admin
Sharuko on Saturday
In the year of our Lord 2022, in the month of October, on day number 29, this beautiful story finally comes to an end.
That’s about 270 months, at least 1100 weeks and roughly 8 400 days of regular engagements, on this page, of this grand old newspaper.
Simply amazing!
Well, in the week the British finally got their first Prime Minister of Asian descent we now have to call time on this show.
The irony of it all is that my first immediate boss, on this newspaper, who provided the nursery on which I charted my path, was also of Asian descent.
His name is Jahoor Omar.
We called him Jacks and, 30 years after I first met him, he remains the finest sports journalist I have ever come across.
He grew up in the tranquillity of the small farming town of Banket, where his love for football started with a romance with his hometown club, Banket United.
His local heroes were the immortal Nzombe brothers — Shepherd and Simbarashe — whose exploits at the local Kuwadzana Stadium remain the stuff of legends.
Simbarashe remains a huge influence at BU.
As the club chairman, he masterminded their escape from the jaws of relegation, by winning their final game of this season.
In his teenage years, Omar developed a love affair with Dynamos, which was probably something which was quite fashionable, for teenagers of his age.
But, to his credit, he didn’t let that romance cloud his professionalism, when he became Sports Editor of this newspaper.
It’s a dream job, for every sports journalist, just like the captaincy of the Warriors is to every Zimbabwean football star.
Last year, this grand Old Lady of Zimbabwe’s newspapers, marked 130 years of existence from its humble beginnings, in 1891.
Without sounding like bragging, it’s a badge of honour one carries on his sleeve, just knowing that, at some point in your career, you were the Sports Editor of The Herald.
It’s the most prestigious job in Zimbabwean sports journalism.
To illustrate how special this is, one just needs to note that, in the entire history of this newspaper, 131 years and counting, only FOUR black Zimbabweans have risen to be handed this massive responsibility.
Alan Hlatshwayo was the first black Sports Editor of The Herald.
He is a legend remembered, as much for his prowess as a footballer, who starred for Dynamos, as he is for his role as a pioneering sports journalist, who broke racial barriers, to reach the top of his profession.
Big Sam, the gentle giant from Gweru, was the second, in the fading years of the last millennium.
Even though this was a short-lived stint, his impact on all of us was massive.
I was the third of the lot, the guy from the mining compounds of Chakari, where the true measure of success was an apprenticeship, and qualification, to be a fitter and turner.
So, in a way, I was a rebel without a cause.
The one who went against the tide and, driven by pure instinct, chose a field which, in our community, wasn’t something our people associated themselves with.
Being the Sports Editor of The Herald, has been the highest point of my career as a journalist.
To be given the chance to do it over all those years, which turned into decades, and lead the game’s conversation, was the stuff that dreams are made of.
In Chakari, they would have rolled the red carpet, if only a letter to the Editor, bearing my name, had been published in this newspaper.
For them to see me going on and on, flying around the world on tours of duty, has been the Cinderella tale of their lives.
IT MUST HAVE BEEN LOVE BUT IT’S OVER NOW
But, in life just like in this profession, there is always a time to come and there is always a time to go.
On November 30, last year, the time for me to go, also came.
I left the post guarded by my long-term colleague and partner-in-crime, Collin Matiza, the good man proud of his Mbare roots, we call Mandela.
He has been holding fort, for the past year, and he has done incredibly well.
On Thursday, I was a guest on Soccer Africa, probably the most authoritative, and clearly the most popular, football magazine show on television, on this continent.
It felt good to be interacting, live from my little office in Harare, with guys like Thomas Mlambo, who hosts the show, Thomas “TK” Kwenaite, and Pastor Idah Peterside.
The show was another reminder, if I needed any, that no matter where life takes me, it will be impossible to divorce myself from football.
It’s a game I will forever be associated with.
And, if there are any regrets right now, as we bring the curtain down on the life and times of “SOS,” it’s probably the timing of the departure.
To leave, as I am doing now, when our football environment is not only chaotic but has become very toxic, is something that is quite painful.
There is no doubt that we are staggering in the darkness and, without international football to provide us with that relief, it has been a very difficult time.
After all, the best moments, in my adventure, came in tours of duty with the Warriors.
Not all of the tours were good ones and, one in Ghana, in particular, in 1997, almost ended with me being dragged into the first plane out of Accra, on deportation orders.
On the flight to Accra, virtually all the Warriors, with the exception of Norman Mapeza, didn’t want to talk to me.
They were united, in their fury and their hatred of everything I represented.
To them I wasn’t an ally but a rogue and relentless critic of the team, which had lost its way, from the high points scaled during the Dream Team era.
Ian Porterfield, a Scotsman who was exactly the opposite of the fireball that was Reinhard Fabisch, was in charge of the Warriors.
But, he appeared overwhelmed by the weight of the mission and his tactics were as ineffective as the way his game plan was defective.
He had taken Chipolopolo to the final of the ’94 AFCON, where they lost 1-2 to Nigeria, in what was a Cinderella adventure for the Zambians.
But, what succeeds on the northern parts of the Zambezi don’t necessarily work out on the southern parts.
Porterfield didn’t like me either.
It’s because he couldn’t understand how a journalist, from a country he felt was an inferior nation, when it comes to football, could poke holes and find faults in his methods of madness.
Now and again he would remind me, whenever we met, that he had been in the game, either as a player or a coach, since 1964, when he joined Scottish side Raith Rovers.
He would remind me that he was the Wembley hero, during the ’73 FA Cup, when his golden goal helped Sunderland shock an All-Star Leeds United side.
When the English Premiership era began, he would tell me, I shouldn’t forget that he was even handed the big job of head coach at Chelsea.
And, when I told him that he shouldn’t also forget that he also made history, for all the wrong reasons, as the first manager to be sacked by a Premiership club, after Chelsea went 12 games without a win at the start of ’93, he effectively didn’t want to talk to me anymore.
Ten years after our flight to Ghana, Porterfield died, on September 11, 2007, at the age of 61.
It was a dark period for the Warriors and it was around this time when the guys at ZIFA hired Rudi Gutendorf.
His name is in the Guinness Book of Records for coaching 55 teams, in 32 countries, spread across five continents.
He was 69, when he arrived here and had been coaching for 40 years, with his first job as a gaffer having some in 1955, at Swiss club, Blue Stars Zurich.
To suggest he was hopeless would be an insult to this word and, in my little book, he just beats Loga, by a whisker, as the worst foreign coach to ever take charge of the Warriors.
He died on September 13, 2019, at the ripe age of 93.
Dubbed Restless Rudi, for his globetrotting, Gutendorf has been resting, somewhere in heaven, for the past three years.
That’s the place where the souls of many of those, who were the Warriors’ stars in the ’90s, now reside.
Benjamin Nkonjera died at the turn of the millennium, at a very young age, Mercedes Sibanda followed too, during that horrible period.
Adamski died in a car crash.
I shed tears, like a kid, when I attended the Willard Mashinkila-Khumalo funeral in Bulawayo because it was hard, if not impossible, to accept that this was the final goodbye.
My final interaction with the lifeless Nduna, in his final journey from this garden of the living, was a very tough one, and it’s something I will never forget.
IT IS WHAT IT IS
I know, there will be a lot of disappointed people today, battling to accept that we have come to the end of the road.
But, I can tell you that while I understand the disappointment, we have to embrace the reality that, in life, some things are just meant to be.
I’m from the old school, those who believe our paths in life follow a certain predetermined route.
Don’t ask me how fate has been coming up with that little voice, telling me, that this should be the end of the life of this blog.
If you want to ask me this question, please fist explain to me how:
· Paul Scholes managed to score in his first game for Manchester United, scored in his 100th game, scored in his 200th game, scored in his 300th game, scored in his 400th game, scored in his 500th game and scored in his 700th game for the Red Devils? Of course, in his 200th game, it was an own goal, but isn’t that still something that just blows you off your mind?
Atletico Madrid won the Europa League in 2010, in the same year Bayern Munich finished as runners-up in the Champions League, Spain won the World Cup, Manchester United finished second in the Premier League, Chelsea were FA Cup winners, Tottenham finished fourth and Portsmouth were relegated from the Premiership?
Two years later, Atletico again won the Europa League, Bayern Munich were again runners-up in the Champions League, United were runners-up in the Premier League, Spain were champions of Europe, Chelsea again won the FA Cup, Portsmouth were relegated from the Championship and Spurs once again finished fourth?
It was possible that Manchester United would appoint a Scottish manager, John Chapman, in 1921 and appoint another Scottish manager, David Moyes, in 2013 and, on both occasions, the Red Devils lost 1-4 at Manchester City, lost by one goal to Liverpool, drew 0-0 against Chelsea, lost by one goal at home to West Bromwich Albion, beat Sunderland and drew their eighth match 1-1?
Arsenal’s best manager in the Premiership era had to be called Arsene, the first manager to win the Premiership title with Man City had to be called Mancini, David Beckham, known for whipping in dangerous crosses during his career, had to be born at Whipps Cross University Hospital?
And, if you can explain all that, then why is it that the difference, in age, between Messi and Ronaldo is 869 days, and that is also the same difference, in age, between their two sons?
I will miss you all, especially the guy who, as is typical in today’s digital world, goes by the adopted name of @fibionic, who told me he only received a single letter, from home, during his, or her, high school days.
“I received only one letter when I was in High School,” the reader tweeted. “The letter was from my dad – it was a newspaper cutting of your article. It should have been ‘The Tale of Three Brothers.’ I loved your articles and he thought I shouldn’t miss that one.”
I’m not sure whether this is a betrayal of the soul of the late Stephen Chifunyise, the legendary playwright and cultural icon, who succumbed to cancer at his home in Vainona in August 2019.
Everyone called him Uncle Steve and he was a UNESCO cultural expert.
There is no question that he was a better writer than me and his over 70 plays provide testimony to that.
In January 2019, just seven months before his death, Uncle Steve decided to pen what was, effectively a farewell note, to me:
“Dear Robson,
“I was surprised this morning to find ‘Sharuko On Saturday’ in The Saturday Herald. I had given up the search for months. I just could not believe that you had stopped writing the column.
“I am one of the millions of readers of The Saturday Herald who were attached to the paper by ‘Sharuko On Saturday.’
“The absence of your column was devastating, I missed so much of your lessons about life explained mainly through sports events, personalities and recollections on incidents and encounters you faced.
“You, and The Herald, may have not realised that your column adds a lot of value to the newspaper and that its absence reduces the significance of The Saturday Herald.
“You see, on Saturday I can read ‘Sharuko on Saturday’ so many times just to enjoy your style of presentation of fairly tough issues in a manner all readers will not mind your critical outlook because of the lessons on life contained in the writing.
“Please continue writing. You are not writing for yourself, but for us.”
Well, I’m sorry Uncle Steve, we have to bring the show to an end today, because it was meant to be.
On Tuesday, I will mark 30 years of service at this newspaper, the only place I have worked all my life.
On May 18, 1997, at the age of 30, Eric Cantona, probably my greatest footballer of all-time, retired at the age of 30.
So, what next?
Well, it doesn’t matter because the Lord is my Shepherd.
That’s Psalm 23 and, well, after 23 years of this blog it’s time to say THANK YOU AND GOODBYE.
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!
Text Feedback 0772545199
WhatsApp 0772545199
Email – [email protected]
You can also interact with me on Twitter (@Chakariboy), Facebook, Instagram (sharukor) and Skype (sharuko58) and GamePlan, the authoritative football magazine show on ZTV, where I interact with the legendary Charles “CNN” Mabika, is back every Wednesday night at 9.30pm
Online Reporter