RONNIE CHIHOTA WAS THE DON

Sharuko on Sataurday

GOD willing, this was supposed to be the year of their Grand Reunion — celebrating the 30th anniversary of the year they founded a trailblazing club which shook domestic football.

But, of course, they won’t.

Where they used to be seven, when they started their project in ’94, only three of them are still alive.

They are Ginger Chinguwa, Ben Muchedzi and Joe “Pajero” Musenda.

Joel Salifu was the first to die, in July 2012, at a hospital in Johannesburg.

As fate would have it, Joe died exactly two years after the historic 2010 World Cup, which he watched with his wife Mildred, came to an end with a Spanish success.

Among the seven Blackpool directors, he was the closest to me, a very good man who had a real love affair with football.

Lecture Mpange, the youngest of the crew, was the second to die when he lost his battle against diabetes in June 2015, at Parirenyatwa Hospital.

Seven years later, in August 2022, Forbes Chitava collapsed and died at a Gaborone hotel, where he had gone on business.

Last Friday, the godfather of this crew, Ronnie Chihota, whose company, Harare Parts Distributors were the main sponsors of the club, died.

So, there won’t be a Grand Reunion for the guys who formed Blackpool, at the beginning of 1994, and dramatically changed the landscape of domestic football.

What’s the point of holding the Grand Reunion without Shaw “Gandhi” Mutemajiri, who is also late, and Simeon “Buju” Jamanda, the chief of protocol we lost in January this year?

Thirty years later, there hasn’t been another local football club like Ndochi and while the likes of Amazulu tried their best they were just imitations, and not matches, of Blackpool.

I was there when Blackpool were formed, after Joel had invited me to the meeting, where the foundation was laid.

And, I was also there when these guys decided to end their dance as football club owners, at the turn of the millennium.

In those six years, Blackpool won the Castle Cup in their debut year in the Premiership in ’94, were robbed of the championship in ’95 and made history as the first Zimbabwean club to reach the semi-final of a CAF inter-club tournament.

Their smart kits, marching band, colourful fans, directors in tailor-made suits imported from Turkey, some fine players like Masimba Dinyero and Misheck Mapika, helped Blackpool become an instant hit.

They were way ahead of their time with a touch of professionalism that was as admirable as it was irresistible and one can only wonder how their history would have unfolded had they been given a fair chance to win the league in ’95.

Morrison Sifelani, who was the then PSL boss, decided to promote the interests of his club Dynamos, rather than the virtues of Fair Play, in the final weekend of one of the best championship races in our league’s history.

Blackpool were forced to play their final game on Saturday, away at Tongogara, so that Dynamos would go into their final match against Black Rhinos at Rufaro the next day knowing exactly the scoreline they needed to win the race.

The two teams both won and, having the same number of points, and goal difference, meant the winner would only be decided by the number of goals scored and, this is where DeMbare won it.

THE NDOCHI ADVENTURE WAS A BEAUTIFUL ONE

But, while Sifelani and company could deny them success on the local scene, they were powerless to deny them glory on the continental scene that year.

That Blackpool side ventured into a space where no Zimbabwean club had ever reached as they reached the semi-finals of the ’95 CAF Cup Winners Cup.

Next year, the clock will mark the 30th anniversary of that remarkable campaign and, God willing, I hope to be around to reflect, and celebrate, an adventure which should be documented in a book.

I was embedded in that Blackpool camp, as the reporter assigned to cover their campaign, the same as I would be embedded in the Dynamos camp, three years later, to cover their historic Champions League adventure.

The Blackpool adventure was very beautiful.

From sunbathing on the beaches of Mauritius, where we appeared to be more of tourists than a football delegation, to enjoying the time of our lives on the sandy beaches of Reunion.

They speak French on the island of Reunion and Gandhi, as usual, wanted to give an impression to our hosts that he could understand the language.

And, to make it worse, he claimed he could also understand Spanish, Portuguese, a bit of Chinese and a bit of Afrikaans.

The problem was that the only French word he knew was “merci”, which in English means “thank You” and so it became “merci” to everything.

And, when our hosts asked him if the Victoria Falls was the biggest tourist attraction in Zimbabwe, his reply was “merci.”

The problem is that we also didn’t know the question so, when he gave his reply, we also clapped hands for him.

But, whatever shame we suffered in that moment, we made up for it on the field of play as Blackpool powered to a 3-1 win for a 5-1 aggregate victory.

Ndochi, just one year and two months old, were well and truly now part of the African football adventure and had just cleared their first hurdle in style.

So, we flew back to Mauritius to catch the connecting Air Zimbabwe flight back to Harare.

Ronnie Chihota was in a very good mood and asked his lieutenants to change our schedule so that we would spend an extra day having fun on the Mauritius beaches as a reward for his players’ superb victory.

At that moment, it dawned on me that this wasn’t a Mickey Mouse football club like the majority of those in our domestic Premiership.

It became clear to me that those directors were very serious, in terms of their investment, and transformation of their project, into quite a competitive force, not only at home, but on the continent.

It was on a beach in Mauritius, as I watched the sun setting in what was quite a mind-blowing spectacle, that I had my first test of whiskey.

It was a double tot of Johnnie Walker Black Label, mixed with soda, long before I found out that whiskey tastes even better when mixed with water.

Or when taken without any mixture at all.

It was an initiation for me into the whiskey world and that night nobody slept as the Blackpool party went on until the early hours of the next morning.

For some of the players, this was their first flight, and first excursion on the paradise islands of the Indian Ocean and, boy oh boy, they really had the time of their lives.

This was football, as they had never dreamt it to be, and throughout that all-night party, I could see that everyone appeared happy that they had taken a gamble to join this new club.

On arrival at the airport, we were met by a small but noisy band of fans, from Mbare, who feted their heroes for the mission they completed in Reunion.

On my way home that day I told myself that the domestic football landscape had just changed and these newboys were going to shake it in a way that it had not been shaken before.

I was so sure of that.

RONNIE CHIHOTA WAS THE DON, THE BOSS OF BOSSES

  If Blackpool was the Godfather, the movie, then Ronnie Chihota was the Don, the boss of bosses, someone like Don Corleone, in terms of hierarchy and not in terms of Mafia activities.

He was the heart and soul of Blackpool, the biggest fish in their pond, the general of their troops, the big boss of the club, the man who always had the ultimate say.

He was the leader no one questioned, which was quite a rare thing given this was a loose collection of young men, who were considerably rich, and felt they had done enough in their lives to earn respect.

His authority was highlighted to me one night in central London, where we were due to spend a few days before flying back home, after Blackpool’s Cup Winners Cup had finally ended in Algeria at the hands of JS Kabylie.

He had chosen the Hilton London Metropole as the hotel where we would stay for the duration of our stay in the British capital until our departure for home.

It was quite an expensive hotel with the suites, which he had chosen for us, going for about £900 a night.

He took the exclusive Kensington Suite, which probably went for about twice what our suites cost, which means he was paying a small fortune just to stay in his hotel room for one night.

Ronnie Chihota could afford it but it took a toll on the other directors, especially considering that the food and the alcohol were also very expensive and these guys had been spending since we left Harare.

After the first night, it became clear that the other directors hardly had any savings left and they presented their case to their leader.

Ronnie Chihota told them everything was under control and he called a contact, a Zimbabwean guy resident in London, who came with a bag full of pounds.

He ordered his other directors to form a queue and they were handed whatever money they were requesting and their cash crisis, just like any other crisis they had faced as a team, was resolved by their Don.

One incident, though, spoiled our stay at the Hilton London Metropole.

A member of our delegation, who was not part of the directors, found himself with a huge bill to settle after our first night at the hotel.

It turned out he had spent the whole night watching porn movies unaware that he was being charged for every minute he spent viewing those adult films.

Ronnie Chihota refused to bail him out because he said this was not only inappropriate, but a shame to the brand of his club.

A plane ticket was quickly arranged for the guy to fly on the next flight back home.

We were leaving the hotel when Gandhi asked one of the security guys whether the hotel’s sewer systems were connected to the ones from Buckingham Palace.

Why, responded the security fellow.

Well, Gandhi just wanted to know if his human waste, from his hotel toilet, had flowed in the same sewer system as that of the Queen because, if that was the case, it was something he would wear as a badge of honour.

He was quite some strange fellow this Gandhi.

George Mbwando’s hat-trick at the Independence Stadium in Lusaka to crush Kabwe Warriors 3-1 was followed by the sensational 2-1 win over Young Africans in Dar-es-Salaam.

There was drama there too when the US$40 000, which was supposed to take care of the team’s stay in Tanzania, was blown away in a casino by one of the directors but, as usual, their Don was there to save the situation again.

Blackpool were the best team in the domestic Premiership in ’95 and the best team in the Cup Winners Cup that same year.

Blackpool did not win any of the tournaments, largely because of the dirty hands of the organisers, but they left a legacy.

As the guy who was covering their journey, they gave me sights, and sounds, which I will remember for a lifetime.

Thanks Mudhara Ronnie Chihota and your friends.

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 Chegutu Pirates!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Zaireeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

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