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Sharuko on Saturday

THEY were about 30 of them, united by love for their football club, angered by the tone of an article I had written in this newspaper and powered by the rage exploding in their veins.

Their march had started at the corner of First Street and Agostinho Neto Avenue (formerly Speke Avenue), a pocket of prime real estate space in the heart of Harare, which they had converted into their daily meeting place.

It was from this meeting place that this group of about 30 Dynamos fans, who staged an evening demonstration against me by congregating at Herald House that day, started their protest.

They were as noisy as they were militant.

And, by the time their madness finally died down, and they dispersed, I think my late mother had been insulted more times in that hour or so than she did throughout the half-a-century she spent on this earth.

They were also creative and one placard, in particular, which caught my attention and has remained embedded in my mind since then, simply read:

“Sharuko is a perennial sports writing failure.”

It was their response to what I had written, in the article which had offended them, in which I had labelled Dynamos a “perennial Champions League failure.”

It was the first protest against me and it would not be the last.

In July 1997, Ghanaian authorities almost deported me from their country because they were furious that I had dared to file a report sharply criticising the state of the training pitch their FA had given to the Warriors.

I was dragged to a radio station, where I was ordered to apologise to the Ghanaian people or I would be thrown out of the country.

But, I refused to apologise and, rather than say sorry for what I believed was right, I dared them to deport me.

Somehow, they didn’t and I eventually covered the match.

Nine years ago, I found myself in the eye of a southern hurricane when a huge global outcry erupted when I wrote an article of an Irish cricketer at the 2015 ICC Cricket World Cup in Australia and New Zealand.

There were calls from such powerful media organisations like Fox to get my accreditation cancelled by the ICC and for Australian authorities to throw me out of their country. The ICC wrote to me asking me to apologise or I would be barred from covering future ICC events, including the World Cups.

But, once again, I refused to apologise and stuck by what I believed was right, even in the face of the biggest tsunami of criticism, which I have faced in my career.

   THREATS ARE ALL PART AND PARCEL OF THE JOB

These challenges and threats have defined me as a journalist and, more importantly, told me that my work is being felt, my reports and being read and they are having an impact, in one way or the other.

They have also prepared me for the reality that one day it will go just beyond threats and I will be assaulted by some people who will not be happy with the stuff that I write about them.

I still remember they harassed Mako Gold at Rufaro simply because they were not happy with the stuff that he was writing and with the courage he had demonstrated to write about that.

But, did they stop him from being a journalist?

Definitely no, in fact, they toughened him to get even bolder and hit them even harder and the proof is there for everyone who has followed his work.

Therefore, for me, getting beaten for a story that I would have written is Mickey Mouse stuff, even if I end up in hospital or I lose my teeth.

You have to appreciate that I work in a profession where thousands of my colleagues have actually lost their lives for just doing their job.

By last week, 95 journalists and media personnel, the majority of them Palestinians (90), had lost their lives in the Gaza war.

You can’t call yourself a proper journalist when all that your work does is to try and beautify a frog and give it a very good chance to win the contest of the most beautiful animal in the world.

There is a world of difference between journalism and public relations.

And, when your work doesn’t occasionally provoke anger, among the people you write about, and only portray them as the closest thing to perfection that God has given to sport, then you are not a journalist.

You are a public relations executive disguised as a journalist.

Two weeks ago, I used this platform to sharply criticise Bernard Marriot, the powerful Dynamos board chairman, who found a way to become the owner of the Glamour Boys.

I realised it’s a field that many sports journalists would rather stay clear of either because of fear or because of relationships built over time.

But, I felt someone had to tackle the subject because this is what our job is all about and, if fear or some questionable friendly connections were holding us back from doing so, weren’t we doing this noble profession a disservice?

I refused to be suppressed by fear and decided to be the voice of the voiceless who were asking the same questions but didn’t have a platform, like me, to do that.

It wasn’t personal, it was just business, the reality that when one is in a position of authority, he should be accountable for his actions and, where he would be failing, it’s the job of journalists to highlight that.

When, as journalists, we don’t find it strange that a club like Dynamos can spend nine years, chasing and failing to win the championship, and hold Marriot accountable, I think we will be participating in a mass insult to the virtues of our profession.

After all, Marriot is the only common denominator in the DeMbare leadership, during that period in question.

He must be held accountable for turning the Glamour Boys into a Premiership version of Karoi United.

   SOME THINGS ARE WORTH DYING FOR

 I respect Marriot because, to be frank with you, it takes a lot of guts, and scheming, for one man to end up telling the world that he is the owner of a club like Dynamos.

But, my message to him was that this comes with a lot of responsibility and, when the club goes on a lengthy period, in which failure becomes the norm, he should be prepared for some tough questions.

He can’t fail, as leader, and expect us to also fail to see his catalogue of failures and, when we do, we would have refused to be the latest version of those people who were chose not to see evil, hear evil or speak evil.

I am a fan of Zimbabwean football and this includes the domestic Premiership.

Like every true fan of the game, I understand and appreciate the special role that Dynamos play in our national game.

I don’t need to be a supporter of the Glamour Boys to know that, just like Highlanders and, to some extent CAPS United, they occupy a special place in our football.

When these clubs are in very good health, our PSL is in very good health too and when they catch a cold, the entire PSL sneezes.

The simple reality why we are failing to fill Rufaro in Harare today, the way they are filling Barbourfields, is the Dynamos have been poor. Over a period of nine years, they have been pathetic.

Under Marriot, Dynamos have been an effigy of the Glamour Boys, a counterfeit of what used to the pride of our football, a copycat of what used to the people’s team.

They have been a fake version of themselves, an imitation of what used to be the Boys in Blue, a bogus copy of what used to be Hainangozi, a pale shadow of what used to be Chazunguza.

By virtue of who they are and what they represent, their size and their appeal, their past and their glory, when this happens, someone has to be brave enough to ask questions to the owner about why it has all come to this.

If this in turn means you are assaulted by a hired mob for that or, in the very extreme, they kill you, you rest in eternal peace carrying a badge of honour that when it mattered, you had the guts to represent millions of the voiceless.

If that’s the way I have to get out of journalism, or say goodbye to life, I can assure Marriot that I will be a very proud man.

That I will take my place among my ancestors and wait for the day when this iconic football franchise will return to the hands of its true owners – its fans.

That will be my proudest day, when it comes to Dynamos, since December ’98.

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 Chegutu Pirates!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Zaireeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

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Email – robsharuko@gmail,com; [email protected]