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Sharuko on Saturday
WHAT if, for a moment, we allow ourselves to be sucked into the world of fantasy, faraway from reality where, seduced by sentimentality, and powered by possibility, we find comfort in our dreams?
What if, for a moment, we allow ourselves to be lured by possibility, and we slip into a world where impossibility and improbability do not exist, blinded by the power of our dreams, and the weight of our expectations?
What if, for a moment, we allow ourselves to refuse the probability of failure, lured by emotions telling us that we might have, at long last, found a genuine football celebrity, straight out of the dusty roads of our community?
What if, for a moment, we allow ourselves to be blinded by faith, strengthened by hope and fuelled by expectations, we refuse to see any possibility of failure, we refuse to hear any probability of evil and we refuse to speak about any vulnerability that could see him coming short?
What is, for a moment, we allow ourselves to, just for this moment, choose to ignore the toxicity, which divides us, and rather choose to celebrate the quality, which his quick feet appear to promise in abundance.
To help him embrace this opportunity, which the football gods have provided him, to express his ability, which his coaches have been fine-tuning, to serve his community, which has been waiting for such a hero for a long time.
To express his authority, on the football pitch, to generate the electricity, which made him such a box office attraction, during his years in the development side, to help provide the tranquillity, which — at his club — usually is guaranteed by a fine run of results.
To provide the connectivity, between the club and some of its fans, who have been keeping their distance, simply because there wasn’t a superhero to lure them to the stadium, and the road shows, which used to be a part of their away battles.
To help him deal with the complexity that comes with serving in these trenches, especially for this team, to help him play with the same originality, which made him different from his teammates, in the developmental side, leading to his promotion into the big time.
To help him understand the value of humility, the value of playing the game with a certain intensity, the value of reliability, the magic of taking responsibility and the power that comes with a certain degree of irresistibility.
The importance of accepting that, from now onwards, it’s not about individuality but about being a part, in a team, where every member is important and that this club, whose crest he now wears, is bigger than all its best stars, of the past, put together.
Prince Ndlovu!
Welcome to our world son, just 16 years old, he is two years younger than my last boy Magical Marlo, with a first name, and a surname, perfectly suited for greatness at this old football beast called Highlanders.
Ndlovu, a reminder of the only elephant which could fly, the King himself, a royal Warrior anointed to be the one who would eventually find a way to remember the password, which the Warriors needed, to open the door for their first appearance at the Nations Cup finals.
His parents called him Peter, many called him Nsukuzonke, a good number called him Flying Elephant while, these days, as he enjoys his retirement, we simply call him the King.
He was just 15 years, 178 days, when they decided to give him a go in the Highlanders first team, to start a journey in which he would redefine the meaning of greatness, when it comes to local football, and dance on the edges of purity.
He was only 17, when he was named Soccer Star of the Year in 1990, the youngest football to be bestowed with such an honour, in the history of this grand award.
The following year, at the age of 18, he won it again, becoming only the second player, since George Shaya in 1975 and 1976, to win this award in successive years.
He would certainly have won it again in 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005 and 2006, when he finally said goodbye, had he played on the domestic front, throughout his career.
A ROYAL FIRST NAME, A ROYAL SURNAME
Next month, the world will mark the 30th anniversary of the day when Peter Ndlovu made history as the first African footballer to feature in the rebranded English Premiership.
He was playing for Coventry City, back then, their sky blue colours, as fate would have it, a reminder of a club, back home, which fate had deemed would be in an eternal battle for supremacy, with his beloved Bosso.
Ironically, Moses Chunga, a superstar footballer in his own right who, in the ‘80s, was the heart and soul of Dynamos, would also settle at a European club, E. Aalst, whose primary colours were the black-and-white strip of Bosso.
Peter was still a Mzilikazi Schoolboy, when he made his debut for Highlanders, the boy from Makokoba, Madinda’s kid brother, Adam’s younger brother, the most talented of the lot, the class act, the family’s pride.
On Sunday, at Barbourfields, another Ndlovu, another elephant, with a first name which appears to acknowledge there is a King and he could just be a Prince, was introduced to the Bosso family, in the service of their first team.
He was 16 years, 174 days, when he made his debut against Manica Diamonds in the Theatre of his club’s Dreams, the hallowed turf which Mercedes ‘Rambo’ Sibanda and Willard Mashinkila-Khumalo, used to call home sweet home.
Today we still remember them, not as colleagues who departed our garden of the living, but as stars whose spirit will never fade, whose presence will always be felt and whose company we will forever cherish.
Given their identical Mzilikazi High School backgrounds, it was inevitable that King Peter’s name would be evoked, the moment the Bosso leaders decided the time had come, for them to throw Prince Ndlovu, into the big time.
Of course, I can understand the argument from those who are saying that it’s unfair, for anyone, to bring the great name of Nsukuzonke, into a narrative, in which we are discussing the teenage footballer, who is the latest addition to the Bosso squad.
To be frank with you, there is nothing right now to suggest that Prince Ndlovu will be any better than, let’s say, Honour Gombami, a true servant who dedicated himself to the Bosso cause, and played football with a swagger, which made him such a fan favourite.
He should have won the 2006 Soccer Star of the Year, if the selectors had gone with the same tide, which appeared to see them being swayed, now and again, by the best player from the club, which would have won the league championship.
That he didn’t win it, with the award going to Clemence Matawu, was another indictment to the process and provided ammunition to those Bosso fans, who have always argued that the playing field is not level, and appears tailor made to frustrate their club.
And, their players.
Somehow, 2006 would be the last time Bosso would win the league championship and, it was around that time, that Prince Ndlovu was born.
Since he started knowing the difference between the taste of his mother’s milk, and Coca-Cola, his beloved Highlanders are yet to be crowned league champions.
That doesn’t mean they haven’t tried.
In 2012 and 2013, Dynamos didn’t finish with a higher number of points, compared to Highlanders, but the Glamour Boys — on both occasions — ended up being crowned league champions.
Why?
Because they had a superior goal difference on both occasions.
The brutality of fate, in seemingly fighting against their cause, could be highlighted by the fact that, during the 2012 campaign, Highlanders lost only ONE game, but still lost the league championship.
And, as if to add insult to injury, it was the team, which no one in their camp would prefer to see winning, the one everyone in their camp would love to see failing, which won the championship.
DeMbare!
The Glamour Boys lost THREE games that season but still ended the campaign as champions with Bosso finishing second despite taking 69, out of a possible 90 points, during the season.
To put this into proper context, Chicken Inn, who finished in third place, lost SIX games that season while CAPS United lost 11 matches during that campaign.
Bosso didn’t lose a league match until Round 24, when they rolled into the capital, and collapsed in a crashing 0-3 defeat, at the hands of Monomotapa.
They didn’t lose another game after that.
The majority of their fans will argue that even the establishment was fighting in the corner of the Glamour Boys, as shown by the blatant favouritism which, in a way, appeared to be extended to Callisto Pasuwa’s men.
The worst case example was the way the leadership overturned the decision by the PSL disciplinary committee, to order a replay of the match between Dynamos and Hwange, which had ended 4-2 in favour of the Harare giants.
Prior to the match, the Hwange head coach and his assistants were attacked by a mob of the DeMbare marshals and the PSL disciplinary committee nullified the result and ordered a replay of that match.
However, on September 5, the very month Bosso would lose their only league match of the campaign, the ZIFA Appeals Committee overturned the PSL DC verdict and restored the DeMbare result.
On November 16, the Commercial Arbitration Centre upheld the ZIFA Appeals Committee’s outrageous decision.
LET’S ENJOY THE KID’S RIDE, WHEREVER IT TAKES US
Against this grim background, and the reality that Bosso have not won the league championship in 16 years, you can understand the frustration, which runs deep in their camp, when it comes to the controversy, which tainted the 2012 season.
Highlanders will turn 100 years, in just four years’ time, celebrating a century in which they have become part of the identity of domestic football which, in itself, represents a landmark triumph for those who established this institution.
A Bosso fan, who is a good friend of mine, always teases me with his statement that the uniqueness of his football club is that while all the teams in the world were ‘FORMED’ his team is the only one which was ‘ESTABLISHED.’
I have always had a very soft spot for Highlanders because, when it comes to the bond which exists between the club and their fans, they are the ultimate model of what the perfect romance, in football, should look like.
I think the fans of Newcastle probably come close and, maybe, it’s something which runs in the family of those clubs, whose primary colours are black-and-white, with small stripes, and who find themselves eternally connected to a coalfield.
Maybe, it’s something that happens at clubs whose home is found in a city where the leading daily newspaper is called the Chronicle — which is the case in Bulawayo and which is also the case in Newcastle.
It’s fair to suggest that, since Peter Ndlovu left Bosso in 1991, the Highlanders family have been waiting for someone, a teenage talent, to provoke their excitement, to make them dream again.
To make them believe again that, within their family, another teenage genius would one day emerge and take them on yet another merry adventure.
Along the way, a number of contenders emerged, boosting expectations but, before long, it became very apparent that there will always be one PETER NDLOVU.
On Sunday, at Barbourfields, the Bosso family welcomed the latest teenager, whose arrival has fuelled Great Expectations, into their first team fold.
His name has a Ndlovu, which makes him a natural.
And, for the first time in a very long time, Bosso even had to accompany his arrival with a glowing resume about the potential which exists in those 16-year-old legs.
It’s not fair to load him with expectations.
And, unfortunately, the reality is that this very association with Peter Ndlovu, simply because they both come from the same school and were at similar age groups, when they made their first team debut, has already burdened the young man with expectations.
It’s the baggage he has to carry, for the rest of his career, and I can tell you that it won’t be an easy adventure for him.
I worry for him, because I can already see that, since the turn of the millennium, no other Bosso youngster has found himself being burdened by such expectations.
It’s hard for me to say whether the potential he has is real, or just fantasy, because I need more time to watch him for me to have the authority to provide a judgment.
But, I have to say that the few minutes of the video coverage I have seen, when he played against Manica Diamonds, is quite encouraging.
His presence of mind, to find his teammate, and find a pocket of space to run into, begging for possession, and getting it, as he ventured into the opponents’ danger zone.
Then, just like that, he was now in the clear, with only the ‘keeper to beat, a world of opportunities opening up in front of him, a constituency of converts urging him to take his chance and make this a perfect afternoon.
Barbourfields held its breath, this was the moment they had been dreaming about, and praying for, as long as they could remember.
This was their boy, the kid from Mzilikazi High, the kid from Peter’s school, the kid from their city, the kid playing for their club, the kid who now carries so much hope for them.
Their kid, their son, their forward, their hope, their wonderboy!
He decided to go for the wonder chip, from an angle, succeeded in lifting the ball over the ‘keeper but, for once that afternoon, his bearings deceived him and the ball drifted wide of the post.
We can only wonder what would have happened if he had scored, right in front of Soweto, right in front of his people.
He will have more chances to get it right, of course.
He will also have tougher tests and tougher days but we have a reason to celebrate because just having him is better than not having him at all.
Let’s enjoy the kid’s ride, wherever it takes us.
To God Be The Glory!
Peace to the GEPA Chief, the Big Fish, George Norton, Daily Service, Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse and all the Chakariboys still in the struggle.
Come on United!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ronaldoooooooooooooooooooooo!
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