The story of a coach who dug his own grave

ONE day when this columnist graduates into grandfatherhood — should the ancestors grant the privilege — the grandchildren will be told a tale of a man who dug his own grave.

Let’s leave the once upon a time things for that day — there’s still some distance to go considering that my triple K (not the Ku Klux Klan, you muppet, but Katleho, Kabelo and Khanya) are only 17, 17 and 7.

For now let us sink our teeth into the subject of the suspended incumbent of the Bafana Bafana coaching job. The metamorphosis of Shakes Mashaba from a beloved gentle giant of the beautiful game to an unbeloved bogeyman has been unspectacular to those fond of the man.

Erm, for those who may have just emerged from taking refuge under a rock, let’s recap.

Soon after sinking Senegal last Saturday, Mashaba took his eye off the ball. He went into a mad rage. In his moment of madness, finger-wagging, screaming and all, he scored a spectacular own goal. He was suspended before you could finish saying suicide.

Should he fall on his sword, which appears a distinct possibility with every passing second, Mashaba would have lost his job for reasons unrelated to his results.

Sure, he tanked on the first part of his mandate to qualify for the 2017 African Nations Cup.

As a result Bafana will be twiddling their thumbs and watching from the telly like all of us.

But, as far as reaching Russia 2018 is concerned, the second part of his instructions, Bafana are well on the road. Instead of basking in the glory

That the souls at Safa House have been tight-lipped since suspending Mashaba must never be mistaken to mean silence is golden

of taming the star-studded Teranga Lions, an impressive victory considering that Bafana were the first side to condemn the West Africans to defeat in 2016, Mashaba cut off his nose to spite his face.

His was a senseless, uncalculated tirade. He was like a veteran version of Tupac Shakur blasting Me Against The World.

I got nothing to lose, it is me against the world. Can you picture my prophecy, stress in Polokwane, Safa on top of me ... there ain’t no stopping me ... I’m headed for danger, don’t trust strangers, put one in the chamber whenever I feel this anger.

The fact that the silky-suited souls at Safa House have been tight-lipped since suspending Mashaba on Sunday must never be mistaken to mean silence is golden.

Not long ago someone on Twitter claimed to have been on a call with the South African Football Association (Safa) president Danny Jordaan.

The person in question stated as a matter of fact that the Safa boss spoke of finding a new coach because he was at the end of his tether with Mashaba. Who can blame Mashaba’s supporters for questioning why Dennis Mumble, the Safa chief executive officer, was quiet like a church mouse when the claim was made on Twitter that Mashaba was a dead man walking?

Some may advance another argument to the effect that instructing him to scour every nook and cranny to find SA players abroad was tantamount to Jordaan interfering in Mashaba’s job.

Jordaan may argue that he spoke to all the national team coaches and told them of his expectations. Whichever way we look at this, as bystanders watching this unsavoury soapie, we will always wonder why Mashaba hasn’t developed a reasonable level of emotional intelligence.

Emotional intelligence is the capacity to be aware of, control, and express one’s emotions, and to handle interpersonal relationships judiciously and empathetically.

If he felt he never enjoyed any support from Safa, he could have and should have handled it differently.

Adopting a victim mentality and crying foul publicly clouds issues and compounds matters unnecessarily.

His blanket accusation that all in the media had it against him is absolute high-grade hogwash. He knows the truth and it shall set him free. Criticism comes with the territory for a national team coach the world over. The sensitive types must steer clear. Today. Tomorrow. Forever.

One day when this columnist graduates into grandfatherhood, none of his grandchildren will know the word arrogant and its meaning, especially when they are aged four.