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Sharuko On Saturday

IN more ways than one, it was his Last Supper.

And, probably, had he been given a choice, of his swansong public appearance, it’s unlikely he would have settled for anything different.

A pristine farm setting, surrounded by rolling hills, beautiful valleys, a river that flowed in the distance and the sounds of animals, both wild and tamed, providing a beautiful sound track.

Here, he was at peace with nature, at peace with his counterparts from home and, more importantly, for someone who had been quietly, and bravely, battling a terminal condition, at peace with himself.

He was one of a number of guests, who had been invited for this weekend retreat, far away from the madness, of the City of Gold.

The bustling metropolis called Johannesburg, which he had converted into his adopted home, so near and yet so far, from his real home, in Chitungwiza.

The farm owner, Seth Chigogora, a South Africa-based Zimbabwean businessman, had organised the reunion of the homeboys to celebrate their identity as Warriors.

After all, the Warriors had just qualified, for their third straight AFCON finals, with a victory in Botswana that week.

Ian Gorowa, who coached the Warriors in their 2015 AFCON qualifiers, was there.

And, so were the Murewa brothers — Tauya, the one who could fly, as he destroyed defences, and Tichaona, the one whose primary responsibility was to break down the opposition attacks.

Innocent Chikoya and Charles Yohane were also there.

And, so was the great Alexander Maseko, a throwback to an era, when defending was such a fine art, and could be executed with a touch of both elegance and conviction, in domestic football.

They nicknamed him “Mr Cool,’’ and those who had the privilege of watching him play, for club and country, will testify that never has a nickname been such a match, for a player, like this one.

Tall, classy, tough but never rough, strong and but rarely wrong, in his tackles, he was an oasis of tranquillity, in the madness which usually characterise life in the last line of defence.

He was a believer in style, this game was always meant to be attractive, he would say, it’s about paying homage to those who transformed it into an art, with a global patronage.

Elasto Kapowezha Lungu, from a proud football family, which produced a Soccer Star of the Year in 1983, was also part of the invited guests.

His family’s finest hour probably came in 1983 when his father Ephert — a steely defender whose qualities as a centreback, and a natural leader, shone throughout his career — was crowned the best player on the domestic scene.

Butler Masango was also there, at that reunion, at that farm.

For him, the presence of Lungu, also provided another reunion, to a past, 25 years to the month they were now meeting at that farm, when they came within just 180 minutes of Olympics glory.

By some coincidence, the organiser of that reunion, chose the perfect month, March, for these two former Zimbabwe Under-23 players to meet, and talk about that occasion, when they came close to writing domestic football’s finest story.

Back in the day when they stood, in the starting XI at Rufaro on March 3, 1996, before more than 30 000 fans, fighting in their corner, shouting in their camp, singing for their cause.

Praying that, just like the biblical David, they would find the strength, and also find a way, to dethrone this giant called Goliath.

United by their identity, as proud Young Warriors, bonded by their national anthem, driven by their relentless pursuit of greatness, powered by their fearlessness.

Here they stood, shoulder to shoulder, that afternoon, for their date with destiny.

Each of them a symbol of hope, every one of them desperately in need of a prayer from the Pope, or even an Archbishop, to help them with the power to put a stop, to this march by these Nigerians, towards the American Dream.

One could understand their deep belief in the power of religion, the strength of prayer because, after all, in their team, they even had twin brothers, with names with a rich biblical attachment.

Cain and Abel!

The boys from the Muteji family who, throughout their careers, had fought, won and lost together.

We even had a Mayor, whose real name was Methembe Ndlovu, a fearless midfield enforcer who, on that March afternoon, in the service of his fatherland, his football adventure would come of age.

BATTLE AGAINST IMMORTALS, A QUARTER-OF-A-CENTURY LATER

 So, they stood tall, and proud, like Warriors coming of age, in this revered arena they called their spiritual home ground, telling each other the ball was round and all they needed was a game plan that was sound.

Muzondiwa Mugadza was their ‘keeper that day, Vusi Laher was their inspirational skipper and they even had a Commando, named Dumisani Mpofu, and they also had Chamu Musanhu.

They had Alois Bunjira, Alex Munawa, Stewart Murisa and George Mbwando, the one they nicknamed Zambia who, in this early stage of his career, somehow, appeared to reserve his best for our brothers across the Zambezi.

For a few months, between 1995 and 1996, this generation of Young Warriors had forced their way into the exclusive club where Africa’s Top Three Under-23 football teams, dined from.

Egypt, the team which had beaten them 3-1, for the gold medal at the All-Africa Games in Harare, six months earlier, was one of those Top Three teams.

These Nigerians were the other member and, by the time they arrived for this showdown, with 10 members of their European cavalry, they were clearly the best of the lot.

They oozed with talent, one of their leading players was so outrageously gifted, he had to be named twice.

The ultimate midfield stuntman, the colossal play-making superman, the seductive dribbling specimen, the colourful entertainer, with the ball, he at times gave an impression he was the finest showman.

An artist, who was the conductor of their orchestra, someone like a jazz man, clearly a talisman, incredibly cool, in possession, he was football’s version of an iceman and the one they knew, like a mailman, always delivered.

Jay Jay Okocha, there are some who claim he was an upgrade of our Razorman, which in itself is the ultimate compliment because, as a football magician, Moses Chunga was quite good, very, very good.

Their sheer quality was just amazing, they imposed themselves throughout that match and, there were times, when Methembe appeared to be fighting a lone battle but, to our boys’ credit, we lost 0-1.

Ironically, the only real chance, that day, fell to Butler, taking the ball on his chest, he fired it hard towards goal, only for Taribo West, good enough to play for both AC Milan and Inter Milan, to produce a goal-saving block.

After the game, Butler was granted a photo opportunity with Okocha, the poster boy of that Nigerian team, and it’s an item our Young Warrior treasured a lot.

But, it was the other Nigerian, Nwankwo Kanu, then just 20 years old, and bursting with both arrogance and excellence, whose life would, in a cruel way, provide a mirror image, of Butler’s life.

In the reverse fixture, our boys again fell 0-1 but the reality of how good our team was, even without superstars, would only be realised, five months later, when these Nigerians conquered the world, in what is dubbed the “Miracle of Atlanta.’’

Beating a Brazil side, coached by the great Mario Zagallo, which featured Roberto Carlos, Flavio Cenceicao, Bebeto, Ronaldo and Aldair, in the semi-final, with a golden goal from Kanu, was considered a miracle.

But, beating a powerful Argentine side, which featured Roberto Ayala, Javier Zanetti, Roberto Sensini, Claudio Lopez, Hernan Crespo, Ariel Ortega and Diego Simeone, in the final, was even considered impossible.

However, that is what these Nigerians did, with Celestine Babayaro, Daniel Amokachi and Emmanuel Amunike, on target for them, in that 3-2 victory over Argentina.

And, in that landmark triumph, they became the first African side to win Olympic gold in football.

NEITHER BUTLER NOR KANU KNEW IT BUT, IN A WAY, THEIR FATE WAS LINKED

Today, Kanu is widely celebrated as one of the finest, and most decorated, African stars, a winner of the FIFA Under-17 World Cup in ‘93, the ’95 UEFA Champions League with Ajax Amsterdam and the Olympic gold medal in ’96.

But, back in March ’96, when he went toe-to-toe with Butler, in those Olympic qualifiers, neither of them knew they shared a hidden deadly secret.

A ticking time bomb, whose explosion, could end their lives.

The duo had heart defects and, just eight months after their showdown at Rufaro, Kanu was undergoing delicate open-heart surgery, in an American hospital, to correct a faulty aortic valve.

He was born with a congenital heart defect, which impeded his aortic valve from closing properly but this was only discovered by doctors in Milan, in the very year he won Olympic gold, during a routine medical, as he sealed a move to Inter.

Bruno Caru, one of the three cardiologists who examined him, said the defect, an overloaded left ventricle caused by an ineffective aortic valve, was serious enough to end Kanu’s career, since professional football would accelerate the condition.

At this point, football was not issue, what mattered was his life which, indeed, was now at risk.

So, at the tender age of 20, and with the world at his feet, Kanu was now facing the grim possibility his career was over.

But, to his credit, Kanu refused to give up, and fought back, even returning to the game and winning the UEFA Cup with Inter in ‘98, the Premiership title with Arsenal in 2002 and 2004 and the FA Cup in 2002 and 2003.

He also won the FA Cup in 2008, with Portsmouth, where he was the final’s man-of-the-match.

Twice, in ‘96 and ‘99, he was named the CAF African Footballer of the Year while he also won the ‘97 and ‘98 BBC African Footballer of the Year.

But, even after his retirement from professional football in 2012, his wife Amara suspected there was still something wrong with her husband.

And, another six-hour open-heart surgery, had to be performed, in the United States.

“His heartbeat sounded much louder than normal. I was listening to his chest and it sounded odd. It was the same faulty valve,’’ she wrote in her book.

“It was like a ticking time bomb, our youngest (kid) was just three at the time. It was very hard. We broke it to them, little by little, I said, ‘daddy will be OK, he’s in good hands.’

“If I didn’t have positive thinking, my life would have been in tatters. From lying down to sitting was a big deal. He had to learn to walk again.

“Kanu’s heart doctor said to me, ‘what’s the routine you have been using with Kanu, all these years, for him to play football and win all his medals, the FA Cup and everything?’’’

Lucky boy Nwankwo Kanu!

He still lives to this day and his “Kanu Heart Foundation’’ set up in 2000, has helped more than 500 underprivileged African kids, with heart problems, to get urgent heart surgery.

Sadly, we cannot say the same about Butler, who died in Johannesburg this week, at the age of 47.

“He was diagnosed with a heart problem three years ago and has been in and out of hospital,’’ family member, Innocencial Pemba Dzumbunu, revealed. 

“He fought hard but the problem had also affected his lungs, so the doctors could not help the situation, at the end. 

“The family is devastated.” 

It’s easy, right now, to question why his heart condition was not detected, a long time ago.

But, one only needs to refer to Kanu, who passed his medicals at one of the world’s top clubs, Ajax Amsterdam, even though he had a serious life-threatening condition.

A first autopsy carried on Marc Vivien-Foe, after he collapsed and died during the 2003 FIFA Confederation Cup, failed to establish the cause of his sudden death.

It required a second one to establish that the 28-year-old box-to-box midfielder, an epitome of fitness, had actually been suffering from a condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.

“People with the condition, which is characterised by abnormal thickening of the heart muscle, are about three to five times more likely to suffer a cardiac arrest, if exercising vigorously, than leading a sedentary lifestyle,” Sanjay Sharma, a professor who worked with both Manchester City and Team Great Britain, at the 2012 Olympics, told BBC Sport.

“Sadly, 80% of sportsmen who die from this condition have no prior warning signals and sudden death is the first presentation.”

Tomorrow we will say goodbye to Butler, our good guy from Chitown, whose American Dream, was crushed by the Nigerians.

But, even though he died young, he still found a way to make a huge difference in our game.

He even won the confidence of Kaizer Motaung, itself a demonstration of his street-wise character and, along the way, helped many of our footballers cut deals, at foreign clubs.

We can only wonder where his career would have taken him had the Young Warriors made it to the ’96 Olympic Games.

We can also only wonder, how many lives he would have transformed, among our players, had he lived another five, another 10 or even another 20 years.

But, that’s the way it is mate, death — as painful as it always hits us — is a big part of life.

We didn’t know it then, at that weekend retreat on that Johannesburg farm in March, that you were actually saying goodbye to all of us.

Somehow, as if defined by fate, there was someone, from your Class of ’96, at the same retreat to provide a throwback to that month, a quarter-of-a-century ago, when you guys almost fulfilled our American Dream.

To God Be The Glory!

Peace to the GEPA Chief, the Big Fish, George Norton, Daily Service and all the Chakariboys in the struggle.

Come on Warriors!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Khamaldinhoooooooooooooooooo!

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