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Sharuko On Saturday
GEORGE SHAYA, just like George Best, had a beautiful rhythm to it — it echoed greatness, it reflected excellence, it represented genius and will remain synonymous with greatness.
Just like George Weah!
The irresistible Liberian, the only African to win the beautiful game’s two biggest individual awards — the FIFA World Player of the Year and the Ballon d’Or.
That was in 1995.
It was a monumental moment, not only for Africa but also for humanity, a poor boy from the Monrovia slums, born in a huge family of 13 children, finding a way to rise to the top of the world football tree.
His father, William, was a mechanic while his mother, Anna, battled to supplement her husband’s meagre income by selling various stuff, at the local market.
George was still very young, when his parents separated, and he grew up, in the custody of his grandmother, Emma Brown.
By the time he started playing football, for local clubs Mighty Barrolle and Invincible Eleven, the earnings were not enough for him to make a living, from just playing football.
So, he had to take up a job, as a switchboard operator, at the Liberia Telecommunications Corporation, while also playing football, in the Liberian top-flight league.
From such a humble background, one of the greatest African footballers of all-time, emerged.
Last year, football marked the Silver Jubilee of his Finest Hour, when he became the first African player to win both the Ballon d’Or, and the FIFA Footballer of the Year.
Until Tuesday, we also had our George.
His folks called him “Matanyera,’’ the one who kept sweeping past the opposition, during their days as budding footballers, on the fields of Mbare.
Even in those early days, when they were still the boys from the hood, it became evident, there was something special about the reserved boy, from House Number 26, in Mbare’s Fourth Street.
Once he was on that field, playing that game, he seemed to be transformed into an explosive beast.
It’s something which his primary school classmate, Chimurenga music guru Thomas Mapfumo, was only too willing to share with us, this week.
By the time he arrived at Dynamos, his teammates were now calling him “Kademo.’’
He was their axe.
The one they used to bring down the barriers of defence, which the opposition would erect in their path.
And, of course, because the number on the back of his jersey (7), reminded them of an axe.
When he came of age, having transformed himself into the dominant footballer on the domestic scene, he was now called “The Mastermind.’’
Their master, the one with the creative mind, their iconic leader.
The Special One they turned to, now and again, to move the mountains, to crush through the barriers, not with force but with a touch of wizardry, a moment of magic and an exhibition of genius.
For about a decade, George became the reflection many saw in the mirror, when they imagined the very best, in terms of individual excellence, when it came to domestic football.
His face became the symbol of greatness, his name became the password for brightness, with his magic casting a golden light on the game, dissolving so much bitterness and providing so much happiness.
For him, it was simply just a part of his business, for them it was a privilege just to be a part of the eyewitnesses.
After all, from 1969, in which he won the inaugural Soccer Star of the Year, to 1979, when he brought down the curtain on his career, this was a beautiful romance.
THE MASTERMIND, THE ULTIMATE ENDORSEMENT, THE GREATNESS
On Tuesday, George Shaya died, a month short of his 75th birthday.
One of those, who has been closest to him in the last few years when he battled one health scare, after another, told m e “The Mastermind’’ had a simple wish.
He wanted people to remember him not as a superman but just a simple guy from Mbare, who was lucky to be given a gift, to play football.
But, it’s very unlikely, his wish for his modesty to dominate the narrative, when his story is spoken, in the past tense, will be granted.
After all, he was the man, who many feel, is their greatest Zimbabwean footballer of all-time.
And, it’s hard to argue otherwise when someone like Peter Ndlovu, probably the only other candidate for that honour, insists ‘’The Mastermind’’ was streets ahead of everyone.
‘‘We always talk of legends, we are legends of course, but we may talk whatever we want, and bring whatever we may bring, regardless of where you have been, where you have played,’’ Peter said, in what was effectively an address, to his fellow local football legends.
‘‘Whatever guys, let’s not kid ourselves, this is a non-starter, this is really a no-show to compare ourselves with this man, we are nothing, we are too far (behind) guys.
‘‘Let’s just own up and give him the crown, all the time, he deserves it, all the time, he deserves respect, we are not going to talk about other people, this man is the one.
‘‘In actual fact, we are saying, let’s start from people like Khama (Billiat) and myself, we are the sons of football, let’s go to Madinda (Ndlovu), let’s go to Moses (Chunga), let’s go to Marimo — Misheck and Sunday — those are the fathers of football.
‘‘But, when we speak of George Shaya, we are speaking of the godfathers of football, the owners of football in Zimbabwe and, of course, the owners of football, in the world.
‘‘The Mastermind did not just come from nowhere but it’s because of his exploits, and all his credentials, in the game of football.’’
What Peter and George didn’t know, when the Flying Elephant recorded that video, was that it would provide the final soundtrack for what was the last birthday “The Mastermind’’ would celebrate.
I will not pretend here to be an authority on “The Mastermind,’’ the way I can write a book, about the life,and times of Peter Ndlovu.
After all, I was a mere two-year-old kid, stuck at home in Chakari, when Shaya won his second Soccer Star of the Year gong, in 1972.
I was just six, still nursing the wounds of being rejected, from enrolling for my Grade One studies, for being too young for school, when he won his fourth Soccer Star of the Year gong.
The outrageous experiment, which I failed, blocking my acceptance into Grade One that year was that I could not wrap my right arm over my head, to touch my ear on the left side.
This, to the school authorities, was confirmation I was too young.
That was in 1976.
Back then, my late old man was more concerned with initiating me into the culture of accepting our hometown club, Falcon Gold, as the be-all-and-end-all, when it comes to a personal romance, between a football team, and me.
So, George Shaya, and his all-conquering Dynamos team of ’76, existed in another world, so far away from our little kingdom.
These Glamour Boys’ finest hour came, and passed, without my regular patronage, among those who had the privilege of getting ringside seats, to watch their journey, as they touched the heavens.
But, even then, we already knew about George Shaya.
He was the name many of us adopted, on the occasions we imagined ourselves to be the superstars, during our street battles, knocking around a plastic ball.
One day, our worst player, a guy we called Manhuta, was given the honour to be the first, to adopt any superstar name he wanted to be.
We were playing against our rivals from a section called Mudhadhadha.
Manhuta chose George Shaya.
Well, it sparked a huge outcry, among both sets of teams, leading to a vicious pre-game free-for-all fight, the biggest to ever rock our street football matches. It left a number of us with injuries.
Of course, the match was abandoned, before it had even started, under a hail of blows, flying stones and the noise of barking dogs.
One of our teammates took advantage of the fact that we were playing at our ground and dashed home, coming back with his pack of dogs, which we set out on our rowdy opponents.
Amazingly, the fallout had been triggered by Manhuta’s decision to try and adopt George Shaya for that match which, given he was the worst player on either side, was deemed an abomination by both sets of players.
It was considered an insult to the good name of the iconic Dynamos forward and, by extension, an insult to all of us.
It was considered a lack of respect to what this name represented and, by extension, a lack of respect for our game.
Of course, I don’t think you will find it a surprise poor Manhuta didn’t play for our boys’ club again.
And, as far as I can remember, neither did he play for another team, in our local league.
His fate was sealed by that one moment when, in his wisdom, or lack of it, he tried to abuse the good name of ‘’The Mastermind.’’
It’s a measure of how we all held this football legend in high esteem.
THE TALE, AS TOLD BY A LEGEND, CALLED JOMO SONO
On Tuesday, I decided to talk to South African football icon, Jomo Sono, to try and get his perspective of the legend that is George Shaya.
The whole idea was to try and get a neutral voice, different from what one gets on the domestic landscape, in a game known for the toxicity of its biased voices, when it comes to ranking local heroes.
It’s a game where being one of us now generates patronage, poisoning the noble cause of ranking greatness, with local interests usually subduing other factors, and blinding many, from seeing the obvious.
That’s why when Brazilian club Ibis Sport, the worst club in the world, dangled an outrageous package for Lionel Messi, two months ago, we found it pregnant with all these constituency attachments.
Even for a club, which went for four years without a victory, bringing in the Argentine superstar had to be guided by the importance of their local interests.
Part of the conditions were that Messi would have to swear, three times in front of a mirror, every day, that Brazilian legend Pele was a better footballer than his countryman, Maradona.
So, in a way, that’s also true about us, we are also influenced mainly by our local interests.
We are bound to only see greatness, which resides among our boys, and turn a blind eye to the quality of a Zambian, of the same pedigree.
That’s why I felt a fresh voice, from someone from another country, who has been there and done it, was important to give me a very good picture of how special Shaya really was.
Jomo Sono has built his reputation as someone who will always tell it like it is — if someone is good, he will say exactly that, if someone is ordinary, that’s exactly what he will tell you.
The truth provides him the refugee he has always wanted, irrespective of the controversy his views can trigger, because this isn’t about transforming himself into a latter-day Pablo Picasso, with beautiful paintings.
This is about providing the best possible judgment and, when I asked him about George Shaya, his response was straight to the point.
‘What a player, in my opinion, the best attacking player to come out of Zimbabwe,’’ he told me. ‘‘May his soul rest in peace, I am lucky I saw great players from Zimbabwe.
‘‘I have been around (from) 1972 to 2021, so I know all of them.
‘‘The different positions, and times, it’s not easy to compare them but what a player (Shaya). I remember Pirates versus Dynamos.’’
Yes, Pirates versus Dynamos, Bra Jomo.
That was in 1976, when that vintage class of Glamour Boys, led by the immortal George Shaya, dominated the domestic football scene in a way which had never been seen before, and has not been seen since.
They won the league championship that year, five of the six knockout tournaments, including thrashing Zimbabwe Saints 8-1 in the final of the Castle Cup.
They also hammered Chibuku 8-0, in the final of the Nyore Nyore Shield, with the late Daniel “Dhidhidhi” Ncube scoring five times, in that match.
In 19 matches, in knockout tournaments, they scored 67 goals that season, to add to the 50 league goals, for a remarkable haul of 117 goals in one season.
But, for many, it was the way they overturned a 3-5 first leg loss to Orlando Pirates, in Johannesburg, to thrash the same opponents 4-1 at Rufaro, to be crowned Southern Africa football champions, which was the finest hour of these Immortals.
And, of course, George Shaya was at the heart of it all, his injury, after he had scored in Johannesburg, was largely blamed for their loss.
But, once he was back, on the green grass of home, he was simply unplayable and the result, and testimony from legends like Sono, provide the evidence, if any if needed, of how George was light years ahead of his class.
We should have been celebrating the 45th anniversary of how Shaya’s magic inspired Dynamos to that golden year of grand achievements.
But, today, we will be waving goodbye to him, when we bury him, at Warren Hills.
Of course, we won’t bury the memories, we won’t bury the legend.
And, the reality that in George Shaya, domestic football, in general, and Dynamos, in particular, had their beautiful gift.
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 in the struggle.
Come on United!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ronaldoooooooooooooooooo!
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