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In just one-and-half hours of football that was as seductive, as it was destructive, his collection of Glamour Boys touched the gates of heaven, with their collective display of brilliance, which bordered on arrogance, in this Champions League match.

Sharuko On Saturday

ZDRAVKO LOGARUSIC probably knows him, after all, he is from Croatia, a music teacher whose lengthy life story, wrapped in a blanket of both fortune, and misfortune, has made headlines, around the world.

That Frane Selak, who is set to turn 92, on June 14, this year, still lives, is itself one of life’s enduring miracles.

For, his life should have been over, one rainy day, in January 1962, when the train, he was riding in, flew off the tracks and plunged into a river, killing 17 other passengers, who drowned, while he escaped with just a broken arm.

The following year, pounded by his fear of trains, he decided to fly, only to be thrown out of a malfunctioning plane door and, somehow, having the fortune of landing in a haystack.

That plane subsequently crashed, killing 19 people, while he still lives, to tell his story of his first, and only, flight.

Then, in 1966, he took a bus, and it veered off the road, again plunged into a river, killing four people while he survived, still with the strength to swim to the safety of the shore, with only a few bruises.

So, understandably, the next time he would travel, he tried a road trip, in 1970, only for his car to catch fire, with him just managing to escape, before the fuel tank exploded, and turned the vehicle into a fireball.

In 1995, he was hit by a bus in Zagreb but, somehow, survived with only minor injuries before, in 2003, fortune finally smiled at him, with Selak winning US$1.1 million, in the Croatian lottery.

There are many who have labelled Selak, the world’s unluckiest person, in a league which features a number of individuals, whose stories have captured the imagination of the globe.

You think about Matt Tott, a British man, who won the Camelot lottery jackpot of £3m, in 2001, only for him to fail to get his fortune, because he had misplaced his winning ticket.

And, there is Roy Sullivan, the American Park Ranger, who died in 1983, at the age of 71 — the only man, in the world, known to have been struck by lightning, seven times who, somehow, survived, on each occasion.

Today, his name resides in the Guinness Book of Records and, during 1969 and 1973, lightning appeared so determined to kill him, he was struck four times during that period.

For English couple, Jason and Jenny Cairns-Lawrence, tragedy seemed to stalk them, every time they went on vacation — they were in New York, during the 9/11 terrorist attacks and, in London, when the city suffered a series of suicide bombings.

They were also in Mumbai, when terrorists struck in 2008, killing more than 300 people.

So, what do all these real life stories tell us?

Well, they simply confirm that some guys have all the luck while others, sadly, have to deal with all the misfortunes, which life throws us at them.

Which brings me to my subject, this week — Lloyd Mutasa.

One of domestic football’s ultimate gentleman, probably the nicest man you can ever come across, in this world, an oasis of honesty, in a desert pregnant with dishonesty, an island of sincerity, in a raging ocean of insincerity.

A fountain of honour, a rainbow of light, a God-fearing family man, a prayer warrior and, as fine a human being, as any, among the few good men still roaming this planet.

They call him Samaita and he has been a big part of domestic football, since breaking into the big time, as an artist, who used to conduct the orchestra at Tanganda, as they took their city, and its people, on an adventure they will never forget.

Then, he came to Dynamos, on what was a homecoming adventure and, in those blue-and-white colours, let his skills make a mockery of the wild theories, he couldn’t shine, for the big boys.

Today, he is just one of a select band of local footballers, with a CAF Champions League runners-up medal, in his cabinet.

Somehow, for everything he has done, either as a magician, whose silky skills used to make football look such an easy game to play, or as a coach, who built foundations that lasted an age, Mutasa keeps striking me as one of the world’s unlucky guys.

Someone who, for whatever reason, doesn’t get the appreciation, nor the respect, which he deserves.

 

SAMAITA, THE ONE WHOSE GENIUS WILL NEVER BE APPRECIATED, LET ALONE EVEN ACKNOWLEDGED

 

One of my toughest assignments has been to try, as much as I possibly can, to paint a picture that provides a fitting image of how good Lloyd Mutasa was, as a player.

Especially, when it comes to preaching the gospel to the generation, which was not fortunate to see him in action, when he was at the very peak, of his powers.

It’s a tough exercise and it’s even made more difficult, now, as we deal with a people, seduced and poisoned, by the glitz and glamour of European football, which has become their staple diet.

A people whose first instinct, when they are told someone was really good, is to swiftly try to compare that player, with someone they see playing, week-in-and-week-out, on the big stage of the English Premiership.

So, when you talk about Lloyd Mutasa, having been really good, the first image that comes into their mind, as a point of both reference and comparison, is someone like Kevin de Bryune.

Then, they bombard you with the other questions like, if you insist Samaita was that good, why is it that he didn’t break into Europe?

And, when you provide a counter argument that no one knows what would have happened, in terms of Mutasa’s foreign prospects, had the Tanganda officials not blocked his move to South Africa, in ’92, they still won’t listen to your narrative.

Then, if they decide to give you the benefit of doubt, they come up with the question, why didn’t he make a huge impression, for the national team?

The same old, tired and foolish argument, that Stanford “Stix’’ Mtizwa can’t be classified as a football genius, simply because he didn’t play in a foreign league, throughout his career.

And, neither did he leave a legacy of both success, and influence, in the colours of the Warriors.

How can someone surely suggest Joel Shambo wasn’t great, Achieford Chimutanda wasn’t special, Joseph Zulu wasn’t a magician, Robert Godoka wasn’t a wizard and Boy Ndlovu wasn’t good, simply because they didn’t play in Europe?

And, because they also didn’t leave an enduring legacy, of both success and influence, when it comes to the Warriors.

It’s like trying to argue that Ndaye “Volvo’’ Mulamba, the only man to score nine goals at the AFCON finals, who powered the DRC to the African title, in 1974, and took them to the World Cup, wasn’t great, because he never played in Europe.

Or, that Godfrey Chitalu, the one who scored more than 100 goals in a year in Zambia, wasn’t great because he didn’t play in Europe.

It doesn’t work that way and that is why I have always told my friends that, if someone like the Dragline, Shepherd Muradzikwa, had emerged on the scene, in the new millennium, they would be ranking him among their three best local players.

That’s why I will always have so much respect, for Lloyd Mutasa, the footballer because, boy oh boy, he was simply amazing, with the ball at his feet.

At Tanganda, the template, for the coach, for the likes of Jimmy Kapitau, Kudzanayi Kadzirange, Arnold Tsunga, Mavhuna Mudare or Ian Matondo, in defence was very simple — win the ball, lift your head, try to find Lloyd, pass the ball to him.

And, they would watch, with the pride that comes with being a teammate, of such a special player, the privilege of having such a front-row seat, to this box-office show, and the pleasure derived from the reality, he was one of them.

There was an accompanying flash of beauty, when it came to the wonders of his artistry, and the genius of its simplicity, a player who even became so good his creative mind would seemingly give him the power, to also play the game for others.

It became his trademark, to keep directing every phase of the attack, ordering his teammates, where they should position themselves, even as he was in full flight, with the ball.

He scored in every round of the ’93 Castle Cup, including the final, to help modest Tanganda win the tournament, he was the second highest goal-scorer, during the ’94 Premiership season, with 19 goals.

And, two years later, he finished as the third runner-up, in the Soccer Stars of the Year poll, behind Stewart Murisa and Alois Bunjira.

During his first five seasons at DeMbare, he averaged about 14 goals per season and, for long periods, he was their lucky charm, when he scored, it was very likely they would either win or, in the worst case scenario, draw.

 

WE DON’T NEED TO LIKE HIM BUT, AT LEAST, LET’S GIVE HIM CREDIT, FOR THAT ONE AFTERNOON AT RUFARO

 

Ten years ago, this month, on one unforgettable afternoon at Rufaro, we got a glimpse of the beautiful picture Lloyd Mutasa can paint, when given a chance, despite his coaching skills being underrated.

We all know that it has, in more ways than one, not worked for him, since that day, for one reason or another.

But, on the occasion of the 10th anniversary of this exhibition, the least we can do is care to remember how amazing it was.

That one afternoon when, just like that vintage Castle advert, it all came together for Samaita, at the stadium which is his spiritual home, in charge of the team, which has become part of his extended family.

In just one-and-half hours of football that was as seductive, as it was destructive, his collection of Glamour Boys touched the gates of heaven, with their collective display of brilliance, which bordered on arrogance, in this Champions League match.

Since then, it’s fair to say that no other local club, or no other group of players, representing us on the continent, have come close to matching the standards of excellence, which those DeMbare boys set, that afternoon.

That a decade has passed, and many battles have been fought, won and lost, by a number of our representatives, since that afternoon, it’s a measure of the purity of their show, on that afternoon, that they remain the benchmark of excellence.

The one chapter we all open, if they ask us to choose one great performance, in the Champions League, which really sent fans into dreamland, since the turn of the millennium.

Others will argue Bosso’s 3-0 crushing win, over Sable de Batie of Cameroon at Barbourfields, onMay 13, 2000, was also up there with a journey into fantasy, and it’s a fair argument.

But, we knew those Bosso boys, what they could do, that they were really good, during an era when this iconic club dominated domestic football, at the turn of the millennium, winning four league titles, on the bounce.

What we didn’t know was what this collection of rookies, spiced with a few veterans to provide them with guidance, could produce, especially against a former champion of African football, MC Alger of Algeria.

Denver Mukamba, Rodreck Mutuma and Devon Chafa, really, in a Champions League showdown, against North African opposition, an opponent with the pedigree of being former champions?

These boys, plucked from the likes of Kiglon, Mvuma etc, and thrown into the deep end, at Rufaro by Mutasa to play, not only for this giant club, but also for their country’s interests in the Champions League?

What a joke, some said, the sight of a lanky Denver, running on skinny legs as if he was in a schoolboy team, rather than a Champions League outfit, providing ammunition, to that army of Doubting Thomases.

Well, how wrong they were.

And, after 90 minutes of dazzling football, with Dynamos winning 4-1, in a game they could have even scored eight, Rufaro was struggling to take a breath, and try and digest the miracle it had seen.

Denver was unstoppable, scoring a goal which was a fitting tribute to his grand performance, Mutuma kept harassing the defence and Devon was strong in midfield.

At the end, the Algerians were grateful, the damage had only been limited to just four goals.

On that day, on that March afternoon, what Lloyd Mutasa can do, and has always wanted to do, in terms of building his teams, which have to play with a touch of how he used to express himself in this game, was exhibited in all its beauty and glory.

It’s a pity the Algerians found a way to cheat, playing all the dirty tricks to win 3-0 in the reverse leg, which means we will never know how far this team, and their coach, could have gone, in terms of defining their careers, had they cleared that hurdle.

And, as his boys provided the foundation, on which Dynamos went on to win four straight league championships, under Callisto Pasuwa, poor Lloyd Mutasa, and the significant contribution he made towards that cause, had long been forgotten.

He reminds me of Tsutomu Yamaguchi, the man who was in Hiroshima, when the first Atomic bomb was dropped there, in 1945 and, after surviving the blast, with just a perforated ear drum, and upper body burns, he fled to Nagasaki.

He says he was narrating his miracle escape, when the second Atomic Bomb was dropped, on Nagasaki and, for the second time, he escaped with his life.

Yamaguchi was just 29, back then, but lived until the age of 91, finally dying on June 4, 2010.

That’s just nine months before Lloyd Mutasa, gave us a glimpse of what he can produce, on his day, as his Glamour Boys touched the heavens, with a performance for the archives.

Ten years later, they have all forgotten about that, including those who called him domestic football’s Pep Guardiola, as they celebrated that destruction of the Algerians.

But, for Lloyd Mutasa, it has always been that way and, while he might not appeal to us, as a genius, at least, we should give him credit, for that one afternoon at Rufaro.

Especially, in the month, and year, which marks the 10th anniversary of that vintage show.

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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