Soccer Laduma - - Make Your Point -

Mangethe, as the let­ter by Soc­cer Lad­uma reader, Lehlo­honolo “Pane” Me­lato in this week’s Make Your Point at­tests, peo­ple have de­manded more of your hi­lar­i­ous sto­ries and we had to lis­ten. So it’s truly by pop­u­lar de­mand that you are back! Ha, ha, ha, sure, my brother, I’ve heard about the pos­i­tive feed­back from the read­ers and I have more sto­ries for you. Let me tell you about coach Muhsin Er­tu­gral when he joined La­montville Golden Ar­rows. He ar­rived to­wards the end of the year and there­fore he had to work with who­ever was in the team, as he couldn’t make any new sign­ings as the next trans­fer win­dow was only in Jan­uary. In his first week, he made us play a train­ing match so that he could as­sess his team. He de­cided to sit up in the stands so that he could have a bet­ter view of the team. Eish, I don’t want to lie, we were play­ing re­ally bad – we were ter­ri­ble, to be pre­cise! About 20 min­utes into the game, tjoo, the way he walked down the grand­stand to the field, ha, ha, ha... he was scream­ing and shout­ing, with our then team man­ager, James Dlamini, sit­ting in the VIP sec­tion, as he walked down and said, “James! James! Look at all these don­keys you bought for me. You guys said I must come and coach here and that you have play­ers. I didn’t re­alise you had don­keys as play­ers here!” Ha, ha, ha, eish, he was so an­gry and he walked straight into the pitch, while the game was on, and stood on the cen­tre cir­cle, let­ting us know ex­actly what he thought. That was so hi­lar­i­ous, man, and coach Muhsin will al­ways be like that. Ha, ha, ha, true. The cur­rent Cape Town City cap­tain, Tham­sanqa Mkhize, was play­ing as a mid­fielder at Ar­rows and en­joyed us­ing his skill. He was re­ally good at it, but coach Muhsin wasn’t for that. One time, he stopped train­ing and con­fronted Thami about his drib­bling. “You know what? The next time you do that non­sense, I prom­ise you, I will go in­side the field and kick you. If you think Jackie Chan can kick, you will know when I kick you that he doesn’t know how to kick a per­son,” ha, ha, ha, coach Muhsin Just re­cently, re­cently at Ajax Cape Town, we were play­ing a train­ing match and I think it was Tashreeq Mor­ris who missed the sim­plest of chances where all he needed to do was just make con­tact with the ball and it would be in the back of the net. Alas, he com­pletely missed the ball and coach Muhsin went men­tal! “Stop! Stop! Stop! Let me tell you some­thing, if I were to bring my grandma now, on a wheel­chair, from Turkey, she would have scored that goal,” he said. Tashreeq was try­ing to ex­plain and jus­tify his miss, to which the coach re­sponded, “I don’t blame you, I blame the peo­ple who brought you to this earth.” Ha, ha, ha, we just couldn’t stop laugh­ing. Ha, ha, ha. Let me go back to my friend, Ganda-Ganda (Tham­sanqa Gabuza). Ha, ha, ha, eish, there’s al­ways so much to tell about this one. Back in the day, we were once flat­mates when we were still team­mates here at Ar­rows. He went out, one night, af­ter 22h00 with R3 000 in his pocket, but came back with about R3 in the morn­ing. I was laugh­ing at him in the morn­ing try­ing to find out how that could hap­pen when he got home just af­ter 5am. While we were still talk­ing about that, I went to take a quick shower. A few min­utes later, there’s a loud knock at the door. “Open the door, it is the po­lice!” some­one shouted, with Gabuza the only one avail­able to open the door. He knew what he had done at the club, some­thing I ob­vi­ously can’t re­veal here un­for­tu­nately and I hope the read­ers will un­der­stand, ha, ha, ha. He opened the door and I could hear the cops say­ing they were look­ing for Tham­sanqa Gabuza, not know­ing they were ac­tu­ally speak­ing to Gabuza himhim self. He calmly asked, “What has he done?” and they gave him the whole story, the same story he knew very well. He then told them, “Okay, Tham­sanqa is tak­ing a shower and you can have a seat and wait for him.” The po­lice could ob­vi­ously hear that some­one was tak­ing a shower, while Gabuza went to his room, and I could hear ev­ery­thing go­ing on. Ha, ha, ha, this sounds in­ter­est­ing... what hap­pened next? To my sur­prise, hardly a minute later, Gabuza tells the cops he has to rush to work but ‘Tham­sanqa’ should be done any minute from now. He left. I even­tu­ally get out of the bath­room, re­laxed and not even wor­ried about all that I had over­heard. The cops con­front me, “Tham­sanqa, you’re un­der ar­rest…” I told them, “I’m not Tham­sanqa, my name is Siyanda Zwane and I can prove it.” They looked so shocked and told me my flat­mate had told them that I was the man they were look­ing for. I told them, “The guy you were talk­ing to is the man you’re look­ing for, Tham­sanqa Gabuza, not me.” My brother, the cops were so fu­ri­ous for be­ing played like that and that they couldn’t catch on at all. They rushed down the stairs in search of my flat­mate but, ob­vi­ously, he had long dis­ap­peared and was nowhere to be seen, ha, ha, ha. I can write a book about the time I spent with Gabuza, man. There’s just never a dull mo­ment in his pres­ence. Ha, ha, ha, un­be­liev­able stuff! There was a time when he was scor­ing goals reg­u­larly for Ar­rows and he told me he had bought him­self a ‘lucky charm’ that’s help­ing him score goals. I be­lieved the whole ‘lucky charm’ story. One day I woke up from an af­ter­noon nap and went to the bath­room. I could hear him talk­ing, but I didn’t know he was us­ing his ‘lucky charm’. He’s busy talk­ing about his de­sire to con­tinue scor­ing more goals and all that. I opened the door, without knock­ing, and saw him in the bath and look­ing all se­ri­ous. I re­alised that I had in­ter­rupted some­thing, so I apol­o­gised and be­fore I could close the door, he was like, “Niyam­bona ke uyazin­genela la (You see, he walks in here) without knock­ing. Please deal with him, let his leg break to­day.” I was like, “No, no, my bro, please tell your peo­ple I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to in­ter­rupt you.” Ha, ha, ha, I was so scared be­cause he looked so se­ri­ous. “Ok, leave him, he’s apol­o­gised. Please don’t hurt him,” he said. I quickly closed the door and went back to my room. Even­tu­ally, he got out of the bath­room and I asked him what was go­ing on. He told me, “If you ever en­ter without knock­ing again, I will tell my small boys to harm you.” I laughed so much be­cause my man was se­ri­ously tak­ing it too far, ha, ha, ha. There’s only one Ganda-Ganda, man. He’s still my boy to this day. Ha, ha, ha, we hope you don’t get into trou­ble with him for these crazy sto­ries. Bet­ter yet, we have to give him a chance to tell us ‘his side’ of the story. Ha, ha, ha, he knows these are all real sto­ries. By Vuyani Joni

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