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Sharuko On Saturday
THEY say there’s a time to come and a time to go and, I think, my time to go has come.
The timing couldn’t be better.
In roughly about six weeks, God willing, I will mark 30 years in the brutal trenches of this adventure called journalism.
It’s a special number.
That’s the age, according to the Bible, when Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour, started to publicly preach the gospel.
If you doubt that, then read Luke 3 verse 23.
As much as the number represents the start of the mission, in which our sins would be forgiven and our souls saved, it also represents the sacrificial blood of Jesus.
Jesus was betrayed by Judas for just 30 pieces of silver coins.
At the age of 30, John the Baptist, also began his ministry.
“Part of the meaning, of the number 30, comes from it symbolising dedication to a particular task or calling,” says the Bible Study website.
There are scores of guys, who were my schoolmates, who actually believe that journalism was a calling that I had.
I’m not sure about that because I have always believed, growing up as a kid, that I would be either a lawyer or a pilot.
In the event all this failed, I would tell myself that I would become part of the Mafia, some sort of a Godfather, issuing the orders and making all the big calls, in the underground.
A proper gangster like Don Vito Corleone, forever immortalised by Marlon Brando, like Michael Corleone, forever immortalised by Al Pacino.
But, rather than drag me into the dark world of the likes of John Gotti, Paul Castellano, Carlo Gambino, Joe Bonano and Joseph Colombo, fate took me into the light of journalism.
I call it an adventure because I don’t think there are many professions in this world, which can take you around the world, the way journalism does.
For a simple guy from Chakari, a place time appeared to have left behind during our childhood, to have covered the length, and breadth of this planet, has been both a privilege and a dream come true.
I was just 22, when this grand old newspaper took a gamble on me as the latest member of its Sports Desk.
The previous year, The Herald had celebrated its century and, now, the Old Lady of newspapers in this country, was marching into a new era.
On November 1, 1992, the journey started.
It’s the month, and year, which Manchester United fans, of a certain age, will probably also claim that’s when their journey, to the most successful period in their history, also started.
Why?
That’s when Eric Cantona arrived from Leeds and, as history has recorded, everything changed and the Red Devils, inspired by the Frenchman, became serial league winners.
United had not won the league for 26 years and, by the time the King Eric deal was sealed, they had failed to win in their last seven matches and were 10th on the table.
With Eric conducting the orchestra, United would lose just two of their remaining league games and, when it was all over in May, ’93, they were champions, with a comprehensive 10-point cushion.
The start of the English Premiership, Peter Ndlovu making history as the first African to feature in the league, outsiders Denmark winning Euro, at a tournament they had initially failed to qualify for – it all unfolded in ’92.
It was the year Michael Jordan and his Dream Team came to the Olympics, in Barcelona, and transformed the global appeal of basketball.
What MJ and his colleagues didn’t know was that they also inspired us and, in ’92, we had our own Dream Team revolution in full swing.
That’s the year that Bafana Bafana came to the National Sports Stadium and were handed a proper lesson in real football, something alien to their fantasy Shu-Shine piano, with the Dream Team winning 4-1, in an AFCON qualifier.
Mauritius were also beaten, in their backyard, thanks to a goal from Rahman Gumbo and Togo also lost, thanks to a goal from Adam Ndlovu.
But, the real big result for us, that year, was our 2-1 win over the Pharaohs of Egypt, just five days before Christmas, on December 20, ’92.
There were, at least, 60 000 fans at the National Sports Stadium, in those days of the Dream Team, Christmas holidays could wait, watching our amazing boys in action was the only fashionable thing in town.
Peter was on target again and so was Agent Sawu, the man whose goal-scoring run for the Dream Team set a new benchmark for Warriors forwards, and shattered records along the way.
It was a powerful Pharaohs team, which had featured at the Italia World Cup, two years earlier, and which was targeting qualifying for the next showcase, in the virgin territory of the United States, two years later.
WHAT AN AMAZING ADVENTURE
In 1991, the Egyptians had got their first glimpse of Reinhard Fabisch, from close quarters, in Cairo, when he took charge of the Young Warriors, at the All-Africa Games.
They should have known, during that tournament, that we were a nation with a promising bunch of young players, who were coming up through the ranks, and were likely to boost our senior team, very soon.
After all, those Young Warriors beat the Young Pharaohs 3-2, in their All-Africa Games group game, and qualified ahead of the hosts, for the semi-finals of that tournament.
Tunisia were their semi-final opponents and, after all sorts of dirty tricks were employed, the brave Young Warriors were defeated, slumping to a 0-3 defeat.
But, the Young Warriors would have their sweet revenge, in probably the greatest Olympics Games football qualifier, ever played on African soil.
Tunisia won their home leg 3-1 but, in a performance which was the closest thing to purity, when it comes to attacking football, Peter and his Young Warriors powered to a 5-2 demolition of the North Africans, at Barbourfields.
The 6-5 aggregate victory remains one of our game’s sweetest moments.
And, even though the Young Warriors would lose 1-4, on aggregate, to Egypt, in the final qualifier, it couldn’t dilute memories of the Tunisian destruction.
In such a beautiful environment, in which our football was not only breathing but walking with a spring in its step, with both the Young Warriors and Warriors in full flight, my adventure on this newspaper, and in this industry, got underway.
With the passage of time, I would get really close to Peter Ndlovu, including having dinner with him in England, when it was still his base, and we became a strong bond of brothers.
There was a clear sense of respect, from me, for the way the Flying Elephant was carrying the burden of his nation, in football terms, to try and drag us to the Promised Land, where we had never been before.
There was also a clear sense of respect, from him, for the role I was also playing, in terms of selling the public the vision, and instilling the confidence that a rainbow of hope was on the horizon.
The respect subsists to this day, all these decades later, the journalist and the captain, the brothers from the little country which has always punched above its weight in whatever field one can choose.
Incredibly, even in Formula One, we are now providing this high-stakes complicated industry with its latest generation of engineers.
The latest one is Samantha Nyikadzino, who has joined the Mercedes-AMG Petronas Team as the Electronics Design Engineer.
In 2003, Peter provided both the leadership, and the inspiration, as the Warriors finally ended a lengthy wait for their maiden appearance at the AFCON finals.
And, as the football gods would have it, our orientation and introduction to the big boys of African football would be held in Tunisia.
The very country which Peter and his colleagues had destroyed, shattering its dreams to qualify for the ’92 Olympic Games, in spectacular, and emphatic fashion, one unforgettable day in the City of Kings.
But, the player I really liked the most, in that collection of magicians who made up the Dream Team, was Benjamin Nkonjera.
Even today, his black-and-white photo, in full combat kit at the National Sports Stadium, remains stuck on my office wall, just behind my desk, to provide the link to a place, and time, when he served his nation with both courage and style.
There is a smile on his handsome face, which was something he appeared to carry all the time, a young man with the body of a jockey but the fighting spirit of a lion.
He was the heartbeat of the Dream Team, a fierce warrior who took no prisoners, who never let his diminutive frame frighten him from some of the greatest of midfield battles.
Too bad he died young but neither death, nor the changing seasons, can wash away the memories of what he did for our cause, as a nation, on Africa’s football fields.
Ephraim Chawanda, the Rock of Gibraltar who was the captain of the Dream Team, says Benjie was the first name, always, on Fabisch’s team sheet.
That’s what happens when you have a tiger in your pack.
IT WAS GOOD WHILE IT LASTED
Exactly 20 years ago, this month, on September 8, 2022, Lazarus Muhoni scored the solitary goal to guide the Warriors to a 1-0 win over the Eagles of Mali at the giant stadium.
He had been an unlikely candidate for a place in the starting XI but rewarded his coach, for his confidence in him, with the goal which made all the difference.
Peter provided the cross, which Muhoni converted.
The following month, Peter scored the only goal as Sunday Chidzambwa’s men edged Eritrea 1-0 in Asmara for their second in their first two matches.
By the time November arrived, the Warriors were leading their 2004 AFCON qualifying group, with a perfect record of six points, from their two matches.
For an all-weather fan, who was marking the 10th anniversary of my journalism adventure, back then in November 2002, I could not have asked for a better present.
Eight months later, on July 6, 2003, we were celebrating our maiden ticket to the Nations Cup finals after Sierra Leone’s 0-2 defeat in Gabon, meant we had squeezed through as the best of the runners-up.
We had 13 points, just as Mali who had qualified as the winners of our group, and this meant any suggestions that we went through via the backdoor were a combination of foolishness and madness.
In our last qualifier, a 2-0 win over Eritrea, Peter scored both goals.
And the Flying Elephant, who would score our first three goals at the Nations Cup finals, was 30, when we finally secured our ticket to the showcase.
So, today, on the eve of the 30th anniversary of the day I arrived at Herald House, it is my privilege and honour to advise that this is the beginning of the LONG KISS GOODBYE!
The beginning of the end.
For the last 23 years, we have met, every Saturday, on this space, as blogger and reader, talking about football.
In a way, ‘Sharuko on Saturday,’ or ‘SOS,’ as many now call it, has become a part of my life, a way of life for me, a forum which has given me an identity, as that guy from Chakari.
It has given me thousands of friends, including some I will never meet, and a good chunk of enemies, especially the misbehaving football leaders, and the people they crowd source, to defend their failings.
This blog has taught me a lot.
It has taught me the priceless value of humility and to acknowledge that no one in this world is perfect and to apologise to those who would have been hurt, for no apparent reason, by my writings.
It has taught me not only to be factual but also to be fair.
To celebrate, on the occasions that we do well, and to criticise, without fear or whatever, on the occasions that we come short.
It has taught me to love, to smile, to be warm, to be considerate.
To be exemplary, to read as widely as possible, and to always push myself to the limit, to try and do better than what I did last week.
And, even more importantly, to believe in God.
To appreciate that there is nothing special about me and I am just a lucky guy from a gold mining town, who was handed a big break by the Lord, and ended up being a huge part of our national game’s narrative.
A very lucky boy from the compound (kukomboni), who fate smiled at and, at the end of the day, ended up sharing the stage, on national television, with the legendary Charles ‘CNN’ Mabika.
But, everything that flies must land and, at some point, the adventure has to come to an end.
I felt it would have been unfair to just bombard you with an announcement, on the day that I write the final article in the life of this column, that it was all over.
So, in the next SIX weeks, God willing, I will use the opportunity to gradually ease myself to my final edition, in the life and times of ‘Sharuko On Saturday,’ which will be published on October 29.
That’s the closest day to November 1, in the year of our Lord 2022 when, Inshalla, I will mark 30 years at this grand old lady of Zimbabwe’s newspapers.
It was good while it lasted.
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!
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