ha-ha-ha! The total? Over 600 trophies. I’m quite sure no one in Yugoslavia has that many. I was a 24-time Yugoslav champion, by far the most decorated Yugoslav racing driver. And realistically, those numbers will be extremely, extremely hard to surpass. The problem today is the number of races and classes, which were on a much smaller scale before. My career lasted exactly 20 years. And what a country it was back then... Every major city had its own club, and the competition was fierce. At the Ušće qualifiers, 120 "Yugos" would turn up! We called them "Saturday racers"—they would fight for a spot in the final race on Sunday.

Favourite Memory

Lovćen. Those victories down there... A track with 178 bends! Very few people from Serbia could win there—it was known that the locals dominated. So, I had a strategy: I would go four to five days early with my godfather Vesko Prlainović, and Bata Banićević would also come, and we would train there. There was no other way to win. I would go, practise, return home, and then go back for the race. It was never hard for me! The club supported me because it was important for them as well to win at Lovćen.

  Ah, Those Sanctions

My Mitsubishi’s engine blew up. It was boiling hot, and the car couldn't handle the heat, yet there was a rally in just six days! I jumped in the car, drove straight to Ljubljana, to my friend Klemenčić. His wife, heavily pregnant, got into their Ford, drove to Austria, and brought back an engine block in a crate. I always tell people about this woman—what a person... On the verge of giving birth, and yet she did this for me. These are lifelong friendships. We somehow managed to persuade the Croatians at the border to let us through—barely, of course, we had to tip them a little. Then, at our border, there was a celebration—people were eagerly waiting for us to return with the engine. They understood—it was for sport, and everyone wanted to help us. There was no abuse of trust. Why do I tell this story? It’s an important life lesson. Help everyone. Whenever you can. Never find it difficult to do something for a friend or an acquaintance... I was nothing to this woman, yet in her condition, she wanted with all her heart to help me—and she succeeded. Once, we had to bring over two racing cars. A guy drove them from Italy to the border, left them there, and ran off—he didn't dare enter Serbia. So, at the border, we made a deal: they turned off the floodlights, and together we pushed the cars 500 metres across the border. Everyone wanted us to have those cars and continue racing... But the sanctions... what a struggle...

Family

My wife is my biggest support in life. Without her—nothing. I have four children. Miloš and Uroš followed in my footsteps; they are great champions, with three Central European Championship titles and many more trophies. Miloš even organised some races for the Vojvodina Championship. I help them as much as I can. Luka chose television—he is currently an organiser at "Šarenica", and we’ll see where he goes from there. And my daughter—she’s the princess. She is completely protected, after all, she has three older brothers—ha-ha-ha! This is what a person lives for. For them to grow up right, to go in the right direction. And I have nothing else to say except that I am proud of every single one of them.

Newspapers and TV

I was dissatisfied with how the media covered races. So, I decided to go to Auto magazine and start writing about it. Of course, Čeda Šoškić tore up my articles five times and sent them back for me to redo properly. At the time, I was testing cars—Mitsubishis, BMWs—and writing race reports. I travelled with my friend Ljuba to races, he would take photos, and we would publish everything. On Channel 3, I started with just a small segment at the end of a programme where I would draw prize winners, and they gave me a little bit of time to cover races. But, of course, I wasn’t satisfied with that either, so I knocked on Crkvenjakov’s door and asked for a full show. At that time, there was "Sportski Miks"—it aired daily for an hour. I was initially given half an hour on Tuesdays. Šarenac covered basketball for 30 minutes, and then I got 30 minutes for motorsports.I pushed for more, and eventually, "3K on Wheels" was born. At the same time, we commentated on Formula 1, during a period when motorsport was finally getting the recognition it deserved..

My Copies

There was also the segment "Celebrities Behind the Wheel." They pretended to drive, acted out all sorts of things... But long before all of them—I had already done it. On Sundays, right after a music show, I would pick up celebrities in a car and drive them around the Sava Centre car park—chatting about when they got their driving licence, how it went, when they had their first crash, when their tyre burst, and so on. This gave a unique charm to the Channel 3 show—"3K on Wheels." The entire Yugoslav motorsport scene was squeezed into those 60 minutes. We informed people about every single race and every important motorsport event.

  Sopot

And today? I organise a race on Kosmaj. It is the most beautiful hill climb race, and the municipality president, Žika, supports us generously—we’re creating a wonderful sports story. It fulfils me... It’s been seven years, and we will continue. We need this in many, many more places and cities, but unfortunately, there is no enthusiasm, no initiative. The state provides funding, but the organisation is weak, there are no ideas, no resourcefulness, no big ambitions. I don’t like it, but that’s just how it is. I love this race we organise, and I am fully dedicated to it. Let me tell you…We hunted down parts in Italy, did whatever we could to find tyres, engines, everything that couldn’t be found in Serbia or Montenegro at the time... 20-litre fuel cans, just to have enough for a race. With sheer determination and improvisation, we pushed forward. Because why? Because we wanted to organise a race! The more cars, the bigger the spectacle... And today’s generation? That part makes me a little sad....

The Craziest Broadcasts

I fought for delayed race broadcasts on RTS! Live broadcasting was an issue in case of accidents... so we played it safe with delays. We filmed class by class at Ušće, then rushed to Sava Centre to air the recordings. I would finish my own race, then sprint to the commentary booth to cover the rest. When Serbia and Montenegro were together, we covered Formula 1 with TV Podgorica. One week, they aired it; the next, we did...But then, my colleague Branko Vujišić left for a basketball championship, and I had a race in Cetinje. As soon as the race ended, Montenegrin police were waiting for me with a helicopter. I jumped in, flew straight to Podgorica and RTCG, entered the studio in my racing suit and commentated on Formula 1.

Crashes

I had two incidents during my career—and that was it. Nothing too serious. After one of them, I injured my ribs, but 15 days later, I was already back on the track for a new race. It was slightly cracked, it hurt, but you wrap it up and endure it. Now... My parents had to accept it all. How did I manage that? My mum thought that everything with my Fića was just me messing around. She never wanted to accept that it was something serious and dangerous—she pushed that thought away from her mind. I often argued with my friend Branko Lukić when he aired clips of crashes and accidents on his TV channel. I told him, "Don’t do that, Branko… Mothers, grandmothers, sisters watch this—it does no one any good.".

  Life’s Sorrows

My father passed away early. He was ill at a time when people weren’t even aware of, nor did they understand, cardiovascular diseases—something we talk about every single day now. It was an incredibly difficult time for me. I lost my mother recently. She lived to a beautiful 96 years. A wise woman, that one. She didn’t talk much, but she always knew when and what to say. Parents are special. Everything is easier when they are there. Support comes from home, and that means so much.

Motorcycle, The King’s

This summer in Dubrovnik, I was a guest at an international race, and I took the opportunity to visit the "Indian Motorcycles" museum. And there—King Aleksandar’s motorcycle from 1925! Wow, what a treasure! At the time, he purchased 11 of them, intending to replace the cavalry with motorcycles... A Slovene from Maribor managed to get hold of one, but his wife told him he had to get rid of all the bikes. So, he found a way to display them in Dubrovnik—he rented a space and opened a museum... Honestly, I would love to see that motorcycle here, in Topola, in a museum in Belgrade, anywhere at all…

Petar the Great

Petar Komljenović was the truest friend of rallying and motorsport. His greatest love was rallying, and his support was incredible. We were the only ones in the world to create the "Senna Memorial", and Pera was our biggest supporter. Then, Boba Atanacković helped me a lot, and Antelj built the stands. But then, overnight, all the wooden planks were stolen—so I had to chase around to find replacements to return them to the guy. A complete circus! The race director was Jugoslav Tomić, my co-driver. And of course, my wife was there too—she was fantastic through it all.

Marko Milošević

He joined our team to learn how to drive. I trained him to drive properly and helped him out...We had great cooperation—a good guy. He loved music, weapons, and racing. Everyone knew who he did what with—who he was with at RTV Košava, who he was with at the shooting range, and who he was with at the races. A good lad, and he brought us huge media attention at the time. There were all sorts of comments about it, but in the end, even bad publicity is still publicity. I have fond memories of that period.

And Today, Where Are We...

No money. No tyres. No sponsors. This YouTube ruined everything, man. Why would anyone advertise on a racing car when their ad can just pop up on some car parts website or somewhere else? And what then?! You tap a button to look at cars, and—bam, adverts! Why would anyone brand a racing car anymore? Why would they bother? I mean, it hurts me, because I love this sport so much. It should be a brand, something we take pride in. Back in the old Yugoslavia, Serbia was number one among all the republics. And now? We're not even close to that anymore, unfortunately.

I’ve Become an "IT Guy"

I joke with my kids these days that I’ve become an IT guy. Ever since I retired, all I hear is: "Dad, can you do this?" “Aye, aye”; "Dad, can you do that?" “Aye, aye.” They say retirement is boring — yeah, right! I have less free time now than when I was working. And I’ll keep going like this. As long as I can. I don’t know any other way. And when I look back, I wouldn’t change a thing. I always did what I thought was best at the time. No looking back. That’s it from me…