By Edgar Gabarinocheka
In every township there is a boy who owns the ball. In Mkoba where I grew up, his name was Edward. Edward was neither the sharpest dribbler nor the deadliest striker, but he had the leather ball. And each time Edward’s team lost, he would snatch up his ball and stomp home, leaving us to scatter like chickens in a storm.
Today, Edward has grown up. He has changed his name to Sheasham FC. And true to form, when the winds of fortune have turned against them in the ZIFA Central Region Soccer League, they have scooped up their ball, issued a midnight press statement like a coup announcement, and stormed off home with their toys.
But let us remind each other: this is the same Sheasham whose ball boys are legends of Gweru. Not for their speed of return, but for their skill in disappearing balls into bushes whenever the Construction Boys are leading. It is no secret — every match-going human being has seen the “fitness goon” on their bench coaching these young disciples in the gospel of dark arts: slow the game, hide the ball, waste the time. When it worked in their favour, Sheasham never wept.
And what of refereeing blunders? Last season at Bata, Chapungu could have sworn their destiny was being rewritten in broad daylight when a referee turned a blatant handball in the box into a corner kick. That moment was a golden point for Sheasham, keeping them on track for promotion which by the way never came in the end, it went to Kwekwe who have now wasted that ticket (story for another day). Chitora cried out that the referee was so biased ZACC itself could have launched an inquiry into corruption. But Sheasham dined on that blunder like a chief chewing goat rib at a coronation. Not a word of complaint then.
Now, when Hardrock smashes Gokwe North 13–0, Sheasham cry foul. And yet just last season, they themselves had walloped Bishopstone 11–0, and no word was spoken. What changed? Only the position on the log. When Sheasham were on top, the water was clean. Now that they have been overtaken, suddenly the same water stinks of corruption. This is not principle ladies and gentlemen — it is pettiness served hot in a clay pot. Today, because the gods of football have turned the calabash the other way, Sheasham beats its chest like a wounded baboon, wailing about bias and poor officiating. Suddenly, they are delicate maidens who cannot bear the roughness of village wrestling. How convenient!
And still we ask: what of the women? Why drag Sheasham Gweru Queens into this circus? The Queens play in a different stream altogether — the Zimbabwe Women’s Soccer League, which the Central Region does not administer. Unless lightning has started striking from the ground upward, why punish the women for grievances they have never raised? It smacks of desperation, as though someone decided, “If I am leaving, I am taking the whole household with me.”
Then comes the strange timing. A press release dropped in the dead of night, as if tanks were rolling down Gweru streets. One can only wonder who penned it. Was it crafted by a sober mind, or was it scribbled under the dim light of a beerhall, as the who-is-who of Sheasham drowned their sorrows in frothing calabashes? And who, pray, advised this suicidal move? Had they lodged official complaints to the CRSL before? Or is this Herald “Centralgate” story the only paper trail of their supposed grievances? If so, then this is a case of putting the cart before the oxen, crying “wolf” after being outpaced.
Let us not pretend referees are angels. The men in black are human; they err. Sometimes they err out of incompetence, sometimes perhaps out of temptation — whether that temptation is the sweet call of money or the bitter call of pressure is for another debate. But Sheasham have been long-time beneficiaries of these very errors. To suddenly cry foul because the pendulum swings the other way is like a crocodile shedding tears while its teeth are still wet with goat hair.
And this is why Sheasham’s withdrawal reeks not of justice but of sulking. It is a tantrum thrown by Edward once again, taking his ball home because he cannot stand losing. Their behaviour is as predictable as the rains that start with a dust storm: once dislodged from the top of the log, they declare the league “unfair.”
Football is bigger than any one team. The CRSL has endured storms before and will endure this too. If Sheasham wish to pack up and go, so be it. The rest of us will, as we did in Mkoba streets, mould a ball from plastic bags and twine and continue playing. Because the game belongs to the people, not to Edward, not to Sheasham, not to sulking men with midnight press statements.
So let the whistle blow on. Let Sheasham wallow in their tears. Let “The Broadcast Partner” continue to give us the beautiful on radio. For football, like life, never waits for the spoilt child who runs home with the ball.
