tawandamusarurwa
Arthur Choga
DECADES ago, there used to be a famous advert that ran on Thursdays.
It was usually introduced while a song was playing on Radio 2 (now Radio Zimbabwe)’s popular “Kwaziso/Ukubingelelana” show. A booming voice would then announce: “Musakanganwe kuteerera kuSugar Sunday Soccer . . . (Don’t forget to listen to Sugar Sunday Soccer . . .)”
Growing up, I watched a lot of football. From a very young age, I followed football
from the Area Zones and would also watch countless matches at Rudhaka Stadium and other grounds around Marondera.
My footballing heroes were the men who starred weekly for Proton Stars, Cosco, Foundry, Forest Lodge and various other teams in and around Marondera. Most of the teams were formed at companies or farms.
Bhamusi Dharakishoni was a star player for Proton Stars. Anyone who followed football in Marondera in the 80s will remember his ball mastery. Then I discovered football on the radio.
Radio 2 was the local languages station. Every Sunday, at 3pm, they crossed over to a stadium where a local Super League match was being played.
For many young people especially, football in the 1980s was a mix of bits of newspaper
articles and pictures, some visits to the stadium and, for the lucky ones, a lot of radio
commentary.
Those radio commentators brought football to life. Their accounts of the game shaped our
perception of the players. Their description of Rufaro, Barbourfields and Luveve also shaped our appreciation of these stadiums.
And we all knew the Soweto Stand, Vietnam, the Mbare Musika end and the Warren
Park end long before we even had a chance to visit them.
I was naturally introduced to the world of Kenneth “Computer” Jere (Did we even know what a computer was?), Tymon Mabaleka, Boy Ndlovu, Joseph Machingura, Newman Bizeck, Jani Milanzi, Tavaka Gumbo, Chingumbe Masuku, Uyera Mukorongo and Asani Juma, among others.
I had new heroes.
Kingsley Sibanda and Jonathan Mutsinze were the voices of Sugar Sunday Soccer, which
was sponsored by a sugar company and later taken over by a brewery.
They would take us through the game by alternating commentary at five-minute intervals
— Sibanda in Ndebele and Mutsinze in Shona.
The seamless interchange between the two was a marvel. Their roles were well-defined: As one of them carried out the commentary, the other would analyse the action.
Mutsinze, and later Choga Tichatonga Gavhure, would bring the colour commentary, usually talking about the soft wind blowing from Mbare Musika before occasionally interjecting himself to raise his voice a few octaves and go “Aaaaahhhh . . .”
He was clearly unaware of the tension this used to build in us as we sat in the dust wondering
what could have happened. A goal was easy to tell because of the roar that accompanied it.
And it was also fairly easy to tell which team would have scored by the intensity of the roar.
If the game was at Barbourfields and Highlanders scored, the commentators would be drowned out.
It was the same when Dynamos scored at Rufaro. Later, Lazarus Tembo would come on
board, and he had a lovely catchphrase: “Heee zvanga zvaenda nepamwe . . .” (Loosely translated, it simply meant it nearly went sideways).
His voice was relatively high-pitched compared to those of the original trio, but fans
soon became used to it. Then there was Radio 1, now called Classic 263.
It was the English language station, complete with sessions on opera pieces, one of which was hosted by Terry Yates-Round. Yates-Round used to be the one who would often make the crossover to the stadium on a Sunday afternoon.
The contrast between his very laid-back voice and the drama at the stadiums that followed him was priceless. I first found out about it when they had Evans Mambara on air.
The man turned my appreciation of sports upside down. Mambara was lively.
His use of language was unusual. And, I later learnt that he loved using military
language on the radio. This meant that teams would “bombard” the opposition half and launch “fire after fire
. . .” It was mayhem with Mambara.
He painted vivid images. Even though it was clear he loved Black Rhinos, who came into the league in 1984 and won everything after raiding star players from Dynamos and Caps United, his commentary was infectious.
Charles Mabika would later make an entrance, and he immediately became a
darling of football fans. While Mambara was frenzied in his flow, Mabika was fond of long descriptive sentences and would raise his voice as the attacking team moved forward, culminating in his famous “It’s a gooooooaaaal” scream.
Mabika remains the yardstick nowadays. His sense of humour, his street-smart language and his love for creating nicknames soon made him a household name.
Their key match analysts at the time — Kennedy Makambira and Farayi Mungazi — went on to do great things in football. Makambira joined the Confederation of African Football media team, while Mungazi joined the BBC, before leaving to explore other ventures.
It was common to see people listening to radios in stadiums, following the same game they were watching.
In time, death, age and opportunities claimed some of the voices from radio. Mabika, however, remains one of the voices that have valiantly carried the flag. Overall, these voices painted colours, images and personalities of football players before the advent of social media and the internet.
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