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playing football but he worked hard to make up for what he did not have, in natural talent, and he was probably more effective, for the cause of the team, than the wonder boys blessed with all the magic.

The winter of 2003 was depressingly cold in England but my old white flat mate kept telling me this was nothing compared to the savage winters of the past, especially in 1963, when the River Thames froze.
Lost in that gloom, it was difficult to believe that this was the same country that had basked in glorious sunshine when Zimbabwe played two Tests in what effectively became our last cricket tour of the United Kingdom.
On a visit to Leicester one day, to see some old buddies, I was introduced to a bar frequented by many Zimbabweans, Club Savannah, which my fellow countrymen, in their obsession with names from home, had renamed ‘KumaMagi’.
The Shona name was derived from the fact that at Club Savannah, during those days, they served their alcohol in giant mugs and a lot of the Zimboz just loved gulping their Stella Artois draught from those.
Now and again I would make the train trip to Leicester, from my base in Birmingham, for a day with the boys ‘KumaMagi’ and, it was at this bar, when one cold evening, I finally met Murape Murape.
He had settled in Leicester, whose industries provided a magnet for hundreds of Zimbabweans who badly needed a job, and our chance meeting that night provided us with a golden chance to go down memory lane and relive a past pregnant with drama.
Murape wasn’t on that historic flight in ’98 when Dynamos traveled to Abidjan for a date with destiny, needing a scoring draw, at least, to be crowned champions of Africa.
But, in the heated environment of Club Savannah, he recalled that the boys had returned home to tell him how the sight of their skipper, Memory Mucherahowa, being taken to hospital after being floored by a headbutt in a warm-up altercation, unnerved them and became a game-changing moment.
Murape, too, wasn’t on an earlier flight to Maputo that same year, for a DeMbare second round date with Ferroviario that seemed to favour the Mozambicans after they had come here and forced a draw at the National Sports Stadium.
But, as we wandered in our journey into the past at Club Savannah that day, he recalled that the boys had returned home from that trip to tell him how they, too, were left shell-shocked after ‘keeper George Mandizvidza somehow twisted his body in mid-air to pull off a save that was so miraculous it still appears impossible to believe.
The more that we talked that night, the more that I detected that Monya was terribly homesick and, try as I did to change subjects, he always went back to his favourite subject – Dynamos, the players, the teammates, captain Memory, manager Jimmy Finch, coach Mhofu, the history, the challenges and, of course, the fans.
Murape’s body was in Leicester but it was clear to me that his mind was elsewhere.
And the comforts provided by his new home, including power supplies that were not cut to conserve energy, smooth tarred roads that were in stark contrast to the pot-hole scarred streets of Zengeza and public buses that arrived on time, were clearly artificial to him.
He longed for something else, another life, another country, another job far away from the industries of Leicester, another pub different from Club Savannah, other faces different from the people who were in that bar that night and different climatic conditions to the blustery ones where temperatures had plunged below zero degrees Celsius outside.
He longed for a return home.
Where his heart belonged, where the football club he loved with all his heart belonged, where the job that he loved with all his heart belonged, where the fans that he loved with all his heart belonged and, crucially, where the fans who loved him with all their hearts belonged.
Of course, Captain Gwenzi was now here in England, having found a new home in Luton, Chamu Musanhu was also here and so were Obey Murefu and speed merchant Bekhi “Pisa Pisa” Mlotshwa, but despite such company of former teammates, Murape wanted to go back home.
That’s what I picked from my meeting with him that night at Club Savannah and, as I left for a trip back to my base in the Edgbaston area of Birmingham, I could not help but feel that I had left behind a man carrying a heavy load of a soul battered by the burden of being in a place that he didn’t want.
I guess I merely worsened the situation by advising him, as I left the club, that I would be leaving for home the following week.
A few months later, when I heard that Murape was back home, I guess it did not come as a surprise given what I has seen at Club Savannah in Leicester that night.

Farewell Monya For Hire
This week Murape Murape said goodbye to the game that made him a public figure, whose child’s birth was now front page news for H-Metro, after playing a very influential role in helping Dynamos win the league and cup double.
A boy who grew up in the Dynamos family to become a man, on whom the entire Dynamos family would build its absolute trust to deliver on the grand stage, finally decided this week that it was time to wave goodbye to life as a footballer.
Murape was not the outstanding player in this Dynamos team this year because Sekuru Gudo, or Washington Arubi if that’s your preference, stood head-and-shoulders above everyone in that blue-and-white strip.
The young guns like Roderick Mutuma, Denver Mukamba, Archie Gutu and Tawanda Muparati probably played, over the course of the season, at a level that was certainly higher than Murape.
But, when it came to the crunch, when this team needed an inspired figure to drive it forward, when it needed an inspired soul to lift it from a quagmire, when it needed a light in the darkness of a fog, when it needed a leader to rally them not to surrender and accept inevitable defeat, Murape was there for this team.
In the wake of Desmond Maringwa’s long-term injury, a vacuum was certainly created given that while this team looked decent in terms of the sum of its talents, it lacked the Glamour Boy spirit that had helped Dynamos built itself as the dominant force in Zimbabwean football.
Someone was needed to provide that spirit and in Murape, even in the twilight of his career, Dynamos found their man this season and, in the trenches where the real war was fought and won, he distinguished himself as a leader who could be trusted.
Murape was certainly not the best when it comes to the natural gifts that are showered on people who make a living playing football but he worked hard to make up for what he did not have, in natural talent, and he was probably more effective, for the cause of the team, than the wonder boys blessed with all the magic.
Once on that field, in that kit, he turned into a lion, battling with a spirit that turned his little frame into a giant once he was in possession or in a tackle, and when teammates needed an earful, in the heat of the moment, to remind them of the responsibility they had to the fans, he never shied away from such a task.
When Dynamos finally counts its legends, it’s unlikely that Murape Murape will make the Top 10 because there will be places for the likes of Moses Chunga, George Shaya, Japhet M’parutsa, Sunday Chidzambwa, Misheck Chidzambwa, Obediah Sarupinda, Shadreck Ngwenya, Oliver Kateya, Edward Katsvere and Daniel “Dhidhidhi’ Ncube.
But, in the new millennium, when the people’s team embraced mediocrity and winning the league championship became so difficult they spent 10 years without winning it, Murape will be remembered as one of the top three players who were there for Dynamos when the team needed heroes on the field of play. That he remains the only Dynamos player, so far, to win the Soccer Star of the Year after the turn of the millennium, speaks volumes of his value and while he might not have been as slippery as Digital Takawira or as good as Tauya Murewa, he certainly combined the spirit of Memory Mucherahowa and a good football brain.
And, when it came to having a special relationship with the fans, noone came any closer.
Vietnam will miss their hero, and just as well that in the final year of his career he played on the right wing and spent a good 45 minutes closer to his real fans, because there was always a telepathic understanding between Monya and the supporters.
You could see it in the way they danced together, in the way they sang together, in the way they celebrated together, a certain rhythm was always there, a certain spark that always made it a spectacle, a certain colour that always made it look beautiful.
It’s good to go when you are at the top of your game, and Murape probably chose the right time to say goodbye, when the fans still loved him and when he still had a value to his team.
But I doubt if he will keep his promise to quit, what with all the pressure that has been building from the fans wanting him to have one last show, with reports that his father is angry that he has quit prematurely rather than remain in the trenches, with reports that the whole family has turned against him because they still want to see him on the field.
I can bet my last dollar that Murape will be back on the field next year because I can see where it is all heading too.
But, even if he doesn’t come back, he has made his mark and I can see him now, sitting on the other side of the table at Club Savannah in Leicester that cold night in 2003, saying that he still recalls that Mucherahowa almost died fighting for the cause of his team in Abidjan.
Monya for Hire, well done mate, the little big-hearted Glamour Boy from Zengeza who became a darling of Mbare.

2011 Soccer Stars of the Year
Roderick Mutuma’s exclusion from the Soccer Stars of the Year calendar, on the basis that he accumulated six yellow cards, has once again provided a controversial subject for awards of excellence that have been haunted for a long time now.
Admittedly, Mutuma has been one of the stand-out performers of the season and, given where he was last year and where he is today, you can not help but admire his rapid rise.
But we also have to respect that there are rules and regulations governing the selection criteria and, in one case, some of the clauses were put in to try and build both a model and successful football player.
Those rules and regulations, as long as they are still part of the selection process, have to be respected and the onus is on the players to either play according to the rules or fall foul of the rules.
The challenge we have is that in football, we have a number of very good players who are inspired by being on the wild side and, sadly, when you take away that wild side, they cannot produce their best.
They ride on their emotions and, now and again, they cross the line but still, more often than not, they deliver for their team.
Mario Balotelli, the fiery Manchester City forward who believes he is on the same level as Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi, is one such prime example.
Take away his wild side and he will probably be so ordinary Chipo Tsodzo will certainly look a far better striker.
Diego Maradona is usually widely regarded as the finest footballer to grace the fields but he had a wild side, he abused cocaine and a cocktail of other drugs, he was sent off in disgrace from the ’94 World Cup for failing a drugs test but that does not take away his genius.
Zinedine Zidane was sent off in the 2006 World Cup final after headbutting Materazzi but that did not stop Fifa from giving him the Golden Ball for the best player at the same tournament.
Our rules and regulations, governing the Soccer Star of the Year, have long been left behind by time as they were designed for the ‘60s, when players like George Shaya had a responsibility to keep their hair in shape because they were role models for thousands of black youths in the townships.
Football has changed and the heroes we have in football today are rebellious because they now understand their power, they know their strength and they always play under the weight of grand expectations and, when they deliver, they pour out their emotions in different ways.
Mutuma probably got three of his yellow cards celebrating wildly, after scoring crucial goals in a game in which he had taken a lot of stick from his fans and those supporting the opponents, and – for a young man in his first year in the Premiership – you can’t fault him for that.
It’s the primitive rules and regulations, which we are using, which need to be changed so that football rewards the best player and not the best behaved player of the season.
I don’t believe Mutuma was the best player this season but he was certainly one of the best XI.
Others have questioned why Highlanders have provided two players on the Soccer Star of the Year calendar when Bosso, by any degree of imagination, had a poor season.
But I disagree with those who say that Rahman Kutsanzira and Graham Ncube didn’t deserve their chance on the Stars calendar simply because Bosso were average this season.
It doesn’t necessarily mean that a team that has had an average season does not have one or two players who produce stand-out performances and neither does it mean that a team that wins everything that season has all the XI players firing on all cylinders.
For example, if players were classified purely on the basis of their performance for their national teams, would we say George Weah was not a great player simply because his Liberia team was useless?
Or would we say that Peter Ndlovu was not a great player, in the ‘90s, simply because his Warriors did not get anywhere and did not win anything?
Certainly not and that’s why I feel Rahman and Graham distinguished themselves, playing for a team that was average this season, and deserve their place on the calendar.
What we need, going forward, is to move away from this system of choosing XI players but just cut it to three, like what Fifa does, and we have a shortlist, first of 15 players, then of just five players, and when the selectors go in, they are choosing the best three from the short-listed five.

What The Hell is Happening At Zifa?
Since the guys at Zifa decided to pour of bucketful of raw sewage down my throat with a glut of allegations in July, I have tried to keep myself away from the drama at 53 Livingstone Avenue, just in case my comments will be misconstrued.
Now, as the drama unfolds in their house, amid a storm of allegations, I can only watch from distance and wonder what the hell is happening.
I argued then that talking to X and Y about Z and using that as a basis to reach a conclusion that Z was this and that is not only dangerous but primitive because, in this game of emotions, a lot of people might use it as an opportunity to address old scores.
I find it interesting that the same argument is now being used by people who probably said Sharuko is a fool, when I put across my argument, and can only watch the drama unfold.
Now and again a certain Zifa board member has taken every opportunity to abuse the freedom he gets from a national radio that he controls to say a lot of negative things about me while I have kept my silence, believing it will be golden.
Now, as the chickens come home to roost, and auditors say this and that thing about the association’s finances, and councilors choose not to accept the financials at their assembly, I can only watch from a distance and wonder what is coming next.
Life, they always say, has a funny way of coming full circle.

Dancing With A Leopard
The inaugural Mbada Diamonds Cup was a bomb, as explosive as they come, and a week after it all came to an end, people are still talking about the sights and sounds it created.
The Mbada Diamonds Cup set lofty standards, for the way knockout football tournaments should be organised in this country, and it will be very hard to beat the levels set this year.
The administrative arm was first class, the decision to take the games all over the country was brilliant and, the grand finale, with Alick Macheso doing his Zora Butter, was a fitting ending to a great tournament.
Even the downpour that greeted the whistle to get the match underway could not dampen the mood of the fans and, under the bright lights of the National Sports Stadium, it all came to an end with Dynamos lifting the trophy.
You can feel that domestic football is back and the money that has been poured into the game by Mbada Diamonds, Delta and BancABC and the interest that has been shown by SuperSport, have all helped to take the game to another level.
Today, the fans will get to fill that they are missing something, with all the stadiums locked, as football takes its break.
After our last dance with a leopard turned into a thriller, we can hardly wait for next season.
Come on United!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Chicharitoooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
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