WE’VE LOST OUR REAL GODFATHER

I had a personal relationship with Mudhara Matongorere because he knew my late father, who was a goalkeeper of note that he was once courted by the great Rio Tinto, and we used to go down memory lane. During those intimate moments, somehow, we would end up speaking in Nyanja, or Chewa, and we would

discuss anything and everything and it was his humility, which always blew me away.

AS far as I can remember, my friends have always called me ‘The Godfather.’

And, the legendary Charles “CNN” Mabika popularised the nickname, and took it countrywide, during our time on the ZTV weekly football programme, ‘Game Plan.’

I’m not sure how this Godfather connection came about but I know it started way back, when I was a little boy growing up in the compounds of Chakari, in the early part of the ‘80s.

I don’t know what my childhood friends saw in me to give me this nickname but later I knew that this was a name which was largely connected to the powerful heads of Mafia families.

Someone like Vito Corleone.

The capo di tutti i capi (the boss of all bosses), the fictional character in Mario Puzo’s ’69 novel, ‘The Godfather,’ which would in turn transform into a blockbuster movie of the same name.

Someone like Little Caesar, whose real name was Salvatore Maranzano, who started and won the Castellammarese Mafia War in 1931, on his way to become head of the Bonanno crime family of New York.

Or someone like Don Carlo, whose real name was Carlo Gambino, who became the head of the Gambino crime family after he assassinated Albert Anastasia and became the boss of all bosses until his death, of a heart attack, at the age of 74.

Then, later, I realised that Godfather could also mean something different from these powerful and ruthless men and could refer to “one that founds, supports and inspires.”

Maybe, this is closer to what my childhood friends had in mind when they gave me this nickname.

Whatever the case, it’s a nickname I have embraced, for better or for worse.

And, the more I have served in this journalism industry, the more I have come across a small but special number of people who I feel really deserved to be called the real Godfathers of our national game.

One of them is my long-time colleague, Charles “CNN” Mabika, whose contribution to our football has been immense that I still can’t understand why he wasn’t given the job to lead the ZIFA normalisation committee.

If FIFA had done that we would not be mourning today that we are being led by a group of people who probably don’t understand, let alone value, the role of a coach in a football team.

The other one has to be Sunday Chidzambwa.

He was the captain of his country as we toasted our coming of age, when Independence finally came along and, as coach of the Warriors, he found a way to take them to the Nations Cup for the first time.

Of course, he is the only coach to take a local club to the final of the CAF Champions League, back in the days when Dynamos was a proper football club, which belonged to the people, before its conversion into the personal property of Marriot’s family.

I saw the paltry and furious crowd at Vietnam on Thursday and struggled to convince myself that this is what Dynamos have become today – a broken franchise which has lost the appeal which used to attract thousands to watch them every weekend.

When Dynamos was DeMbare and not DeMarriot, I can tell you that more fans used to come to just watch its training sessions than the shocking number of fans who I saw sitting on the Vietnam stand on Thursday.

Somehow, their fury was directed at Genesis Mangombe, the coach who won them their first major piece of silverware just six months ago, instead of Marriot, who is the elephant in this dark room.

WE HAVE LOST OUR COACHING GODFATHER

In football there are coaches and then there are coaches of coaches, the guys who don’t really hog the limelight like their students and largely operate behind the scenes.

When it comes to the coaches of coaches, on the local scene, no one towers over Nelson Matongorere.

Yes, he was the real Godfather. Matongorere died on Wednesday night in Harare, at the age of 68, bringing the curtain down on the life of a man who dedicated his time on earth to serving the game he loved with all his heart.

He was a giant of a man, both in terms of his physical build and his immense knowledge when it comes to football, an oasis of knowledge, a fountain of wisdom and an island of expertise.

As early as 1981, he had already seen the value of investing in proper coaching education and plunged into the trenches to pursue a Level One coaching course.

That was when he met a guy called Ben Kouffie, a Ghanaian who, in later years, would come to Zimbabwe to guide the Warriors at the turn of the ‘90s, with the romance coming to an abrupt ending with that John Sibanda fiasco against Congo Brazzaville.

“Ben Koufie identified the potential in me, mentored me, and encouraged me to go to Brazil, Holland and other countries for courses that were sponsored. I never paid a dime for all the football knowledge that I acquired,” Matongorere told this newspaper.

That was in January last year and little did we know that 17 months down the line, our gentle giant would be dead.

But, his legacy will remain.

Even death cannot wash away over four decades of distinguished national service in which this gentle giant shaped many coaching careers with the likes of championship winning coaches - Callisto Pasuwa, Norman Mapeza, Takesure Chiragwi and Lloyd Chitembwe –passing through his hands.

Of course, he didn’t get the recognition he deserved but isn’t that part of our DNA?

A people who are always reluctant to acknowledge their heroes when they are alive and only pamper them with glowing tributes when they are dead?

I had a personal relationship with Mudhara Matongorere because he knew my late father, who was a goalkeeper of note that he was once courted by the great Rio Tinto, and we used to go down memory lane.

On the occasions when there were just the two of us, deep in conversation, we would speak Nyanja, or you can call it Chewa, the Bantu language which is spoken by over 15 million people across Southern Africa.

During those intimate moments we would discuss everything and it was his humility, which always swept me away, the respect he kept giving me even though he was the one who was the Reserve Bank of football knowledge.

And, even though I was just a mere son of a man who used to be his friend, back in the years when my old man was a footballer of note.

It probably helped their relationship that they were both giants of men, huge individuals, they were both humble and they also loved football.

For me, his decision to accept the role to be the assistant of Chitembwe, a man he taught everything about coaching, was yet another vivid demonstration of his humility.

In an era where loyalty is scarce and assistant coaches have been known to plot the downfall of their superiors, Mudhara Matongorere was something else and Chitembwe will probably need the whole day to talk about this man as a bastion of loyalty.

He always told me that not all teachers are as good as their students and it’s a fact that he was as successful, as a coach, as he was as a coach of coaches.

But, that’s irrelevant because his mission, from as early as 1981, was to be the coach of coaches, an instructor, and he fulfilled it with passing colours.

I will miss him because he was a man who I had a personal relationship with and who I would turn to on the occasions I needed a little helping hand on issues about coaching which needed to be explained in the media.

I will miss him because he was an amazing teacher and made a huge impact on this game that we all love.

And, more importantly, I will miss him because he was a good man, which is more important than being a good coach or an excellent coach of coaches.

It’s sad he leaves at a time when our game is in crisis, led by a leadership that appears desperate to drag it to its grave and a leader who appears to be so out of touch with football I would be surprised if he knows that substitutes are not only limited to three players.

But, Godfathers don’t die and that is why we are still watching Mario Puzo’s blockbuster film, of the same name, 50 years after it was first screened in cinemas.

Real Godfathers, like Nelson Matongorere, just take a rest.

See you on the other side, Mudhara and say hi to my old man, now you have all the time to talk about the days and nights when this beautiful game united you guys.

Long before it united you and me.

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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