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ON Wednesday night, in a stadium whose pathetic playing surface would have made Mwana Africa’s Potato Field look like Soccer City, a group of Warriors found a way to rekindle a romantic attachment with their fans that had long slipped into hibernation.
So bad was that playing surface, at the Wad Medani Stadium that Wednesday night, one could be forgiven for believing that it had hosted a festival of cattle rustlers, just the day before the Warriors’ game, showing off their prized assets.
There was something about that hearty performance, especially in that storming second half show, which made it difficult to resist the charms of those home-based Warriors and find a way to forgive them and, crucially, to love them once again.
Forgiving them for the way they somehow conspired to lose a game that they had controlled for long periods, against Niger, and send our proud unbeaten record in the African Nations Championships up in smoke.
Forgiving them for the way they had conspired to somehow find the width of the goal frame, itself a tougher task than hitting the target presented by the open space between the two posts, on a couple of occasions in that game against Niger when all that we needed was a goal.
Forgiving them for bringing back a flood of memories of the last, and only time we had failed to score at the CHAN finals, when a goalless draw in a group match against Libya sent us home from Cote d’Ivoire two years ago when a single goal could have taken us into the semi-finals.
Forgiving them for becoming only the third group of Warriors, to fail to score in a CHAN match, with Valinhos and his crew becoming the first in our very first game against Namibia at Gwanzura and Sunday Chidzambwa and his men firing blanks against Libya in Cote d’Ivoire.
We fell in love with them on Wednesday night because, in the warmth of their brave performance, we found room for romance again and in the beauty of their victory we found our pride as a nation of Warriors.
In those 90 minutes at the Wad Medani Stadium, whose pitch was so bad it was more of a surface for bull-fighting than football, the Warriors gave us back our respect as a football nation, as a people who love football and as a country that has embraced this sport as its national game.
In just one-and-half hours of bravery, of belief, of commitment and of passion, Madinda Ndlovu and his men gave a touch of respect to the brand of the Warriors whose soul had been tortured in the past year, full of wild events, in which they had descended from a respectable national team to mercenaries accused of selling their soul for pieces of silver.
For this was a team, they told us, that would never win matches because all that it did was sell its soul to a gang of illegal bookies who kept telling them that there were rich pickings in losing rather than winning and getting the honour that comes with success.
This was a team, they had told us, which had been invaded by match-fixing agents, and that its skipper Washington Arubi ended up on a flight to a controversial tour of Asia, appeared to arm those who preached the gospel that banking on them to win was as fruitless as trying to extract milk from a football.
This was a team whose coach had been chosen through a process that not only turned controversial, but split the country’s football family along regional lines, and as Norman Mapeza eased into the background — having been punched into submission by a national football leadership that didn’t like him — he took with him thousands of sympathisers.
It sounds funny, doesn’t it, but there was quite a sizeable number of people who probably didn’t want the Warriors to win in Sudan, not because they are not patriotic Zimbabweans, but simply because they believe such poor results would hammer home their point that the whole process that brought the current technical team was flawed.
The letters that have been flooding the newspapers, most of them clearly attacking Madinda following the loss against Niger, are testimony of the stormy relationship that still exists between a sizeable number of fans and the current Warriors, especially their coaching staff.
Going through those letters, it became evident that there was more to it than just Madinda’s presence as head of the coaching staff of these Warriors, and the continued coverage of what a Sunday newspaper dubbed the “Who You Know” ticket, of getting a place on the team’s technical staff, has only helped to whip emotions.
On Wednesday night Madinda and his Warriors let their football do the talking and the message that came from their 1-0 win over Ghana was so powerful it silenced their critics, gave them some breathing space to plot their next move without pressure and, crucially, gave their nation a reason to smile in a game that has been tormented by ugly headlines.
History will record that Madinda was the first coach to lose a CHAN match for the Warriors, which is good ammunition for his army of critics, but the same history books will also record that he was also the first coach to win a match at the CHAN finals in charge of this team.
That is the beauty of sport, isn’t it, in that it produces statistics which helps to give both sides of the story.
That I wasn’t a fan of Madinda to take over as Warriors coach is well documented and that I was a harsh critic of the way Mapeza was, in my opinion so ill-treated it was hard to believe this was the same man who had not only captained the Warriors but also coached them with an impressive success ratio, is also there in the archives.
But last Saturday, a few hours before Madinda and his Warriors had plunged into their first match against Niger, I made the conversion into a supporter, for the sake of my country, and threw all my weight behind the coach and his team.
I made it clear that I didn’t want to wait for the games to be played, because that would be unfair, and was taking the plunge and leaving my destiny in the hands of fate and the football gods who would decide how I would be remembered in the context of this mission.
I knew it would cost me a few friends, and their reaction either through text messages or through e-mails was clear that I had turned into something close to a Judas Iscariot, but — given my faith in what I was doing — I believed that it was worth losing them.
On Wednesday night I felt proud to have made the conversion to back this coach and his team, to see beyond the petty issues that divide us and embrace the big issues that unite us as Zimbabweans, to see our national flag where others were seeing regional demarcations, to see our national pride where others were seeing boardroom wars and to salute my country Zimbabwe.
Super, Super Warriors’ Result
What was significant about the Warriors’ 1-0 win over Ghana on Wednesday night was that it was the first victory, in a competitive game, by the team since the explosion of Asiagate and the investigations that followed.
Yes, they had beaten Mozambique 3-1 in Maputo, but that was a mere friendly international.
The game on Wednesday was the real stuff — a nation putting its name on the bloc, a group of Warriors battling to justify that it was right for public funds to be used to support their cause and fund their trip to Sudan and a team fighting to repair its battered image.
What happened on Wednesday was crucial because it crushed that mountain of doubt, about this team’s focus on winning matches, and — in just 90 minutes of hard work — they found a way to repair the bond of trust with their fans that had been shattered by the events of the past few months.
They destroyed the myth that had developed among their critics, who considered them to be nothing but a group of match-fixing merchants who would never see the value of the honour in winning for their flag, and — in just 90 minutes of hard work — they found their innocence.
They found a way to put a positive spin into their camp and let their results do the talking rather the speculation that would have swirled around this country had they failed to win that game with Denver Mukamba missing all those clear-cut chances that fell his way.
They found a way to unite their nation, which had been split by the nightmare which plagued their camp with the gospel of regional bias being preached now and again, and as the celebrations rang around Zimbabwe on Wednesday night, they didn’t have the colour or tone of a specific region.
They found a way to build the bridges, after the football writers had shamelessly split their football family, by selecting Soccer Stars based not on the strength of what the players did on the field in the past season but because of which teams they played for, which city they lived and who were their friends on Facebook.
Arubi was commanding in the last line of defence, marshalling his troops like a true captain and showing some of us why, after all, we were right to believe that he was the best player in the country last year and why the decision to deny him his honour was diabolical.
For some time now we have been looking for the Gilbert Mapemba of the 2009 Cosafa Senior Challenge Cup tournament, that rightback who played his game with a swagger, who allowed his attacking instincts to come to the fore and was encouraged to do that at every turn by Mhofu who has always believed in the wingback in his old 3-5-2 formation and who turned into one of the star players of that campaign.
Somewhere along the way we lost that Gidza, he disappeared in the mayhem of publicity that followed him, he thought he had become a superstar who could do nothing wrong, his game suffered badly and his confidence was blown away.
Where Gidza had stood out at the Cosafa tournament as a wingback we could trust, we now had a caricature of Gilbert Mapemba it was certainly hard to trust him, either with the defensive or offensive responsibilities that his position demands, unless you were a family member or that die-hard CAPS United fan who sees no evil, hears no evil and speaks no evil about his players.
Where Gidza had roamed the flanks with conviction, and terrorised opponents on those wings, he was now a shadow of that confident player and it was very clear to everyone who cared that something wrong had happened to the Gilbert Mapemba we knew.
On Wednesday night, especially in that second half, we saw glimpses of the old Gilbert Mapemba and his strong performance — when he had been moved forward to fill the space left by Joel Ngodzo — was as good a show from him as we have seen since November 2009.
That Qadr Amini is a future star, and a possible future Warriors’ skipper, is not in doubt and the latest, in a long line of brilliant leftbacks to be produced by this country, pushed his stock a notch higher with a solid performance in Sudan on Wednesday.
Guthrie Zhokinyi and Nyasha Mukumbi were expected to be solid and they didn’t disappoint while Brian Mapfumo once again justified why we were right to have launched that fierce protest against the composition of Madinda’s initial squad which we felt had not done justice to the quality of the players that we had in the Premiership.
Eric Mudzingwa played with his heart and soul, a true ambassador for his country, and must have clocked the highest number of kilometers in a tireless midfield performance in which he was hungry for success and did not let his small frame turn into his handicap in a bruising battle against the bigger Ghanaian opponents.
Joel Ngodzo found a lot of possession, drove forward now and again, but it became increasingly clear that his game, based on keeping the ball on the ground and confusing the opponents with the talent that he appears to have in abundance, was not suited for this ragged minefield of a playing pitch.
But Joel has age on his side and he will learn to adjust his game to suit the conditions.
Denver Mukamba, boy oh boy, played like a veteran and it’s sad that all that we will remember from his performance on Wednesday night were the two good chances that he missed, first shooting weakly and then directing his effort wide with the goalkeeper at his mercy on both occasions.
Norman Maroto held his line well, played for his team, understood his responsibility leading the attack, pressurised the opposition with his pace and generally did better than both Clive Kawinga and Charles Sibanda who had played in the first game.
Crucially, Maroto floated the cross from deep down the right side of the channel, which Gutu glanced home for the priceless goal.
Archieford Gutu Earns His Stripes
For some of us who have spent the better part of this off-season singing in Achieford Gutu’s corner, asking for his critics to give him space to play the only game that can provide food on his family’s table, his performance on Wednesday night was so refreshing we felt like he was playing for us just to tell us that our efforts would not go unnoticed.
After weeks of his age being the talking point, rather than his football, it felt good to see Gutu doing what he knows best.
There will always be questions about Gutu’s age and I have always maintained that he is not 17, and turning 18, as his official birth records show but, whatever is his age, he is certainly not over 22 years and submissions by his Cranborne High headmaster, which showed that he never repeated any level between Form One and Form Four, which he completed in 2007, appears to support that.
But what can’t be questioned is that Gutu is simply brilliant, when it comes to playing football, and there were patches of his play on Wednesday night that told the story of a genius hard at work.
What has impressed me most about Archie is that he has not been drowned by the controversy that has followed him and neither has he let it affect his game and you need a very strong mind to be able to do all that.
Someone else in his position would probably have given up, wondering whether the world was against him, considering that he lost both his parents at a very young age and was forced into a breadwinner for his family before his time was ripe.
But Archie has soldiered on and there were glimpses of wizardry, in his five-star performance on Wednesday night, in which he controlled the midfield with the touch of a veteran, even on a pitch that was hostile to his talents, and he played the game to his rhythm.
He was not fazed with being promoted into the starting XI and being thrown deep into the middle, where it all happens, and playing just behind Maroto as the most advanced of the midfielders that Madinda threw into action.
Instead he relished the challenge and let his talents illuminate the Sudanese skyline, pushing his team forward every time he was in possession, and, crucially, he was in the right place and position to head the priceless goal that made all the difference.
It’s easy to ignore the technical awareness that saw him move into that central attacking position, once Maroto had drifted wide on the right flank, and when you have been asked to play the supporting striker’s role, you can’t do it any better — in terms of tactical discipline — than the way Gutu did at that crucial moment of the game.
On a normal move, he was supposed to be the one who was chasing the ball down the channel wide on that right flank rather than Maroto.
But given that the attack had moved quickly, forcing Maroto to go wide, Gutu had the presence of mind to realise that he needed to fill the void that had been left by the chief striker in that central striking position.
So when the ball was lifted across the goal, Gutu was there and his connection was superb, giving the goalkeeper no chance.
The sudden explosion of emotions, as he celebrated that goal, painted a picture of relief.
Relief that he had finally scored his first goal, in a competitive match, for his country in the senior national team colours.
Relief that he had justified his coach’s belief in him, to give him that role to support the out-and-out striker, and repaid him with the goal that had made the difference.
Relief that the headlines in the newspapers the next day would be all out by his goal, and the possible victory that it could give the Warriors, rather than the dark side of allegations that he is an age-cheating wizard.
Relief that should they win that night, his image in the newspapers back home the next day would be about his contribution to his nation, rather than those images that followed every story when he was accused as an age-cheating wizard.
Relief that finally he could count himself in the company of the big boys, could tell everyone who cared to listen that he scored for the Warriors, and noone would now question when people say that he is a bright prospect for the country.
Two weeks ago the Gutu age controversy had split the country, and Alois Bunjira had received a lot of hate mail for his brave decision to write in support of this young man, simply because the midfielder was being viewed in the context of his club Dynamos.
There were a couple of fellows who also wrote to me, after I had also supported Gutu, wondering if this young man would have received the same level of sympathy if he wasn’t playing for the Glamour Boys.
The refreshing thing about Bunjira’s support for Gutu was that it wasn’t coming from the Dynamos corner, given that the former Warriors’ forward has constantly reminded all of us that he remains a CAPS United man through-and-through, who is now in charge of marketing the Green Machine brand.
It was simply based on the fact that Bunjira, having played for the Zimbabwe Under-23, had long realised that we appear to have a problem, as a nation, in trying to pull each other down and worry too much on issues that certainly don’t take us forward.
Alois didn’t advocate for us to cheat, for players to tamper with their ages, for players to change their birth certificates and appear to be younger than their actual age.
What Bunjira simply said was that the playing field, when it comes to junior national teams, was not level in Africa and he found it interesting that the Nigerian side, loaded with over-aged players, became the toast of the continent when it won the Olympic Games gold medal in Atlanta. Noone talked about their ages.
Noone, too, remembered the innocent Zimbabwe Under-23 team, of which Bunjira was a player, which the Nigerians beat in the final qualifying round of their journey to the United States.
At least Fifa is different.
The world football governing body realised that Zimbabwe was the only country that sent a true Under-17 national team at the African Youth Championships in Algeria two years ago, and for that we were rewarded with a ticket to represent Africa at the inaugural World Youth Olympics in Singapore.
Archieford Gutu will not stop people accusing him of being a cheat but the more that he turns on performances like the one he showed us on Wednesday night, in the colours of his national team, then the more that he will force people to talk about his talent than his                   age.
Diego Maradona was a hopeless individual, when it came to drug abuse, but he forced people to talk about his talent because he was so good on the field and              brilliant in the colours of his fatherland that he single-handedly drove Argentina to World Cup success in 1986.
The Italians knew he was on drugs but he was doing so well for Napoli, helping them win the league championship, that even the southern Italian police were prepared to let him continue with his service for their beloved Napoli until, one summer night in 1990, when Diego hurt his adopted home city and helped Argentina win a World Cup semi-final against Italy.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Paul Gascoigne was a hopeless drunkard, working in tandem with his old friend Five Bellies, but he was so good for England, especially when he cried in the semi-final against Germany at the Italia World Cup in ’90, that everyone was ready to forgive him.
They talked about what he did on the pitch, which was what mattered, and not his drinking binges with a friend who could consume enough alcohol, in one night, to fill the tummies of five adults.
Waiona!
Banking On The Warriors
Somehow I had this feeling, even before the game on Wednesday night, that the home-based Warriors would beat Ghana.
Yes, I was worried about our boys’ ability to adjust to that pitch and whether they could handle the pressure.
But I always felt that they were a better team than Ghana because we have a better domestic league than the West Africans.
Somehow, while the Ghanaian Black Stars have been doing well, their domestic league at home has been suffering and the standards have been plummeting.
Asante Kotoko and Hearts of Oak used to be big forces on the continent but that is now all history and the Ghanaian league is ranked outside the top 12, by Caf, which means that they can only field one team in the Champions League.
We are good enough, even without the sponsors that Ghana have with SuperSport and others in their fold, to field two teams in the Champions League.
It’s interesting, isn’t it, that we are the only nation at the CHAN tournament whose league did not have a sponsor in the past year?
SuperSport have invested heavily in the domestic leagues in Kenya, Zambia and Angola but the good thing about football is that, even if you are as poor as we are, as long as you are talented your quality will shine through.
That’s why Diego Maradona rose from the slums in Argentina to become a global icon while kids born with everything, in the rich neighbourhoods of our world, have failed to do what he did.
So the Zambians, with all the money in their league and all the airtime on SuperSport, aren’t at CHAN and the Kenyans, with all the money in their league and all the airtime on SuperSport, are not good enough to play at CHAN.
Little Zimbabwe, ignored by SuperSport who are based just across the Limpopo, are there at CHAN and are not only making up the numbers but also beating teams like Ghana whose leagues are supported by SuperSport.
Yes, all you SuperSport guys, continue to ignore us but you know you can’t stop the talent that we produce and your coverage will be dominated by the Musonas and the Mushekwis.
Waiona!
Thank You Stan “Mr Football” Kudenga
Stan Kudenga used to be called Yekini, by his teammates in the social teams that he played for, because he is a big guy who is built in the mould of former Nigerian striker Rashid Yekini.
Stan is a director at one of the biggest banks in the country, which makes him different from most of the black guys who have risen to such positions on the corporate ladder and, for one reason or another, appear to forget where they came from.
There is something about our black Zimbabwean business executives because it appears that, once they scale a certain step on the corporate ladder, they forget that at some point in their lives we used to sit together at Rufaro and watch the odd Dynamos and CAPS United game.
They assume a certain identity, which is totally divorced from the madness that usually goes on at Rufaro, and they close themselves from the circus of our football and increase their presence at golf clubs where they talk about handicaps, pars, birdies and eagles.
They talk about golf, more than they talk about football, and on the occasions that they talk about soccer, they will be certainly be talking about Manchester United, Liverpool, Arsenal, Chelsea, Barcelona and Real Madrid.
Rufaro, Gwanzura and Barbourfields, in their eyes, turns into a place that is from another world, which should be forgotten, another time, which should be banished from the memory, and another era that should certainly be forgotten.
The only time they come to the National Sports Stadium is when the Brazilians come to town, not to see the game, but to see Kaka and Robinho, and when they take the kids to a major musical show like that night when Akon and Sean Paul came to town.
To them domestic football is a rotten game, played by poorly-paid players who don’t have the means to live like the real stars, administered by a leadership that has always quoted controversy, supported by poor men and women and they tell you it’s not a coincidence that it’s main theatres are in the townships because that’s where the game belongs.
They ask you why they never constructed Rufaro in Borrowdale and why they never put Gwanzura in Glen Lorne and you see their point.
But Yekini, or Stan Kudenga, was different.
He lived with the corporate leaders, dined with them, banked their money, discussed with them their business strategies but he also had a passion for the game that he supported when he was growing up somewhere far away from the leafy neighbourhood that he now calls home.
He loved his football.
He couldn’t separate himself from the Dynamos fan that he was, when he was growing up, and at the turn of the millennium he pursued his passion and became the secretary-general at the country’s biggest football       club.
Stan was part of the executive that masterminded Dynamos’ Survival Series, after internal battles had taken their toll on the team and they needed that victory in Masvingo to survive, and he worked so hard that he won the respect of Moses Chunga.
Now, those who have worked with Chunga will tell you that you really need to be special to win his respect and, by the beginning of the 2006 season, bamboo was saying that if Stan was not in the Dynamos executive then they should also forget about him coaching the team.
After leaving Dynamos, Stan formed his team and called it Chitungwiza United before renaming it Eagles FC.
It was a good project, run with the professionalism that Stan could bring, but the people of Marondera did not support them when they took their base there and when they needed those gate receipts to help them cut the costs.
At the end of last season Stan, having spent US$160 000 on the team alone, decided that he could not sustain it anymore and on Thursday sealed a deal with a Bulawayo businessman to sell his franchise for US$16 000 in a move that will bring Zimbabwe Saints back into the Premiership.
“Eagles will say goodbye to Premiership football with a heavy heart loss that will take some bit of time to recover,” said Stan in a statement.
“Unfortunately the same of the franchise is only a tenth of the 2010 operating loss. This sale has been more of a loss cutting measure than anything else.
“I personally leave PSL football with no regret. I followed my passion (which involved spending US$160 000 on his team last year alone) and in the process assisted a few less privileged youngsters to reach their dreams. I am leaving at a time when the Eagles project was contributing no less than five youngsters to the current Zimbabwe Under-23 national team. These are youngsters that I have seen grow and are now reaching their potential.
“I have taken the responsibility to continue managing their career and provide them with good guidance so that they eventually reach their ultimate dream of playing in Europe.”
Now that’s a good man that has left the domestic Premiership.
People like Stan have suffered a lot, all in the name of our football, but noone seems to care, and we expect them to keep pumping in the money as if they own some diamond mines.
One by one they are being eliminated from the scene, but noone cares, because — after all — this is a poor man’s game. The Sports Commission is conveniently quiet.
Waiona!
End Of The Unbeaten Run
So Wolverhampton Wanderers turned into some sort of United Nations’ team last Saturday after they finally ended the Red Devils’ unbeaten start to the English Premiership campaign.
I have to say that the defeat had been coming, for some time now, and we should have read the signs at Blackpool.
But whether that defeat at Wolves signals a crisis is another matter. Yes, we badly wanted to end the season unbeaten but, if you ask me to choose, I would want a record 19th league championship.
Come on Warriors! Come on Archie! Come on Mushekwi! Come on United!
Chicharitooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

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