Nikola Jokić: The Elusive Superstar of Sombor, Serbia

In the unassuming Serbian town of Sombor, population 41,000, Nikola Jokić becomes something he rarely is elsewhere: ordinary. The three-time NBA MVP, whose basketball genius has transformed the Denver Nuggets and redefined center play, returns each offseason to a place where his world contracts to a 10-minute bike radius. Here, he's not the best basketball player in the world but simply Nikola from Sombor—a local who rides his bike through town, plays 3-on-3 with childhood friends, and tends to his beloved horses.

The people of Sombor maintain an informal pact to protect Jokić's privacy. No autographs or photographs—"everybody already has those," says his first basketball coach Isidor Rudić—and definitely no interruptions when he's dining with his wife and children or having beers with friends at a local kafana. This protection extends to visitors: the only way to understand Jokić through Sombor's eyes is when he's not there, because his presence would silence the very people who know him best.

The Horses: Where Passion Meets Peace

At Nikola Jokić's Dream Catcher hippodrome, the dirt speaks volumes about the man's priorities. When in Sombor, Jokić trains horses, mucks stalls, tosses hay bales, and grooms the track—activities that provide a stark contrast to his life as an NBA superstar. His godfather and offseason conditioning coach Nebojša Vagić observes, "The horses are where he's happiest. With horse racing, he has so many emotions. He's passionate about it. With basketball, he's a disciplined animal. He's a hit man. When the game is over, it's 'Thank you very much.' He doesn't allow emotion into basketball. Horse racing is different. He heals himself with horse racing."

This emotional connection was vividly displayed when one of his horses, Demon Dell'Est, won a major race in Subotica. Jokić ran onto the track, hugged the horse and jockey, cried, and sprayed champagne on the horse—behavior unimaginable from the same man who, after winning the 2023 NBA championship, simply stated, "It's good. It's good. The job is done, and we can go home now."

The Court: Where Superstar Meets Childhood Friends

Beside Jokić's primary school, Dositej Obradović, sits a basketball court that tells another chapter of his story. The court, which Jokić paid to remodel from cracked asphalt to synthetic surface with professional stanchions, hosts weekly 3-on-3 games when he's in town. His friends from childhood—former basketball players themselves—provide both competition and grounding.

Nemanja Pavkov, Jokić's friend since youth basketball and owner of an auto body shop, explains their approach: "We must play every year so we can see his progress on our court. We know he is strong, but we need to make sure he is getting better. When he comes here, he knows we are not going to let him win. He needs to put in the effort. We are all former basketball players, so we aren't going to injure him, you know? We are fouling him, though, and sometimes, he gets angry when we hit him a little too much. That's competition. We tell him, 'You might be a superstar in Denver, but here you are just one of us.'"

The Daily Rhythm: Life at Sombor Pace

Jokić's days in Sombor follow a comforting rhythm that contrasts sharply with NBA life. Each morning at 7 a.m., he sends a group text to Vagić and his conditioning team—accompanied by avatars of a gorilla and an ant—announcing he's on his way to workout. "He says he is strong as a gorilla," Vagić explains, "and as persistent as an ant."

After workouts at the gym he refurbished for KK Joker, Jokić rides his bike to the hippodrome to see his horses, then to The Štrand to lie on the beach and float in the canal. Evenings might find him at a kafana with friends, fighting over who gets to pay the bill—a point of Serbian pride where his wealth becomes irrelevant. As Pavkov notes, "We acknowledge that he has a lot of money and can buy all he wants, but we don't like him because of his money."

Vagić, who lived in London before returning to Sombor, explains the town's appeal: "Time flies there. One day in Sombor lasts two or three days in London. We wake up in the morning, we go to practice. I take my son to kindergarten. After we practice, we go to the sauna, to the cold shower, to a restaurant to pick up food. We eat lunch and go to the swimming pool, stay there for an hour, rest a little bit, go to the bungalows at The Štrand. In the evening, we go out. In London, there's no way you can do half of that in two days. There, you travel to work for an hour, work eight to 12 hours, travel an hour home. Nothing's left of the day. Weeks go by and months go by and years go by, and you don't remember that much. This is where you feel life 100 percent."

The Man Behind the Mystery

Jokić's elusive nature stems from what Vagić describes as a fundamental communication challenge: "He doesn't talk in single moves or tactics. He thinks on a higher level, one step above. You have seen it in many situations: He is struggling to explain what he wants because the first time he tells you, he knows you don't understand. You don't see it the way he does, and you never will. He tries to simplify, but he can't. If he has CO2, he cannot make it simpler. He cannot make it just oxygen."

This complexity, combined with his discomfort with the public side of fame, makes Sombor not just a hometown but a sanctuary. As former teammate Nemanja Krstić explains, "His attitude is, 'Why do I need to explain everything?' He would tell you, 'Why do I need to explain why I go to Sombor? This is my life. I'm a basketball player, sure, but I'm a normal person. If I have to explain everything about my life, why don't you?'"

In Sombor, Jokić doesn't need to explain. The town, its people, and its rhythms speak for him. From the elderly women he checks on during his bike rides to the friends who still challenge him on the basketball court, Jokić remains, as Pavkov's grandmother perfectly summarized when seeing him pedal by, "just one of us."