Online Reporter
Sharuko on Saturday
THIRTY three – it’s a number so special that it even represents the Holy Trinity.
The Law of Moses required 33 days for ceremonial cleansing, the Islamic prayer beads are generally arranged in sets of 33 and the human spine has 33 vertebral bones.
The atomic number of Arsenic is 33.
They call it the perfect poison and it was used for the assassination of Napoleon Bonaparte.
In religion, they say the number 33 is connected to certain promises made by God.
The 33rd time you read Noah’s name in the Bible is when God makes a special promise to him that He will not destroy the world again with a flood.
The numeric representation of the Star of David is the number 33.
Thirty three is a record of all the places the Camp of Israel travelled during their 40 years in the wilderness.
The divine name of God, Elohim, appears 33 times in Genesis’ story of creation and 33 is also the numeric equivalent of the word “Amen.” The 33rd person in Jesus’ lineage from Adam is King David.
Jesus was 33 when He was crucified in the 18th year of Tiberius.
In the NBA, 33 is the number of the jersey which its legends – Kareem Abdul-Jabber, Larry Bird and Patrick Ewing – wore.
It’s an iconic number, just like what the number 7 jersey was at Manchester United, before the Glazers, the American version of the Marriot family, reduced my team into some form of a European Karoi United.
So, what the hell is all this about the number 33?
Well, this is my 33rd year in the trenches of this profession, on the payroll of this grand old newspaper organisation, doing exactly what I have been doing since I first put pen to paper, as a Form 2 kid, and wrote a football match report which appeared in a regional newspaper.
The newspaper was called the North Midlands Gazette, it was owned by the Kidias family, quite a wealthy family which ran a retail chain, and it was published every Friday.
Its star reporters included the late Lovemore Musharavati, who would later become my workmate here, and the late Jabes Lefani, a long-time sports correspondent of this newspaper.
Probably the finest kind-hearted person you can ever come across, we nicknamed Jabes Tongai Moyo because he loved flashy clothing, including green and yellow suits.
His death still haunts us, the friends he left behind, as he committed suicide in March 2016, by throwing himself under a moving vehicle in Kadoma, which crushed him.
A few weeks earlier, he had tried to do the same, but failed.
Wilfred Mugeyi was the Soccer Star of the Year when I started this adventure, Black Aces were the champions, but now they have disappeared from geography and they are only found in the history books.
And every step of his journey from childhood in Egypt to transforming himself as the greatest African footballer to ever grace the English Premiership has been the story of my time in the trenches of journalism – in terms of time.
That was also the year Sadio Mane was born and the year Mario Gotze, who 11 years ago scored the goal which won Germany the World Cup at the expense of Lionel Messi and Argentina, was also born.
So, you can see that it’s been quite an adventure and there have been some good times and there have also been some bad times but, crucially, all the time, God was there walking with me.
Like Liverpool, I never walked alone.
SOME BATTLES ARE WORTH FIGHTING
The other day, I asked myself – what do I want to be my legacy, the one thing that people will remember me for when this adventure finally comes to an end?
Yes, I know they will remember I was the guy from Chakari.
The man who was fiercely proud of his roots even though, in reality, we are just a poor and ordinary community many had never heard about before I started bringing the name of my hometown on these pages.
But, that’s not enough.
There are hundreds of people who have written to me saying that through this blog, and some of my other articles, they managed to pass their English tests.
But, again, that’s not enough.
What about being remembered as the journalist who played a very big part in the resolution of the saga at Dynamos and, in the end, ensured that the ownership of the club was finally transferred to its rightful owners – its supporters?
That sounds cool, doesn’t it?
I have written more articles about DeMbare, Highlanders and CAPS United than all the clubs combined in my three decades in these trenches.
And, I’m not ashamed of that because I believe that these three clubs are the heart and soul of football on the domestic scene and when they sneeze, the whole landscape catches a cold.
Bosso, who are turning 100 next year, have not won the league championship in 19 years.
The great fairytale, maybe, would be the club finally ending their lengthy wait for the league championship by securing the title in the year they celebrate their Centenary.
But, Bosso have some order, they have a clear structure of leadership, they have an immovable property, their club house, and they are not haunted by regular fights for the control of the club.
Everyone at the club knows who owns Highlanders – its members, who are representing its supporters.
Even King Lobengula’s grandchildren – Albert and Rhodes – who established this club never pretended that they were the owners of Highlanders.
They knew that they were establishing a football club that would be owned by its people, its members, its supporters and that is what has kept Bosso going.
That is what has kept Bosso connected to its support base because every kid in Makokoba, Luveve or Mpopoma has this feeling that he or she has a stake in this club.
They feel it is their property, their heritage, igugulethu, their inheritance, the one thing that their fathers passed to them and the one thing they will also pass to their kids.
Sadly, the same cannot be said about Dynamos which has been transformed into a personal ATM for the Marriot family.
If, in a small way, during this twilight of my career, I help the real owners of DeMbare, its fans, get back what belongs to them, then my legacy will be done.
FORGIVE HARRY, HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT HE IS DOING
I know it won’t be easy – the threats are everywhere and I deal with them on a daily basis, without any fear because where I come from we are told that fear is the cousin of death.
The other day I asked one of the most celebrated Dynamos sons why they were not leading a movement to get back their club from Marriot and his reply shocked me.
He said he didn’t want to die because too many people have died simply because they were trying to fight in this grand old battle.
He said he was actually surprised that I was still in one piece, given the way that I have been very vocal against the way DeMbare have lost their way since Marriot took over.
Well, someone has to take the risk because only the truth shall set us free.
Dynamos is a national asset and we can’t just watch while one man, and his family, drags it to its grave.
They claim to be owners, while they are investing nothing, and taking everything, from the shell that remains of what used to be the people’s club.
How can an owner of a football club as big as Dynamos depend on its gate-takings for him to pay for his DStv subscription every month of the year? While other owners are pumping millions of dollars into their clubs, Marriot is taking US$92 every month for his DStv subscription and taking home a tax-free US$1 000 salary.
Let’s not even dare go into the thousands of dollars, disguised as payments for sangomas, which end up in the pockets of individuals instead of the n’angas.
Marriot’s son Harry was on social media this week mocking the fans who organised the boycott of the Harare Derby as failures because a sizable number of fans turned up for that match.
But, what do we expect from Harry?
Yes, some Dynamos fans went to watch the match because they could not resist the magic of the Derby, but it was quite clear that this was not the normal DeMbare crowd, especially for such a big match.
The CAPS fans, as they have been doing this year, came in numbers and out of the 8622 fans who paid to watch the Derby at Rufaro, the DeMbare fans, in my analysis, were not more than 3 000. Maybe Harry also knows that and that’s why one of his posters read – Dynamos 3, Boycott 0.
What he didn’t realise was that, in a way, he was also mocking his father’s team which has scored just three goals, including a penalty and an own goal from an opponent, in a dozen games.
If I was Harry, and I saw myself as the one who would inherit the throne and become the Dynamos owner when my father dies, I would actually be worried about the slow and painful death of my property.
I would be worried that in May 2023, this same Derby attracted 18 500 fans who paid their way into the stadium.
I would be worried that in July 2012, this same Derby attracted 26 678 fans who paid their way into the stadium.
I would be worried that in just 13 years, this same Derby has lost a THIRD of the constituency which used to flock and watch it.
For me, that would be more important than mocking fans who really flexed their muscles and achieved their goal.
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 Warriors!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Khamaldinhoooooooooooooooooo!
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