shabik

World Cup 'madness'... the aftermath...

2010-07-15T03:22:00.000-07:00

Rarely does the work of a policeman entail quelling a sanctioned riot disguised as a football match in the full glare of an estimated 700 million worldwide viewers.

That's exactly what one English police sergeant by the name Webb Howard found himself embroiled in last Saturday as the first World Cup on Africa soil came to an end.

What football pundits had billed as a would be greatest final of all time imploded into badly scripted play, the main protagonists being the thuggish Dutchman against the petulant Spaniard.

The was the ultimate show-stopper and Webb was only meant to play a supporting role. But in strange twist to the tale the chief members of the cast connived to thrust him into the heat of the spotlight.

Fate having placed him right at the center this farcical, yet comical show, Webb, who took a break from law enforcement duties 2 years ago in favour of the whistle, flashed a record 14 yellow cards and a red a card, just for good measure.

Suffice to say, in so doing the South Yorkshire Police officer unwittingly earned himself an eternal place of infamy in a Dutch folklore that will be told and retold in many years to come.

But then again, what other options did good old Webb have given that the Dutch hoodlums – the once highly acclaimed inventors of 'Total Football' - seemed more intent in clattering down and flattening the spineless and soft-pithed Spaniards? Something was bound to give in, at some point - and it did.

Having displayed a remarkable degree of restraint, Webb's patience finally ran out deep into extra time. The eventual jettisoning of Johnny Hetinga - the de facto leader of the triangular 'axis of evil', that included the repulsive Mark van Bommel and Nigel de Jong, was indeed very long in coming.

In the immediate aftermath of the ill-tempered final match, anger took the better of fans of the jinxed Oranje, with mounted police called to break up 200 rioting Dutch fans in The Hague of all places.

Funny that in a mere 120 minutes of total anarchy, the hunter - Webb - turned into the hunted. That's the irony of life.

Not so far away from the setting of this well choreographed charade, this whole business of a man and his many cards must have left the millions of Kenyan viewers with a sense of deja vu.

Kenya is known be a very political state and in local parlance, these are indeed the times of the 'Greens' and 'Reds'. In typical Kenyan speak, the two 'primary colours' have taken a whole new dimension ever since they were unveiled as they official colour codes of the looming plebiscite.

Absurdly, this whole colour fad bears the remotest connection to the beautiful game. A 'Red Card' is no longer connotative of a players expulsion from the field of play nor does a 'Green Card' refer to the once much coveted license to the 'land of opportunities' - President Barack Obama's birthplace.
Still, you have to marvel at the Electoral body's ingenuity in cashing in on the spirit of the game by running an advert in between live match coverage with a tag line that went like this … “Red or Green, we are Kenyans.”

Yet the greatest tragedy to this episode is that one section of the ever-feuding Kenyan football (mal)administrators had the audacity to laud our hands-on Premier's attempt to do his own version of a 'Jonathan Goodluck' coup. Perhaps a case of political-correctness taken a bit too far.

On whether Howard Webb, failed either by acts of omission or commission, the jury is still out there. But there can be little doubt in the mind of the majority that the first World Cup held on African soil, by the Rainbow Nation, was one big success story; whichever side of the colour scheme you choose to look at it from.

Time to go gaga!!!

2010-06-14T09:17:00.000-07:00

Every time my colleague Ayumba from the Daily Nation jumps to his feet to cheer and shout himself hoarse as Bafana Bafana lay surge on the Mexicans, the elderly white man perched on a high stool at the bar behind us reacts with spontaneous fits of anger.

He keeps fluffing his hands wildly while mouthing some inaudible protests which are duly drowned by the frantic fan's persistent din. At first I mistake the old man’s livid reaction as his unique way of cheering on the South Africans.

It’s only much later that I realise that the poor fellow is actually aghast by my partner’s perceived insolence in denying him a view of the crystal clear HD LCD screen that has captured the attention of all and sundry in the house.

Am tickled, but I don’t bother to alert the apparently oblivious Ayumba who is too engrossed in his cheer-leading exertions to take any notice.

It’s a Friday evening and we are at Kengeles, right in the heart of the blissful suburban Lavington Green to catch the historic kick-off of the 2010 Fifa World Cup, courtesy of MultiChoice Kenya.

The bubbly party mood at this placid joint that is popularly patronized by clientèle from the upper scale of the social class is uncharacteristic of the establishment.

With us on the same table is another colleague from the print, Ateka. This brother is, as usual, calm and collected as he slowly sips his Tusker baridi.

Behind us, at the bar, is a young couple. The man - a lanky Caucasian - is taking a Tusker too while his ‘very’ pregnant companion seems content with a glass of bottled water. They are hardly speaking to each other but seem quite comfy all the same.

A few minutes before half-time, a middle-aged gentleman settles on the empty table across ours. He is soon joined by another man in a grey suit and the two immediately order their drinks.

But wait a minute! Isn’t the latter of the two a clergyman; an ever observant Ateka discreetly nudges me. Sure enough - you can’t be wrong with the unmistakable white collar. And isn’t the man of the cloth downing his Tusker Malt baridi!

A mystified Ayumba quickly posts this lewd observation on Facebook via his cell phone to trigger a flurry of subversive comments from the ever eager online netizens of social network.

The back lobby, where the live action is being projected of four giant LCD screens is the preferred section for the rest of the media 'gang'. The placed is packed to the rafters!

There is a buzz about the place but the surround HD commentary somehow muffles the animated conversation of the vuvuzela-brandishing fans donned in assorted team shirts.

Perhaps this convivial sense of camaraderie explains our ‘Mzungu’ friend’s indignation and frustration at having his privacy so rudely intruded.

Unfortunately, there is no reprieve for him: the height of this madness is when Siphiwe Tshabalala lets fly a rocket that nestles with a bulge on the top corner of the Mexican net in the 55th minute.

Goal number one of 2010 Fifa World Cup is greeted by cacophony of sounds... the noise from the blurring vuvuzelas, honking car horns, and wild cheers is deafening.

Inexplicably, when Rafael Marquez equalizes for the Mexicans with just 23 minutes left on the clock, a few rounds of cheers are heard from some overzealous fans who seem to be just happy to savour the moment.

The game is soon over and the first person I turn to is the guy next table who identifies himself as Gaitho, a Nairobi businessman. The drinking pastor has since left. “Am not much of a football fan. I only came here to meet my pastor friend . I noticed you guys were startled when he walked in, but then....” he stutters and stops.

Your favourite teams? “Italy and Nigeria”, he quips without any further elaboration.
Next, I move to the bar where the indignant Caucasian man - by now as high as a kite from his tipple - is still sitted with a slightly drooped head.

But when I introduce myself he quickly grabs my Press Card and gives it long hard dreary look. “ Am not a ‘Mzungu’, I’ve lived in Kenya for 12 years”, he snaps at me in a drunken drawl when I ask for his reactions to the World Cup kick-off.

The next minute, he's warmed up to me and goes ahead to confess that he is not so enthusiastic about football but has a liking for rugby. “I don’t support any team but I hope South Africa does well” he mumbles with a half smile.

Inspite of my spirited coercion, the guy simply wont reveal any more. “Am simply known as Terry, that all you need to know ”, he says curtly before clasping my palm with a firm grip. End of interview!

On my way out, I bump into the premises owner Garvin Bell (Bell translates to Kengele in Kiswahili) and Stella Ondimu of MultiChoice Kenya. Garvin, who like the rest of his staff, is sporting a red t-shirt and black track slacks, seems highly energized by the carnival mood.

“Am so excited to be part of this communal goodwill event which has brought all these wonderful people together with the common purpose to support their teams and generally having fun”, says Garvin.

And what's with the number 7 on the back of the shirts? “Its the presumed lucky number here at Kengeles ”, he further confides.

Its 8:00pm and music from the lobby is now a few decibels higher. Outside, more cars are pulling over into the already jammed parking lot. The party has just began... time for me find my way home for the second match of Day 1.

Shame of the Naked Prince

2010-05-23T05:50:00.000-07:00

The die has been cast. The long journey to the 2010 FIFA World Cup has turned the final corner. Much water has passed under the bridge since 2006 when South Africa made history by becoming the first African nation to successfully bid for hosting the world football showpiece. Skepticism, especially by European nations, over South Africa's 'below par' infrastructure, security concerns and doubts over the Local Organizing Committee's (LOC) ability to successfully stage the event have all been the major talking points at one time or the other during this period.

The stage now is set for what might just turn out to be the most memorable edition in the tournament's history. The end of the European football season in the last few days has set the right tone to the final countdown to South Africa 2010. Mid-last week, national coaches for SA-bound teams for the penultimate time took centre stage in naming provisional 30-man squads that will eventually be trimmed down to 23 on June 1 ahead of the June 11th - July 11th excursion down South.

Its a well know fact that an appearance in the FIFA World Cup is the ultimate objective of virtually all football players. In almost all the world football powerhouses like England, Germany, France, Brazil and Argentina, donning your national colour at the greatest football bonanza carries almost the same weight as the honour of receiving a national medal from the Queen or the President. It of matters little your country pedigree in the 'beautiful' game; the sheer fact of merely doing national duty at the biggest competitive stage of the game expressly earns you a permanent place in the annals of national folklore.

That explains why many a professional football player endlessly toils to achieve this lifelong dream of playing in the World Cup. Not even the sweet taste of success at the showpiece helps in satiating this hunger. Its for that reason that every World Cup year, quite a few players a left distraught after failing to earn their places in their national squads. The furore and public outcry, both at home and abroad that, surrounded the exclusion of Brazilian national icon Romario's exclusion from the 2002 Japan/Korea contingent underscored the single-mindedness and great awe with which virtually all footballer regard the World Cup.

Little wonder then the shock that greeted Brazilian coach Dunga's decision to take an unpopular stand by not drafting in his South African-bound squad two-time FIFA World Player of the Year, Ronaldo de Assis Moreira aka Ronaldinho. The talismanic former Barcelona play maker once mesmerized the global audience with uniquely skillful way of playing the ball coupled with sudden burst of great speed, balance and an unmatched ball control . Ironically, only a few years ago, the ever smiling Ronaldinho was enjoying the form of his career.

His great vision on the field of play the and a knack for scoring outrageous goals certainly endeared him to many football fans. Notably is the jaw dropping overhead kick that he executed in the 2006-07 la Liga match against Villareal. Still unforgotten also, is his audacious free kick that completely fouled former English goalkeeper David Seaman at the Quarter final stage of the 2002 World Cup in Japan and Korea. It is in rumoured in some quarters that that blunder which costed England a place in the Semi final brought tears to Seaman's eyes long after the conclusion of the event.

How times have changed. Ronaldihno will now join a long list of players that will miss the action in South Africa in just a matter of days. That the pragmatic Dunga actually chose to name his final 23-man squad as opposed the stipulated one of 30 players dealt a final severe blow any hopes that Ronaldinho might have haboured in sneaking into the Selecao. But Ronaldniho is not only. Along side him in this the sad company of 'rejects' are fellow AC Milan and former Brazilian teammate Alexandre Pato, former French captain, the often combative Patrick Vieira, and the Inter Milan duo of Javier Zanetti and Esteban Cambiasso both Argentines. Other big names in this growing list of yesteryear's heros include Italians Francesco Totti and Luca Toni, former Dutch goalscoring machine Ruud van Nestelrooy as well as former English captain David Beckham.

The latest addition to this list - who many neutrals will probably empathize with - is German captain, the indefatigable Michael Ballack who for some strange reason always prefers to pull on the pressumedly 'unlucky' no.13 jersey both for club and country. While it would be preposterous and superstitious to draw a parallel to the many sad endings that Ballack has endured in his illustrious career, ill-fate certainly seems to endlessly dog him, especially when it matters most.

Ballack's injury however is not intriguing. The tragedy lies behind the story of the player responsible for his injury. 23 year old German born Portsmouth player, Kevin-Prince Boateng, who has uncannily evoked the wrath of German fans actually has some German blood in his veins. Boateng who is of mixed parentage - his father a Ghanian and his Mother a German- has only recently been cleared by FIFA to be legible to play for the Ghanian national team. Up till Ballack's fateful injury occasioned by a tackle from Boateng during last Sunday's FA Final, the possibility of showdown between the two players on June 23 in a Group D clash in Johnnnesburg's Soccer City had been very real. A bizarre twist in the tale is that Boateng's half brother Jerome has been named in German coach Joachim Loew's provisional 30-man squad, meaning the two brothers could face-off in South Africa wearing two different national colours.

Suffice to say, the injuries of Ballack and Beckham were most unfortunate for the two players who had hoped make their final bows in South Africa. However, the exclusion of other younger and ambitious players like the much maligned Italian teenage prodigy Mario Balotelli, the French pair of Karim Benzema and Samir Nasri, Machester United's Brazilian midfielder Andersson and Real Madrid's Fernando Gago will most certainly leave their teams - and indeed the 2010 FIFA World Cup - more the poorer.

Will the Mariga Factor Spill Over?

2010-03-23T07:01:00.001-07:00

With just five minutes remaining on the clock and Inter Milan comfortably coasting to a would be famous victory over Chelsea in the UEFA Champions League, TV pictures beamed a footage that will forever remain etched in the memory of many Kenyan football fans. A boyish smirk plastered all over his face, a nervous-looking MacDonald Mariga responded to coach Jose Mourinho's last minute touchline instructions with rhythmic nods of the head.

That was the night of 16th March 2010 and history was in the making. A minute later, the lanky attacking midfielder strode into the hallowed grounds of Stamford Bridge as a replacement of Dutch cross-master Wesley Sneidjer. It can only be left to the figment of one's imagination the immense swelling of emotion that must have been bubbling inside this young lad at that historic moment.

And this outpouring of emotions for the unprecedented achievement by 'one of our own' was just too infectious. At my Eastlands humble aboard, Mariga's cameo appearance was greeted with a spontaneous round of rousing applause from the many adjoining dingy video showrooms. Even in the studious of a local TV channel, FKL Technical Director Patrick Naggi was visibly besides himself with pride as he heaped superlative upon superlative on Mariga - his one time protégé at the defunct Kenya Pipeline FC.

It was while we were all wallowing at the apex of that dizzying height that it somehow occurred to many of us that the furore over Mariga's botched move to Manchester City only a few weeks earlier had been misplaced after all. Inter Milan was definitely a blessing in disguise!

With that single act, Mariga had singlehandedly put Kenya on the world map in a sport that we are still considered lightweights. Many years from now (or perhaps just a few), many other Kenyan players will follow in Mariga's footsteps and don the famous colours of some of the best European clubs. Its not a question of if, but rather when this prophesy will be fulfilled. And that in itself portends another question; which way forward now that Mariga has broken all barriers for us?

While it is in order to acknowledge Mariga's accolades, it would be be foolhardy to connotate this great achievement as rocket science. There are certainly many more Mariga's and Olieches waiting to be discovered.

Though its common knowledge that the root course of our football's near death is chronic maladministration of the game by selfish football officials, it would be pointless to dwell on these sideshows here.

For now, it is imperative that we quickly get over this “feel good” effect occasioned by Mariga's exploits. The sooner the better (“hatujafika bado”). Of primary significance now is how to land many more Marigas in the Italian Serie A, the English Premier League and even the lucrative Spanish La Liga.

A good starting point is through tournaments like the just concluded Super 8 and Pepeta Ball football tournaments as well as the ongoing Copa Coca Cola. We could even engage a latter-day “Bernard Zgoll” to revive and revamp the defunct Youth Olympic Centers across the country. This personality would be mandated with the responsibility of using such tournaments in identifying raw talent from the grassroots. Thereafter, a sound follow-through program would be set up to nurture and develop these young players.

Football is all about continuity; with time these players would mature and step-up into the big leagues both locally and internationally when the big boys call it time. As they say, you don't have to reinvent the wheel. This is the way all the other continental powerhouses like Nigeria, Ghana, Cameroon and Egypt have gone to achieve their degree of success. Kenya can only do itself a big favour by aping our 'big brothers' from the West and the North if we ever hope to see many more Marigas doing us proud in European Leagues.

The Face of Hooliganism

2010-03-23T06:20:00.000-07:00

Any professional footballer would most probably attest to this- the sight and sound of thousands of screaming fans can be quite an intimidating prospect. Atleast when they are not singing and chanting your praises. It is not uncommon for visiting teams to conveniently blame their loss on the unforgiving twelfth man – the fans!

It was a different story all together last Friday afternoon when Gor Mahia FC played Nairobi City Stars to an empty gallery at the Nyayo National Stadium, following the Independent Disciplinary and Appeals Committee's (IDAC) ruling over alleged misconduct by the former's fans during a previous league match.

If a full to capacity attendance can be intimidating, on the converse, an empty one can be unflatteringly imposing by the depth of its hollowness. What with the reverberating echoes of agitated team officials shouting instructions on the touchline ringing out against the yawning terraces.

For once Gor Mahia's players would have to endure the full ninety minutes on the pitch devoid of the familiar “Gor Biro, Yawne Yo!” war-song that has spurred them on to many memorable conquests in the past. But K'ogallo is famous for its religiously loyal fans who can practically move heaven and earth just to cheer their team to victory.

Long before the 3pm kick-off time, a seizable horde of Gor Mahai fans are already milling around the VIP Entrance. Inspite of the heavy police presence around the stadium's precincts, its just business as usual for these fans – even if it means following the proceedings from outside the stadium.

Inside the stadium, a dull scenario plays itself out as both teams labour through an uneventful first half, though the Kawangware-based Stars seem to be the more composed and creative side. All nought stands the half time score.

Come second half and the power balance dramatically shifts in favour of the home team. Just ten minutes after the breather, a goal bound shot from George 'Blackberry' Odhiambo is handled in the box by a City Stars defender. After much remonstration, a calm Julius 'Awilo' Owino coolly slots in the penalty for K'ogallo.

Now thats when the house come down! Jubilation rings out around the ghost arena. But where are the fans? Lo and behold... a closer scrutiny reveals a handful of fans precariously clutched from the outside of Gate 3 on the eastern side of the stadium. What innovation!

But more drama is still yet to come. A reckless challenge by Gor's centre half Mohammed Musa on Jimmy Bageye inside the box wins City Stars a penalty in the 75th minute. A perfect chance to even the score. Gor Mahia bench as expected is livid. Their indignation is however allayed by their custodian Fredrick Onyango who stretches full length to parry a weak shot from ex-international Justus Basweti for an abortive corner.

Unfortunately, thats just about it as a far as action on the pitch is concerned. An industrious yet clueless City Stars is left huffing and puffing for the next quarter of an hour to no avail. Its a sweet first win of the season for Mighty Gor... and how the fans who had been camping outside the stadium all along celebrate!

“Beneungeyo... Ndalooo... Ndalo Machon... Ok newangeyo!!”

“Gooorr... Gor Mahia... Pinje duto ywakni!!”

The loyal fans are in a carnival mood and it all calls for a song and dance as the gates are finally flung open for the marauding crowd. “Nyaka wagwedh pap” (we have to bless this stadium), one jubilant fan is heard saying.

But if you think that K'ogallo fans will just leave it at that having been denied a chance to watch their team chalk up a famous victory, you are dead wrong. Jubilation quickly degenerates to wrath as hooliganism which is almost synonymous with these fans rears its ugly head again. This time round their object of fury is non other than KPL CEO Jack Oguda whom they quickly find fault for their predicament.

One moment they are singing their hearts out, the next moment they are haranguing and roughing up the pitiful Oguda. Its only the swift and timely intervention of police officers that puts him out of harm's way in the face of a certainly nasty brush with the infamously notorious K'ogallo fans. As a rule of thumb, at this point its time to make a quick beeline for the exit.

OF FOOTBALL, WOMEN AND POLITICS

2010-02-03T06:30:00.000-08:00

Men, women and football - three mutually exclusive institutions. A sudden bust up out of the blues that I recently had with a platonic female friend over a game of football reaffirmed my long held belief in this school of thought.

Picture this: it’s an easy Tuesday evening, Match Day 3 of the just concluded African Cup of Nations. The Pharaohs of Egypt are up against Nigeria’s Super Eagles in one of the most titillating Group matches - a must watch encounter. Just as am getting all comfy and cozy on my armchair, my cellphone suddenly alerts me of an in coming text. Its Fay, my across the street neighbourhood lady friend. “Am home, kam join me 4 coffee”, her sms is curt and concise.

Ordinarily, on any given day this is an opportunity I would gladly jump at, but today there is a little problem. Kick off time is just moments away and I don’t wanna miss any bit of the action. What to do now? Simple! Just do what your average halfwit man does when faced with this kind of a dilemma. Contrive a blatant lie as a quick escape avenue! “Sori Fay, got a visitor @ my place, kant kam” I quickly dispatch my reply. Easy, right? Wrong!

Now, Fay is one overbearing lady whose idea of nurturing a friendship is a misplaced sense of overt patronage. Simply put, she relishes playing mother-hen. Within 10 flat minutes there is a knock on my door. Busted! Its Fay. My hunch is that she must have correctly figured out that my unusually turn down of her benevolent overture was a clear indication of some possible mischief that I was up to. So there she was to corroborate her suspicion and possibly, if need be, reprimand me for my uncouth conduct.

To say that Fay was not amused by my flopped double bluff and that what followed was an unsavory verbal exchange would be an understatement. In the heat of the moment, she stormed out in protest, but not without a final stinging parting shot: “Have fun entertaining your football of a visitor!” I was dumbfounded. And she is not even my girlfriend! I pity all those married men who still pretend to love football. No sane woman willingly accepts a ‘co-wife’. Sorry folks, there is no middle road here.

If you think that spat with my otherwise convivial and benign friend Fay was the end of my football related misery you are dead wrong. It so happened that the daily double-header matches in Angola were slotted at 7pm and 9:30pm local time. Now this is prime time on local TV channels. Soon enough, my homely neighbour’s kids would come trooping with one agenda in mind, “Storm Over Paradise” (That annoying Mexican soap in which the cast spends 99% of their time shouting and hurling lewd profanity at each other). In my opinion, “Storm in a Tea Cup” would be more apt for a title. Needless to say, that spelt out a long cold silence war over the control of the remote with the minors over the entire duration of the Nations Cup coverage.

And to throw a little spanner to the works, Man U vs Arsenal’s EPL match coincided with the Nations Cup final match. I have no allegiance to neither (in fact I despise both in equal measure) so I didn’t waste any time on the Devils- Gunners mumbo jumbo. As expected, Man U mercilessly spanked the Emirates wannabes for good measure. But what caught my attention post match, was Sir Alex Fergusson war-like mentality. Listen to what he said concerning the impending London derby featuring Arsenal and Chelsea: “Arsenal are still not out of it. I hope they can go to Stamford Bridge and come out with something.” It all reminded me of the proverbial mouse that nibbles away at the fingers of a sleeping kid who fail to wash hands after dinner, while at the same time blowing on the wounds to pacify the clueless child. The war has just began and nobody does it better than Sir Alex Fergusson when it comes to playing that invaluable psychological card.

But have you ever wondered why when it comes to matters football in the corridors of power no one meddles and spins a better yarn than PM Agwambo? Moments after Mariga’s bid to join mega rich Man City flopped, the Right Honourable was at it again trying to pacify the masses. Whether his claim that he managed to seek audience with his British counterpart Gordon Brown on this saga within hours to the closure of the transfer window was purely for PR is a story for another day. I can’t help wondering though if this guy really has a job description other than running petty errands for the docile Emilio.

7TH WONDER OF THE WORLD

2010-02-03T06:20:00.000-08:00

“Form is temporary, class is permanent.”
(Old school football saying)

Behold! It’s a visitation of the ancient pre-medieval times; the ageless fortified tombs have sprung open… the mummies have awoken from their age long slumber and are roaming freely across Africa’s great lands. From the Sahel, to the Sahara down to the Namib, the great trek of this prehistoric caravan can only be halted at the Cape…

History can never be rewritten, it only repeats itself. The Pharaoh dynasty is here with us! The buildup and movement that led up to that 85th minute gem of a goal by Gedo had me up on my feet applauding. Without a doubt my candid position on this has seen my popular ratings plummeting, but surely did anyone in his rightful mind imagine that the great ‘Pharaohs’ of Egypt would fall to the hugely depleted ‘Black Stars’? You wish!

This was vintage Egypt at the prime of its powers; the passing was fluid, player awareness top notch and the ruthless finishing blows were always delivered with clinical and methodical precision. Now that’s football at its very best. Can’t lie about this, when I saw the Egyptians clip the wings of the flightless ‘Super-Egos’ broders (sic) from Oga-land in their first match I knew it would take almost an impossibility to stop the flow of the great Nile. And this I secretly confided to one Redondo (a shabik.blogspot.com co-founder). For this am seriously considering becoming a professional bookmaker – if only to emancipate myself from the measly career of freelance writing.

All was and done (and a lot had been said by the naysayers), and thankfully so, it was a total blackout for the Black Stars who were reduced to a dim distant flicker by the all conquering Pharaohs. It’s verbose to state here that the quality of Hassan Shehata’s team was way above the rest of the competition. Like most neutral pundits, I happen to be a proponent of beautiful football, and it was only fair that the best overall team won the tournament.

However in all honesty, I must admit I loved Egypt’s temerity in delivering a real slap on the face of all the World Cup bound African teams. Am no moral high priest but I detest the manner in which all our perverted prejudices and bias predictably swing in favour of our ‘Black’ skinned brothers whenever they come against North African teams. The last time I checked, Africa was still one solid mass of a continent. Am told a more politically correct term for this is ‘racial profiling’. What meaningless and inane jargon!

Nonetheless, an otherwise successful tournament was only blotted on three accounts; the tragic attack on the Togolese team bus by a rebel group calling its self FLEC (or something), CAF’s ill advised move to consequently ban Togo from the next two editions of the tournament and of course the glaring refereeing howlers that saw a genuine ‘goal’ disallowed and a dubious one allowed at very crucial stages of the tournament. One Ahmed Hassan, Egypt’s captain and most capped player (an incredible 172 appearances for the Pharaohs) even attempted a Thierry Henry in the final match with FIFA President Sepp Blatter in attendance.

This brings me to something else altogether. When it emerged earlier in the week that MacDonald Mariga’s presumed move Man City had fallen through I read a very idiotic remark on the papers by one Raphael Wanjala in connection to the whole saga. Verbatim: “…. as leaders from Western province we are saddened by the behavior of UK… we are asking them to rescind the decision, failure to which our Ministry of Immigration should deny Britons work permits…” So now Mariga’s raising fortunes is the sole preserve of Western Kenyan leaders, huh? How cheap?

And this from some disillusioned run-of-the-mill former MP who only a few months ago was languishing in police cell in far away India after eloping with another man’s wife. Has this fellow ever been spotted anywhere close to the precincts of our national stadia before? But of course, now we know that the mercurial Mariga hails from Mheshimiwa Wanjala’s flood proned Budalangi constituency… just my wild guess.

But it all this gives a sense of déjà vu. Remember the chants of “Oliech… Odanga… Obama!!” that rung out around Nyayo Stadium one glorious Saturday afternoon some time last year when the Auxerre hit man orchestrated a sweet 2-0 victory over the Banjani-led Zims? It’s so Kenyan-like to associate ourselves with one of our own. A fallacy duly propagated by Alfred Mutua’s Twajivunia kuwa Wakenya spirit au sio?

Finally, a bone pick with the he overpriced and enslaving English Premier League. Incidentally while Egypt was slugging it out with Ghana, ‘another’ big fixture inevitably stole the thunder from the great spectacle at Luanda’s magnificent 11th November Stadium. Yes, you guessed right. Two of the so called ‘usual suspects’ (of what crime?) successfully managed to divert the local armchair fan base’s attention.

At a house party somewhere in Nairobi last Saturday I was astounded when this topic was broached within the small circle of men in attendance. When an unofficial poll was done as to which match between Egypt vs Ghana and Man U vs Arsenal was worth watching, an overwhelming 5 out of 6 voted in favour of Man U-Arsenal (of course the only exception being yours truly De’ Stefano). My rationale? Ukoloni mambo leo! Period. (Oh, and am actually considering penning my future articles here in our very own Kiswahili language)

Postscript: Just for the records, I stuck through the attire 90+ minutes of the game in Luanda. Folks, welcome back to shabik!

ANCIENT ROME REVISTED

2009-05-28T12:37:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: This is purely an unbiased commentary of the happenings last night in Rome. All efforts have been made to ensure that the opinion expressed here doesn’t disparage the hordes of Man U fans out there – especially the handful that I know and relate to on very friendly terms.

My all time favourite movie happens to be Gladiators, that prehistoric epic based on the ancient Roman Republic (confirm from profile on shabik). The story is all about Maximus, the virtuous army general under the service of Emperor Marcus Aurelius. In the film, it so happens that as the Emperor regresses into frailty and incapacitation from old age, Maximus emerges as the Emperor’s closest confidant and heir-apparent. But in a strange twist to the tale, Commodus – the Emperor’s vile and conniving son – stages a bloody ‘coup’ by slaying the old man. In the wake of his violent seizure of power, he utterly plunders and vanquishes Maximus’ household as the deposed general flees into exile.

Ultimately, the Maximus is captured and taken back into the city as a slave. His life spared, he is forcibly converted into a partaker of gladiatorial combats; the diabolic form of ‘sport’ in ancient Rome that often pitted man against fellow man or, in some extreme cases men against vicious beasts of the wild. In a gladiatorial combat you either lived or died; it was a fight to the death. All this was performed to ‘entertain’ the Emperor and the blood thirsty citizens of ancient Rome.

The final battle pits Maximus against his nemesis, the self imposed Emperor Commodus, at the end of which both men lay dead in the dusty arena of the (in)famous Roman Colosseum. Though the storyline is thin and simplistic, it’s a classic example of good prevailing against evil.

Such was the backdrop of the grand finale of the 2009 edition of the UEFA Champions League aptly dubbed “the battle of the gladiators”. Befittingly, the bowels of a modern day colosseum – Rome’s Stadio Olimpico – would the final frontier in a battle pitting arguably Europe’s finest. More than any other final match before it, there was going to be no hiding place at the 67, 000-seater Stadio Olimpico. This was going to be ancient Rome revisited – a fight to the death! At half time as the scoreline stood 1-0 in Barcelona’s favour, one would have been excused for wondering whether it would be Sir Alex Fergusson’s famed ‘hairdryer treatment’ or a simple ‘pep’ talk from Guardiola that would do the trick.

In sum, this match was all about midfield control. While Anderson and Carrick flopped sensationally, Xavi and Iniesta flourished. Their movement, vision, execution and ability to hold the ball is sublime… is how one football columnist described the Barca midfield duo in the build up to the match, accolades they truly lived up to on the night. Though Messi impressed with his darting runs that badly exposed Man United’s frailties at the back, Carles Puyol won many hearts with the man of the match performance. Playing out of position wide on the right, the evergreen captain’s contribution was meteoric. Surging forward, tracking backing and holding the line for the Catalans, Puyol was one handful for Ronaldo who ardently resorted to fouling him in frustration. In the end, it was the all conquering Spanish armada, under the guidance of a youthful coach, which prevailed over the battle hardened knight in shining armour.

NO LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL

2009-05-14T02:20:00.000-07:00

“Football is a game of the gentlemen watched by thugs… Rugby is a game of thugs watched by gentlemen and Golf is a game of the gentlemen watched by gentlemen…” these are the unforgettable words of Prime Minister Raila Odinga as once quoted during a rare day out at the golf course together with his nemesis-turned-partner President Mwai Kibaki.

While the PM’s was a rib tickling off-the-cuff remark made purely in jest and good spirit, as the occasion then demanded, perhaps the self-styled Enigma of Kenyan Politics should have paraphrased a small part of his analogy thus; “Football is the common folks game that is run by a bunch self-seeking plunderers masquerading as sports administrators…”

That Kenyan football is terminally ill on its death bed is a fact that even the most brazen protagonist within the exclusive club of spiteful and quarrelsome ‘gentlemen’ will find hard to counter. Football is meant to be our national sport, but sadly over the recent past, it has progressively made a bad name for itself by persistently courting controversy borne out of the endless power wrangles.

While at times the bone of contention has been mind-boggling, on other occasions the local football fraternity has been treated to petty bickering over non-issues. The latest nuance to the effect that the Shs. 118.5m three year renaming contract of the Nyayo National Stadium entered into by the Sports Stadia Management Board (SSMB) and Coca Cola was un-procedural serves as a good case in point here. My take is that unless there was something really irregular about the re-branding agreement signed between SSMB and the giant soft drink manufacturer, to the average football fan, this is just another storm in a tea cup.

That line by Sports Minister about preserving national cultural facilities sounds a bit too shallow. It could be Nyayo National Stadium, Coca-Cola National Stadium or even Nyayo Coca-Cola National Stadium for all we care! In any case what’s really in a name when we can’t properly manage much less utilize the so-called national facilities even when they bear names that sound good to our ears? Or is it just a case of sour grapes on the part of a seniour government official who feels her authority was usurped on a small matter such as the renaming of a City Municipal Stadium? Perhaps - perhaps not. But then again, why hasn’t the Honourable Minister not made it her business to address matters concerning the stalled artificial turf-laying works at the other ‘state facility’, the derelict City Stadium?

If the circumstances surrounding our football arenas can generate so much heat then it’s only natural that the action on the pitch and the high level maneuvering within the boardrooms can’t be any less controversial. A couple of years after taking over the running of the local league, the fine line separating the operations of the Kenya Premier League Company (KPL) and those of the football governing body, Football Kenya Limited (FKL) is still indistinguishable. Evidently, KPL’s terms of reference appear to be unclear hence the constant conflict of interest between these two entities on matters of policy, particularly so those touching on the running and organization of the local league. Super Sport, the continental cable sports channel, has also lately found itself entangled in this messy yarn.

Last month, in a bizarre incident, a highly incriminating email sent by KPL Chief Executive Officer, Jack Oguda, to KPL Chairman, Bob Munro, found its way into the inbox of AFC Leopards secretary Richard Ekhalie. This at a time when Munro’s team Mathare United was slated to play AFC Leopard. No doubt, the mystery of the ‘stray email’ was a self indictment of the rot that is progressively gnawing away at our number one sport. AFC Leopards may have been fully justified in opposing the last minute arbitrary change of venue but their withdrawal from Super Sport’s live coverage deal in protest and subsequent forfeiture of the Shs. 3m annual grant derived from the pay channel TV was indeed regrettable. It’s such a pity that this endless vicious cycle has only helped in hurting our football.

The national team, Harambee Stars, has not been spared either these constant upheavals. Actually, our national team has more often than not assumed the unenviable role of the much loved yet fallible character in this tragic comedy of errors. For too long now, it has been apparent that the top brass officials at the FKL (previously KFF) rarely act in the best interest of the national team players and the technical bench, yet at the same time setting unrealistic objectives for the team. Former coaches Jacob ‘Ghost’ Mulee and his successor Francis Kimanzi were both acrimoniously hounded out of office under unclear circumstances. Ironically, on both occasions the national team was perceived to have been posting good results. It’s rather obvious that Kenyan football has no place for the few mavericks audacious enough to stand up to the egoistic administrators.

But in a strange twist of events, in the run up to the Kenya’s opening match in the last group phase of the 2010 World Cup qualifier against Tunisia, the hunter became the hunted when deposed coach Kamanzi forcibly decamped members of his Mathare team from the national team’s residential training a week before the big match, ostensibly to settle old scores. In a swift move that surprised many, Coach Antoine Hey, dropped the four players at the centre of the controversy from his final squad forthwith. But we weren’t done yet. Things almost came to a head when Kenyan hit man, Dennis Oliech, further threw a spanner to the works on arrival from his Auxerre base by attempting to implore the German tactician to reverse the decision. Not allowing himself to be arm-twisted by his dependable point man - having already been done in by his predecessor - the new coach’s rebuff was swift and categorical; in due course, Oliech apologized and withdrew his way out of line request.

And of course the usual sideshows and incidences prior to and during the match crowned FKL’s high level of incompetence. Days before the March 28th encounter, illegal replica shirts of the national team were doing rounds on the streets of Nairobi courtesy of streetwise pedlars taking advantage of FKL’s laxity in registering the apparel as a trademark. As if the flood of fake t-shirts wasn’t bad enough, there was also the other issue of counterfeit match tickets which were also circulating on the streets. On a weekend where scores of fans were crashed to death in a stampede in a corresponding match in Abidjan, things weren’t any different at the ‘sold-out’ Coca Cola National Stadium. It’s such a paradox that purchasing match tickets off the streets around this place is a lot more easier than securing passage through the turnstile come match day: Its always a case of ‘mwenye nguvu mpishe’.

In the final analysis it can only be deduced that these petty altercations, tongue wagging and hand wringing only serve as a manifestation of the deep laying discord within the administrative structures of our football. But then, it’s not that hard to infer the diagnosis of this modern-day pandemic that is ravaging our football. We sold our souls to the devil the moment we bought the lies apportioned to us by these good for nothing busybodies in there quest to occupy those lavish offices at the football secretariat. My prognosis? Kenya football is bound to sink further into the depths of this unfathomable abyss. The Remedy? A radical surgery of the administrative structure is urgently required! Then, and only then, will there be a glimmer of hope; some flickering ray of light at the end of this long dingy tunnel.

ROAD TO ROME… THE SEMIS AT A GLANCE

2009-05-09T23:34:00.000-07:00

MAN U VS ARSENAL
1st Leg Results
Date: 29th April 2009
Venue: Old Trafford
Scoreline: Man U 1 : Arsenal 0
Scorers: Man U - John O’shea

2nd Leg Results
Date: 5th May 2009
Venue: The Emirates
Scoreline: Man U 3 : Arsenal 1
Scorers: Man U - Cristiano Ronaldo (2), Ji-Sung Park
Arsenal – Robin van Persie (pen)
Aggregate Score: Man U 4 : Arsenal 1

Man U are your firm favourites to retain their title in Rome, no doubt about it. Say it again, what was the estimated distance of that cracker of a free kick from Ronaldo? 40 yards out… Wooow??!! I’m a self-proclaimed Man U hater to the hilt, but why lie, this guy deserves to walk away with his 2nd FIFA World Player of the Year Award... just give the damn Devil his due!

BARCELONA VS CHELSEA

1st Leg Results
Date: 28th April 2009
Venue: Nou Camp
Scoreline: Barcelona 0 : Chelsea 0
Scorers: -

2nd Leg Results
Date: 6th May 2009
Venue: The Stamford Bridge
Scoreline: Barcelona 1 : Chelsea 1
Scorers: Chelsea - Michael Essien
Barcelona - Andres Iniesta
Aggregate Score: Barcelona 1 : Chelsea 1 (Barcelona advance on the away goal rule)

Two defining moments – two brilliant midfielders – two wonderful goals… the sum total of the tumultuous second leg encounter at the Stamford Bridge. This blog has absolutely no space to waste on meaningless innuendos on the wasn’t(s) and should have been(s). Period!

BURNING DOWN THE BRIDGE

2009-05-07T09:12:00.000-07:00

There exists an old folk tale about this masterful village hunter who once went out into the bush on a mission to ensnare a marauding leopard that had made plundering the village stock its habit. The story goes that upon capturing the vicious cat, the hunter proceeded to skin it alive without a second thought.

But borne out of natural human compassion, he spared the leopard’s harmless single cub that had been orphaned by his act which he decided to take for a ‘pet’. In due course, the baby leopard matured into a supple full-bodied feline; all the while feigning the presumed disposition of a domesticated cat.

Then one day, in sudden fit of wild instinct, the big cat pounced on its surrogate mother dog and her pups before fatally mauling its master – the village hunter. Oh, how one man’s folly left an entire village astounded beyond words!

After holding sway for exactly 83 minutes, Chelsea were the architects of their own down fall at the hands of a coy and subdued Barcelona on Wednesday night in the second leg of the UEFA Champions League semi final clash at the Stamford Bridge.

One fanatical supporter of Chelsea even went to the extent of spinning a lengthy yarn last week on the pages of a local leading daily boldly proclaiming how “the Blue Army would march out of their besieged fort and throttle the Catalans by the throat , leaving them for dead at the Bridge…”, blah blah blah… on and on he went. What illusory perversion of reality!

Obviously, this match will be the subject of an endless debate, particularly so from the deeply aggrieved Chelsea sympathizers, in many years to come. But as one neutral observer pointed out – and rightly so – while the much touted Barcelona disappointed heavily on the night, Chelsea on their part didn’t impress either. By 'petting' an already wounded but viciously dangerous opponent, they suffered the repercussions of incessantly teasing and tempting fate.

That flimsy hue and cry pathetically fronted by a section of the Blues’ loyal followers to the effect that match referee, Tom Henning Ovrebo, committed high treason by stoically ‘fixing’ the match in favour of Barcelona is, to say the least, a defeatist scapegoat. Irrespective of the countless penalty appeals that the official waved away, Chelsea had the best openings and should have buried the pretenders from Catalonia long before halftime.

Football being the ‘cruel’ sport that it is, you could get the feeling that somehow Chelsea would be made to pay the ultimate price for their grievously misplaced sense of comfort while delicately hanging on to that solitary wonder of a goal from Michael Essien. At that point, it would have only been prudent to kill off the contest – Manchester United style. But unfortunately they didn’t.

There is no gainsaying that they learnt their lesson the hard way and it served them right! Even worse was the petulant outburst from a furious Didier Drogba his anger directed at the Norwegian official long after the final whistle. Akin to flogging a dead horse, it was utterly senseless!

Stadio Olimpico in Rome is the final rendezvous for arguably the best two clubs in Europe on the 27th May 2009. The acrimony surrounding Chelsea’s ouster lends it more credence as a must-watch match. Man U stands as firm favourites but having ‘rigged’ their way into the final, Barca may possibly just confound the naysayers with a more credible display in Rome. Man U are well advised here to be extremely wary of the wily ways of the Catalans.

I wonder though the emotions this match will stir in the hearts of diehard Chelsea faithful. While in the event of a Barcelona triumph they will feel grossly cheated, still a victory for bitter rivals will do very little to placate their punctured ego.

How the mighty have fallen + Some Semi Finals

2009-05-04T23:05:00.000-07:00

Gone are the days when Zidane, Figo, Ronaldo and Raul would overwhelm any defence for Real Madrid. Instead, Raul - one of the last of that era of Galaticos was left rather disconsolate after their 6-2 whitewash at the hands of a Barcelona team that potentially could eclipse any team that has ever played in Spain.

Iniesta in my opinion is probably their most important player, even if it is Messi that draws the most attention when they play. Henry has regained a good amount of that form that made him one of the best players in the world, while Etoo somehow failed to get on the score sheet. Gerald Pique looks quite solid and powerful and was responsible for breaking up Madrid's numerous attempts to score. Xavi was as imperious as ever. Makes me wonder why they always try to sign Cesc from Arsenal when they already have such an immaculate midfield.

Talking of Arsenal, the first leg of the semi was all Man U (even though I had said that Arsenal would shade it possession wise). However Man U should have scored more.

Let's wait and see what happens tonight.

Chelsea - Barcelona follows tomorrow, and I suspect this leg at Stamford bridge will be more open than last. Messi may get space to do his magic. Barcelona are missing two central defenders though, so it should be intriguing to watch.

Manchester United vs Arsenal

2009-04-29T07:23:00.000-07:00

A potential classic...

But then, that is what I said about the Barcelona vs Chelsea game yesterday and I more or less dozed for most of the game.

Arsenal's defence has never been that good this season and last, and Man U have one of the most potent set of forwards in Europe. Arsenal will probably edge it possession wise, but the question on most Arsenal fans' minds is whether that possession, this time, will translate into goals.

Quite a number of contrasts: Man U have been there, and done that, (2 UCL cups, many more league titles) while Arsenal have never won that UCL and have had to endure 4 seasons without any silverware.

Man U's defence of late has not been as air tight as when they went 10 games without conceding a goal (though against arguably 'average' opposition).

Man U will probably win the English Premiership this time round ahead of bitter rivals Liverpool.

Previously, in the days of Keane vs Viera, before the age of the Oligarch, games between the two tended to be rather heated affairs (anyone recall Pizzagate? Cesc maybe?). However, currently, both Wenger and Fergerson enjoy a considerable level of mutual respect - maybe age has something to do with it? There's also a level of mutual respect among the two teams with Cesc saying that they are the best team in the world currently (that coming from a Catalan is something), and Vidic saying that he'll need to be at his best to cope with the threat that Adebayor poses.

Should be an interesting watch... so whatever side you are of the 'divide', have fun ... and don't go overboard.

AN ‘ALBUM’ WAS A MUST HAVE

2009-04-24T07:48:00.000-07:00

Its said that a pictures is worth a thousand words. How apt. While flipping through my photo album the other day, a collection of about half a dozen snaps got me thinking of those prized items every boy of a certain age-group longed to possess during my primary school days. An ‘album’ was that highly prized and much coveted paraphernalia which we boys went to all lengths to painstakingly build from old newspaper photo cuttings from the sports pages, stuck together with bubble gum on some tattered scrap books (old exercise books). Needless to say, the content of any ‘album’ would exclusively be snap shots from both local and international football action.

The bigger the variety of photos in your ‘album’, the greater the self-esteem you would command within the young fanatically fan base clique. A couple of coloured photos in your album made for an expert collector [back then, a colour photo on the newspapers was a rarity]. Predictability, albums were banned accessories in school but more often than not, a few daring souls would sneak their crude contrabands into class to gleefully display to their smitten classmates in between lessons. It can only be left to the imagination the kind of punishment our overly strict educators of the day meted out on any cheeky fellow (and his accomplices) found in possession of these illicit paraphernalia. Shamefully, a chronic deficiency of old newspapers in our household meant that I never I got to own an album; something I rue to this day.

At the risk of being branded old-fashioned, I dare say that, to me, that was the height of ingenuity. Long gone are the ‘albums’ - the passion and grief they elicited not withstanding. Instead of the daily kick-about we indulged in on dusty play grounds, the modern kid now has the Play Station. And for our obscure ‘albums’, he has an autograph booklet. Whatever became of innovation?

But I digress. I was talking about my photo album – the real one. In the midst of these nostalgic memories, my attention is sharply drawn by this small collection of photos that I once took from the stands of some little known football ground in Naivasha. Honestly, there is nothing really impressive about the quality of these photos, having been taken by the amateur photographer that I am. Worse still, is the fact that the camera in use was a cheap manual Kodak model that I got a few years ago as part of the promotion package when I bought my now faded and malfunctioning Motorola 110 cellphone. Ironically, these priceless photos truly occupy the centerpiece of my album – of course for obvious reasons which have everything to do with football. And the story around these photos is a rather interesting one.

Sometime back in 2005, towards the end of the 2006 FIFA World Cup qualifiers, a star-studded Ghanaian national team quietly checked into the country and found their way to Naivasha town where they pitched camp at the luxurious lakeside Simba Lodge. The high flying Black Stars were making a training camp stopover en-route to Cape Town for their penultimate tie against the Bafana Bafana. For some reason our befuddled football administration seemed reluctant to accept the West African’s request for a much-needed International friendly match. For Harambe Stars, who themselves had an upcoming encounter against Morocco, this was a God-send opportunity for an invaluable build-up match against one of the stronger African sides. Regrettably, the opportunity came and sadly passed us by, all thanks to KFF!

Deprived of a meaningful match-up with their host, the West African football giants were thus left to do with routine mid-morning training sessions at the nondescript Oserian Stadium – formerly the home of two time Kenya Premier League champions, Oserian Fastac. A day before their departure down south, the Ghanaian officials hastily arranged for an ‘international friendly’ against the fledgling Oserian FC – a revived version of the defunct Oserian Fastac.

Time and chance conveniently placed me, then, at the flower farm through professional vocation for a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet and rub shoulders with renowned football celebrities. The Ghanaian contingent boasted big names. In the house was captain Stephen Appiah, goalkeepers Richard Kingstone and Sammy Adjei and of course the biggest attraction was none other than Chelsea midfield dynamo Michael Essien. This was a match I wasn’t gonna miss for anything in the world!

But then, being a weekday (Wednesday) the problem of poor timing of the match (3pm) was always going to pause a small challenge. After some long and serious consideration, I firmly resolved to cut my working hours by a good two hours. Amid all the anxiety to sneak out of the office unnoticed, I completely forgot to carry along my autograph book! But thank God for my cheap Kodak camera… I ended up with half a dozen snap shots of Africa’s finest.

Just for the records, the ‘Black Stars’ hardly broke any sweat in walloping Oserian FC 4-0 during that match. A few days later in Cape Town, the Stephen Appiah led team upset Bafana Bafana 2-0. Meanwhile our own Harambe Stars could only muster a 1-1 draw at home to Morocco in a match blotted by the death of a teenage fan following a stampede. The Ghanaians eventually won their group to book a flight to Germany for a first ever World Cup finals appearance as Kenya were trounced 2-0 by the Carthage Eagles of Tunisia before an empty gallery at Kasarani to crash out.

Brazil to train in Nairobi

2009-04-01T00:51:00.000-07:00

Very interesting by the East African Standard... keeping in mind that it's April 1st..

MAKING HEY WHILE THE STARS DIM

2009-03-30T07:57:00.000-07:00

Kenya’s 3-match winning run a home in the 2010 World Cup qualifiers came to a grinding halt at the hands of Tunisia’s ‘Carthage Eagles’ last Saturday. Shabik’s De’ Stefano was on location to deliver a blow by blow account of the sequence of events.

1) The Preparation

2:05 pm - Am still at home, less than 2 hours to kickoff, but I need a fast shower!
2:15 pm - I grab a quick bite.
2:25pm - Am literally dashing out of the hao. I hear its raining those sides of tao I hate bebaing a brollie… I don’t have to.
2:35pm - I hop into the first mat that pulls up at my stage. Traffic aint mbaya, should be there within the next 35-40 minutes.
3:00pm - a potentially terrible traffic is beginning to build at the Langata Road-
Mbagathi Way-Mai Mahiu Road roundabout with absolutely no traffic cop in sight.
3:10pm - The Brrrrr Stadium. Wow! Unbelievable, the crowd that is here. A huge crowd is milling around the gate on the Nairobi West side, where the flow of traffic has been greatly hampered.
3:12pm - I try circumventing the long queues here and checkout the other entry
points on the eastern side. Hard luck. The queues are longer and the crowd more chaotic.
3:25pm - The heavens sudden open; its pouring like nobody’s business and part of
the crowd is scampering for shelter on the fringes of the parameter wall.
-Police on horsebacks are not helping either as they attempt to ward off the surging crowd.
-The the existing queues don’t same to be moving either. Damn it! Will I really make it in at this rate?
3:30pm - Still yet to find a queue that looks relatively short.
3:45pm - Back on the western wing. I find a queue which has snaked its way to the
parking lot in front of the main entrance. This one seems shorter and less chaotic, so I join in. It’s moving…
4:06pm - Am through the turnstile! Oh my God! The Coca Cola stadium is
literally bursting on its seams… Incredible! Why on earth did I loan out my digital camera?
- No time to waste, up the terraces I scale.

2) The Action

4:07pm - Kickoff. I’ve taken my seat.
4:13pm - A lucky strike on the murky surface gifts the Tunisians goal number one.
4:17pm - Stars are chasing the game. Towering Tunisian captain Radhi Jaidi nearly
concedes an own goal under great pressure from Denis Oliech.
4:22pm - Oliech heads agonizingly close from a looped pass by Robert Mambo.
4:44pm - The sun finally breaks through the clouds on the western side of the stadium.
4:55pm - Halftime.
Tunisia 1: Kenya 0

[Such a wonderful atmosphere inside the stadium. Flags, blurring horns and from a distant, the faint sound of the ‘Isikuti’ all add up to the pomp and fanfare. One in every five people is clad in the Star’s white replica jersey; many faces are painted black, red and green. Lots of beautiful women are also in the house, mostly in the company of jamaas]
*** *** ***
5:11pm - Kipindi cha lala salama.
5:26pm - As the Stars are pressing for an equalizer, a ‘Mexican Wave’ flows 4 times around the stadium.
- The Tunisians seem content in letting the Stars string their passes around.
5:35pm - Yeeeeesss!! Denis Oliech does it again and the roof comes down!!
5:38pm - Heartbreak… Goal number two for Tunisia.
5:42pm - Robert Mambo strike the crossbar with a powerful header.
5:50pm - Fans begin streaming out. Technically we are a beaten side now. All that huffing and puffing comes to naught.
6:01pm - Final whistle.
Tunisia 2: Kenya 1

[Time to take a brief moment of reflection on the terraces as the multitude of fans makes it way out. Am disappointed we’ve lost a game we should have won; but am proud of our boys who’ve gone down fighting.]

The Aftermath

Sunday, Maputo – Hosts Mozambique contrive an unlikely scoreless draw against a coy Nigeria even after having 2 ‘goals’ disallowed. As it stands now in Group 2:

Team P W D L GF GA PTS
1. Tunisia 1 1 0 0 2 1 3
2. Mozambique 1 0 1 0 0 0 1
3. Nigeria 1 0 1 0 0 0 1
4. Kenya 1 0 0 1 1 2 0

So there you have it folks, things look abit thick at the moment. It’s bad enough that we lost our first game at home and even worse that our next stop will be in Lagos on 7th June against group favourites, the Super Eagles.

Its gonna be a tough match for us because Nigeria will not be willing to drop any more points so as to stay in touch with Tunisia who at worst can only draw at home to Mozambique over the same weekend. Furthermore Mozambique’s stellar performance against Nigeria should serve as a warning to us that perhaps they are not the pushovers we all thought they are.

That leaves us in a very precarious position. Its really grim but considering the poor travelers that we are (we’ve never beaten Nigeria home, away or ‘anywhere’, for that matter), I see us still rooted at the bottom of the group after the second round of matches.

Lessons Learnt
• Lesson No. 1: Always take the words of a been-there-done-it sage seriously. Former Harambee Stars coach, Mohammed Kheri, sounded an early warning before the match that the Tunisians have a knack for scoring early goals. We conceded a 6th minute goal…
• Lesson No. 2: It’s true that you are most vulnerable within the first two minutes of scoring a goal. That’s when you momentarily let down your guard and whack! The sucker punch. The Tunisians went ahead again only 3 minutes after we equalized.
• Lesson No. 3: It’s also true that Oliech is the fulcrum the entire team revolves around and that we tend to over relay on him. The AJ Auxerre hitman accounts for 5 of the 9 goals we’ve scored so far.
• Lesson No. 4: And finally, on match day, ensure you are at the venue 3 or 4 hours before kickoff; Kenyans are well known for the last minute rush…

THE STADIUM – EVERY FAN’S ABODE

2009-03-26T07:18:00.000-07:00

“Football is a game of the gentlemen watched by thugs… Rugby is a game of thugs watched by gentlemen and Golf is a game of the gentlemen watched by gentlemen…” these are the famous words of Prime Minister Raila Odinga as once quoted during a rare day out at the golf course together with his nemesis-turned-partner President Mwai Kibaki.

In as much as the man must have made his rib tickling off-the-cuff remark purely to lighten up the otherwise informal occasion, it was a statement that anyone whose ever set foot on a football or rugby pitch must have concurred with – only that the modern day rugby player is becoming an increasing suave athlete.

But all that is beside the point. Any serious sports fan, will agree that nothing beats the experience of catching the action ‘real time’ on location as the drama unfolds. Forget about all those beer guzzling armchair/barstool fans that are perversely taking over sport. The stadium -football, rugby or otherwise- is a special place to be in if you want a piece of the real ‘action’. The stadium is the real deal - a shrine, a sacred place, some sort of a sports’ follower’s ‘Mecca’ - a place where every serious fan should occasionally take pilgrimage purely to unwind if not to fellowship with other devotees.

Personally, some of my most memorable excursions happen to have been at the rugby grounds. Having transferred to Nakuru midway through high school after my family moved from Nairobi, I took up rugby as a sport. Coincidentally, our new neighbourhood happened to have been just a stone throw away from the Nakuru Athletic Club, literally. Infact, from the balcony I could comfortably follow proceedings on any match day undeterred. But then, just to get up and close to the action, attending the Great Rift 10 Aside tourney became a ritual that I religiously observed year in year out, just before schools opened for the 2nd term.

The atmosphere was always sizzling - for two straight days! And the crowd? There is one particular guy by the name Arigi who was something of a permanent phenomenon during theses events. Although many rugby followers will recall that Arigi owed his allegiance totally to University of Nairobi’s Mean Machine, over the years he gained notoriety (or perhaps popularity) as the official cheerleader of the students’ team who would seized every opportunity available to relentlessly engage the opposing fans in a lighthearted banter. Regardless though, his touchline antics, with a barrage of brickbats to boot, were always worth all the while.

If the rugby grounds were a standup comedian’s launch pad- ala Arigi, then the football stadium must have been a hooligan’s paradise. During my primary school days, this is the one place that I vividly recall my old man admonishing us from exploring. His concern was obviously borne out of fear that such ventures would inevitably expose us to the hoodlums who were a commonplace at the football arenas. But being the brats that we were, the temptation to sneak out every Saturday afternoon was often overwhelming.

Ironically, most of the times - being kids - the much prized match tickets were way too prohibitive. For all our troubles, we often found ourselves cooling our heels at the gates for a good part of the match, only to be let in through the benevolence of the gatekeepers barely ten minutes to the end of the game. ‘Ten Percent’ was the common parlance for this little misadventure back then.

Thankfully, all that is a thing of the past. Nowadays I can afford the occasional match ticket. The only worrying trend is the shrinking crowds, which have dampened the once memorable stadium experience. Gone are the days of the bitter rivalry pitting Gor Mahia and AFC Leopards that would practically bring all business in town to a standstill on the day of the big derby. The intensity and hype of the pre-match buildup and thereafter the celebration parties that would often degenerate into running battles between the two group of fans by far makes the so called Man U-Arsenal charades in Nairobi’s drinking holes a mere child’s play.

But its not all gloom to those who, like me, still hold the beautiful game close to heart. For me, the football stadium remains the choice destination on any Saturday afternoon. Yes, the matches are rather drab but all the sideshows by devout and passionate fans on the terraces makes up for all the bad football.

Kenya - Tunisia

2009-03-25T22:57:00.000-07:00

I am wondering how this game will go. Kimanzi was doing a good job, had (in my opinion) an appreciation for varying tactics depending on the game, and had potential to be Kenya's best homegrown coach ever. That is until 'other' interests took over.

Not sure about Hey. It is too early to judge his ability, but many guys are resigned to losing to Tunisia. Check out this discussion thread on stockskenya.com

Of course I hope Kenya beat Tunisia soundly, but I'm not holding my breath.

A HATE MAIL TO ENGLISH FOOTBALL FANS

2009-03-12T00:04:00.000-07:00

Am one disgruntled football fan spoiling for a bare-knuckled fight! The so called ‘withdrawal symptoms’ have set in way too early for me. And that, for a very good reason. I woke up last Wednesday to the shocking and devastating news of the humiliating spanking that my beloved Real Madrid suffered at Liverpool the previous night (the scoreline is a bit embarrassing, I prefer not to state it for now).

Prior to the match, one like-minded yet immensely candid fan put it plainly to me that considering the beaten road that the los Merengues have taken in recent years in the competition, they stood not even half a chance at Anfield. In retrospect, I now realize I shouldn’t have bothered to ask for a second opinion in the first place.

But then of course every football fan worth his salt sets ‘SMART’ objectives for his team at the beginning of every season. Regrettably, with that drabbing at the hands of Liverpool, one of my own ‘SMART’ objectives for the 2008-2009 season just went up in smoke.

In football, back-to-back defeats to any one opponent – and while at it, shipping a bucketful of goals without scoring – is bad enough. But losing home and away to a struggling and colourless English team of Liverpool’s ilk is something that closely borders a disaster, a tragedy – nay, a scandal!

Maybe I should come out more clearly and boldly state that I’ve never had any love for English teams. All football fans have their idiosyncratic prejudices. Perhaps that’s just one of my own. It’s allowed in this game. For that very reason, I recently gave up watching the much-hyped English Premiership at my local pub every Saturday afternoon. This is a decision I reached upon stumbling on a very important awakening. Its all about the element of chauvinism, the cockiness exhibited in the English game. From those loud-mouthed managers, controversy-plagued players to downright ignorant fans (some in as far-flung places as downtown Nairobi) English football is the epitome of an over-rated, over-priced and over-publicized show.

How sickening it is listening to that tired age-long argument about Man U and Arsenal on those slow Sunday afternoons when all you want is to enjoy the game over a pint or two. Oh, and the degree of ignorance? Massive, for lack of a better word. Picture this; last Saturday at one of my family member’s house-warming bash am accosted by this gorgeous lady – an acquaintance from a previous social gathering. During our brief conversion, Cindy (for that’s her name) volunteers information to the effect that she is a diehard Man U fan, never mind the fact that she doesn’t understand the simplest of the game’s rules like an off-side. Now, fancy that for your average English football fan! Her display of bewilderment when I nonchalantly stutter that I feel nothing for her team or any other English team, for that matter, was all too obvious.

Suffice to say, we didn’t strike it off well with Cindy and I left it at that. My wildest guess is that my convoluted perspective of the game did very little to endear me this drop-dead beauty. And I bet it won’t endear me, either, to the many lovers of the English game – not by one long shot. What am sure of though, is that by bravely sticking out my neck, I’ve practically turned into a laughing stock. For now, you guyz can ha ha ha all you wanna, but rest assured Real Madrid will live to fight another day.

WHAT EVERY MAN WANTS

2009-02-17T00:25:00.000-08:00

What would a man choose on a Saturday afternoon between a romantic evening and a male-bonding session out with the boys? Forget all that crap about Valentine’s Day that has lately driven all sane members of the male gender bonkers, boys will be boys and men will be men!

Much as I don’t subscribe to the farfetched superstitious belief that the 13th day on any month falling on a Friday is enough reason to shudder, on the contrary, the 14th February on a weekend is surely hell-sent. But thank God for football! Yes, football is what let me off the hook last Saturday from that overly commercialized charade of love and romance. Not so for many other men out there who begrudgingly chose to conform to this foreign concept whose origin none has a clue. Many are the long faces you’ll bump into in the next few days on the streets after having blown up a tidy sum of their savings all in the name of making an impression.

Needless to say, I too was caught up in a similar predicament, but I chose treachery over sentimentality. Actually, I have the gods of football to thank for a timely and miraculous intervention in the face of an impending emotional crisis.

Saturday morning finds me bilaz and plotless, thanks to the global credit crunch. That’s really a mild way of saying that I’ve literally been running on shoe-string budget for the last couple of weeks. Then here I find myself torn between making a phone call to a certain missus to either confirm that dinner date or alternatively calling the bluff and making up a lie about last minute engagements. The rational? The Zambians are in town for the return leg against Mathare United in the African Champions League encounter. Its been ages since I last watched a ‘live’ football match in a real stadium full of screaming fans. The temptation is just irresistible. Besides, by absconding my presumed dinner date, I’ll have dispensed off all those unnecessary costs of flowers, cards, chocolates, lingerie and all. So lie I do.

Amazingly and contrary to all my preconceived expectations, my lady actually swallows my stupid lie, hook line and sinker. Am not sure though, if this seeming act of naivety is actually one of her neatly concealed smart tramp cards which will ultimately be used against me in future. God forbid, she doesn’t read this public exposé of my wily and errant ways… any way, sticking to the business of the day, I still have a match to catch – one down, one more to go.

For some strange reasons, virtually all Kenyan football stadiums have witnessed a gradual exodus of fans that used to pack these arenas to the rafters on the big occasions. There are no surprises either this afternoon at the re-branded Coca Cola National Stadium. Only a few minutes to kick off time, a sparse crowd accounts for the yawning slab seats. A few more continue to trickle in. Obviously, that token of a free rose for each fan through the turnstile failed to turn on the love after all. I make my way to a vantage position on the terraces to the left of the VIP stand. As usual, the pre-match sideshows effectively lighten up the mood. And in keeping to the spirit of the day, reggae renditions of popular love ballads are blurring out from the loudspeakers on the running track. Right behind me there is this joker who keeps going on and on with a hilarious tale about a certain old driver of a bus full of ‘pickpockets ’. With the passage of every mile, the driver is increasingly getting incensed by the presence of these pilferers amongst his passengers. Trouble is that he can’t forthrightly eject them having ‘stolen’ the bus himself a few miles down the road… “What an irony!”, concludes our stadium comic. Then when a small contingent of noisy, flag-waving Zambian fans arrive at the VIP stand and the stadium announcer, tongue-in-cheek, clarifies that Zesco (Zambian Electricity Supply Company) is the equivalent of our own Western Stima in the KPL, the home fans are all left in stitches.

But when the real action gets underway on the field of play, it’s the Zambians who have the last laugh. The much-talked of Mathare United defense turns out to be precisely that – mere talk. Within the first quarter of an hour, Enock Sikala casually lobs the ball over the badly positioned Mathare custodian following a defensive lapse. Tragically, for all their possession, the Mathare United strike force time and again comes short infront of goal. And they are duly punished yet again for all their ineptitude in the 48th minute. A swift counter attack from an abortive corner gives the Zambians an unassailable 2-0 lead on the day and a 4-0 margin on aggregate. Thereafter, all the huffing and puffing by Kimanzi’s overly subdued men is all to naught. A consolation spot-kick slotted in by the burly Kevin Ochieng in the 65th minute proves to be too little, too late. Justifiably, with 10 minutes still left on the clock, and a certain victory beckoning, the small traveling Zambian party breaks into song and dance. The final nail, however, is driven into Mathare’s coffin in the 88th minute when diminutive striker Clifford Chipalo taps in a free-kick from the right flank. Game over! Its time to leave – I quickly join the beeline for the exit.

A couple of steps back for Kenyan soccer?

2009-01-18T21:35:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I was not a happy soccer fan. Kimanzi got the boot for standing his groun regarding the international FRIENDLY between Harambee Stars and Egypt. One would only suspect that (again) money had something to do with all of it - considering the Egyptian soccer authorities were footing the bill both locally and international.

The stand in coach, could do the job, but Kimanzi, relatively young for a soccer coach, has amazing potential - he's got the potential to become Kenya's best ever local coach. Under him, Kenya's FIFA ranking rose to within the magical 70 required for soccer players to play in the lucrative English Premier League. Never mind that Kenya's ranking plummeted to below 80 the month after without a single game being played.

One wonders whether FKL, KFF (or whoever) really have Kenyan soccer interests at heart. Most of the time, they remind me of Kenyan politicians (those matching Mutahi Ngunyi's apt description).

Let's see if the players will be sufficiently motivated to give that extra effort under Kimanzi, who was able to relate to players extremely well due to his youth.

DIARY OF A MAD FOOTBALL FAN

2008-12-04T22:05:00.000-08:00

Numbers don’t lie, so they say; 65 days is the total number of days that I’ve spent in the doldrums. But then again, what goes around comes around. I’ve finally been forced to make my long overdue return to the staple. Let me explain. I say ‘finally’ because in this era of grand ‘homecomings’, (and shabik being my ‘baby’) I was duty bound to make a comeback at some point. And ‘forced’ because were it not for Redondo’s persistent tongue-lashing, then may be this post would never have seen the light of day. To put it another way, this brother literally fast-tracked my return into the fold.

Can you imagine the guy has been on my case in the past few weeks desperately trying to woe me back? No offence, but at some point I was thinking to myself “… this Redondo guy is now becoming a real pain in the a***” But then when after all his cajoling proved fruitless, he finally put it to me this morning in clear and certain terms. And boy, it was one hell of a dressing-down I took from this jolly good fella. “Am concerned that you’ve not made any attempt to write even a single article for this long”, were his final words in a terse and curt monologue. To say that I was jolted would be an understatement – I was stung beyond words! Folks, am back!

For starters, I believe its quite in order to begin with an apology for my rude manners and lack of courtesy. I should have had the decorum to begin with pleasantries before engaging you in the nitty gritty. Or may be even a ‘While You Were Away’ debrief wouldn’t have been such a bad idea after all given my prolonged and unexplained absence. Anyway, I hope you folks are (and have been) well for all that while, just like myself.

Its not like I didn’t miss this platform, but an unfortunate combination of lethargy and lack of inspiration is what accounted for my self-imposed exile. There is this thing called the writers’ block which occasionally inflicts every scribe. For some reason, I get this obnoxious feeling that maybe this is just a classical example of the so called writers’ block. Even now that I’ve finally resolved to put pen to paper, I feel abit rusty as I struggle to choose the right words to construct this paragraph while cobbling together this disjointed piece of an article.

Wait a minute! Did I just say pen to paper? Yap, you got me right. I beg to be forgiven for being too indiscreet as to enclose that lately I’ve been some sort of a journeyman with no permanent residency. For that very reason, accessing modern by-products of technology in the form of PCs and laptops is no an everyday thing for me. So as I sit with a pen and note book in hand scribbling away the piece (which I hope to typeset later on at a nearby cybercafé) am not even sure if at all its going to make an interesting read by the time it gets to the shabik platform (all my troubles not withstanding). But just to give credence to a cheeky remark I overheard from certain jamaa recently, “Mwanaume sio jina – ni vitendo” (I know Redondo gets the joke), I guess I just have to show the vitendo here.

Now that I’ve given a written explanation for my AWOL (Absence Without Leave), I suppose we can catch up on the more important matters – Football! So what’s been cuttin’ in Premiership? Of course after an initial slow start, Man U has slowly crept back into the top three bracket. I hate admitting this, but from the looks of thing, the Red Devils yet again look like the team to beat as far as the title race is concerned. Meanwhile, Arsenal continues to capitulate alternating some very good football at times with not very impressive displays on other occasions at a frequency that baffles more than annoys. How else then would you explain this a 2-1 loss to Stoke City, followed by a 2-1 win over Man U, then 2-0 and 3-0 losses to Aston Villa and Man City respectively, and then a 2-1 win over Chelsea…? Not a very impressive resume by all standards. And going by the disgraceful manner in which former skipper William Gallas was stripped of the armband, its not very hard to see that the Gunners troubles run deeper than the skin. I’ve said this here before and I’ll repeat it again for the umpteenth time; Arsene Wenger has done a lot for the London club, but perhaps its high time a change of tact (or even guards) would be what is needed to alleviate the worries of the longsuffering fans.

Across town, inspite of the wide squad at the disposal of Luiz Felipe Scolari, the Blues still don’t look like a team capable of sustaining the momentum over the long haul. They strike me as a team that will falter badly sooner rather later. In as much as their record on the road has been without blemish, their home form (they’ve already lost at home to Liverpool and Arsenal and drawn with Man U) should be a cause of worry for Big Phil. The only gem in their crown is the great form of their globetrotting French striker, Nicolas Anelka. And for once in so many years things are looking up and bright at the Merseyside. Liverpool who’ve traditionally had a slow start seem to be doing it differently this time round. Personally, I wouldn’t mind a Liverpool triumph in the Premiership after 19 long years, if only to break the Man U-Arsenal-Chelsea monotony. At the bottom of the pile, Harry Redknapp’s remarkable turn around of Tottenham is worthy to mention too. Though not yet out of the woods, some bookmakers are betting on the Spurs to survive the drop in the summer. Enough said about the Premiership.

Elsewhere in Europe, it looks like the Barcelona of old is slowly re-emerging from the ashes after two turbulent seasons. It might be early days yet but judging from their current form, the la liga is only theirs to lose. What with their strength in depth the Catalans might even do a Manchester United (League & Champions League Double) come May 2009, unless a disaster of catastrophic magnitude hits them. Interesting the way Barcelona’s fortunes almost always translates to a turndown at the Santiago Bernabeu and vice-versa. As much as am a die-hard Real Madrid fan, the los Merengues are playing so awfully, they don’t deserve anything! May be a fifth or sixth place finish and non-participation in the Champions League would be just what we need to be stirred back to reality.

But the revelation of the European season so far has got to be a certain Hoffeinhem – a virtually unknown village outfit in Germany that is giving the likes of Bayern Munich, Leverkusen and Schalke 04 a run for their money in the Bundesliga. What I can’t understand though is how perennial Champions League also-rans like Inter Milan still manage to hold sway in the Serie A. Thankfully, city rivals AC Milan and Juventus are not too far off in what could turn out into a close race to the Scuddetto.

Finally, something for the experts of the game to crack their heads over; what happens in a scenario whereby two players finish joint top scorers, say with 30 goals a piece, but with one of the two players having scored an own goal along the way? Does the other player keep the award to himself or do they get to share the honours?

what kind of soccer fan are you?

2008-11-23T22:59:00.001-08:00

Over this weekend I was wondering what it would take to be a Leeds United soccer fan, from their heady days in the nineties, to their current state languishing in the lower leagues. Or what it would take to be a die hard Super League team supporter in the Kenyan league, fighting for survival.

A good number of Arsenal supporters (at least the Kenyan ones) are looking for the nearest cracks in the wall to hide themselves in...

One of the hall marks of a true soccer fan is to be able to support your team, through thick and thin. The true test of support is when things are going bad. A bit of a parallel here with Arsenal's former captain Gallas who when the team needed him most (Birmingham last season) chose to sulk at the centre of the pitch.

Calling all the true Shabik's there .. show your teams support; after all you cannot influence some decisions (e.g. who to buy / not to buy) so as a shabik, one is supposed to support.

BIRDS OF A FEATHER FAIL TO GATHER

2008-11-21T00:35:00.000-08:00

Soccer is a team sport. Team members have to work together off and on the pitch to achieve success on the pitch. Human nature often makes team work a challenge. Any team must have a leader to champion the team's aspirations and provide direction. The leader has to be a person of exceptional skills both in his trade as well as in his ability to marshal the team members and focus their individual energies to achieve the common goal. Among the players' ranks, the leader should undoubtedly be the captain. Being a player he has a closeness and understanding of other players that the manager may be unable to command. He has the manager's ear as the manager expects him to help translate his ideas on the pitch. Unfortunately sometimes teams have power brokers who are defacto leaders. A player may acquire this defacto status by virtue of his football prowess or years of service to the club or a special endearment to the club leadership or fan-base.

Before I bore you with a lecture on team work I would like to say that the house of Arsene Wenger is on fire and so is Bernard Shuster's. The house mates started the fire and are now frantically trying to distinguish it yet are without a clue on how to. The fire is being fanned by disunity, lethargy and a lack of leadership in these two respective houses. William Galas has just disclosed that a team mate who had issues with other team members has been disrespectful to him. He has particularly taken exception with this player's attitude considering that the said player is six years his junior. This begs one question though, Does Gallas deserve the captaincy (and the respect that goes with it)? Is he a leader? Is he forthright yet calm as a true captain should be? The answers to these questions are subjective but either way he is the chosen leader therefore he deserves respect. Leadership comes with a lot of responsibility that is difficult to assume without the necessary support. He has rightfully taken the flak for a series of poor performances, yet win or loss it's a combined team performance. Beyond this, I see a bigger
problem, a lack of leadership that runs deeper than just the captaincy. If Gallas is a poor leader then Wenger should take the blame for his appointment. Wenger should also have put in place measures to avoid or at least contain dissent from the youthful players. Youth comes with talent & exuberance but often it also comes with inexperience in many forms including lack of team work. Alex Ferguson did not entertain disrespect from some of his most useful and experienced players (read Berckham & RVN). Also, he has always given the captaincy armband to no-nonsense personalities like Roy Keene. Just out of curiosity who might this disrespectful player be? Adebayor? Vanpasse?

Now across the sea to the other house on fire…..While Arsenal is grappling with the challenges of containing a bunch of over exuberant youth, Real's problems are primarily due to lethargy. A common thread though is a clear lack of leadership. Why does a player like Raul wield so much power when it's obvious that he is at the sunset of his career? It's rumoured that he resisted the attempts to sign David Villa fearing that his place in the team would be jeopardized. Real is bemoaning injury problems, but what does one expect when you have a bunch of old overworked horses that should have been shot along time ago. On Schuster's appointment, he promised the fans that they would be seeing a return to the beautiful play that has been the pedigree of the los Merengues. In all honesty Real's play is the worst that I have ever seen. Its sheer agony watching a team with no commitment or even conviction in their ability (or the lack of it). When David Berckham & colleagues were teenagers playing for MAN-U's reserve team they would
liken themselves to Real when they had a successful and beautiful display on the pitch. Oh how the mighty have fallen!

What's the conclusion of the matter? It all boils down to leadership.To Wenger and Schuster all I can say is shape up or ship out but as for me, I wish you all the worst in your endeavours!

KPL champions.. EPL.. Name changes

2008-11-17T00:43:00.000-08:00

Mathare United are the KPL champions, after a battling draw over the weekend. Good for them; I've always been an admirer of the team and its structures. Let's also wait and see what'll happen with the national head coach situation.

Now apparently we have a new body FKL (Football Kenya Limited), taking over from KFF. Of course Sam Nyamweya and co wouldn't be happy about this change of events, so I suspect that the self-seeking power struggles over who's in charge of Kenyan soccer will continue for sometime.

One cannot help but feel that FIFA could have done much better in this regard. FIFA are not saints themselves anyhow so maybe that's wishful thinking.

There is so much potential, but greed and selfish ambition seems to be (as usual) the order of the
day.

Now abroad:

Chelsea and Liverpool continue with their ominous form. Chelsea for me look the more likely to sustain their march to the title, with Anelka in the form of his life. Liverpool are grinding out the results - an aspect that was largely absent in previous seasons.
ManU finally turned on the style and Stoke city discovered that long throws don't always win games.. and were demolished by a Ronaldo inspired team, missing the likes of Rio and Rooney.
So for Arsenal, 9 points off the top, the fight is not about the title, its about maintaining 'top 4 status', with Aston Villa looking a solid and balanced team. At best this season they can be considered a Cup team, since they lack the consistency to challenge for the title. And by cup - perhaps Carling Cup, now that the kids seem to be better performers..

Oh,
I remember posting this at the end of October.

10 games 20 points
2 points per game
38 games -> a projected return 76 points.
Arsenal has not played any of the traditional top 4 teams, plus the likes of Aston Villa who are top 4 contenders

Arsenal have now played a 'top 4' team and Aston Villa.. The facts:
13 games 23 points
<2 points per game
38 games -> a projected return of <76 points. and a max points possible of 98...
No Arsenal fan surely believes that this is a title winning team...

I suspect Chelsea might just win it. Though I know Liverpool really really want it after sooooo many years.

Whatever happened to Redondo and De'Stefano?

The facts don't lie

2008-10-29T23:33:00.000-07:00

10 games 20 points
2 points per game
38 games -> a projected return 76 points.
Arsenal has not played any of the traditional top 4 teams, plus the likes of Aston Villa who are top 4 contenders.

Granted their attack is arguably the most potent in the premiership, if not Europe but, the best teams traditionally have had an astute defense as well. Look at Man U last season in England and Europe and you will see what I mean - best defense in Europe and again a profilic front line.

Arsenal's game with Tottenham might be regarded by some as a freak result - how many games would you just throw away in the last 7 minutes of the game - but the defensive frailties are all too obvious.

I do not think they are ready to challenge this season for the premiership, some may say it's too early, but the numbers do not lie - the points average stats I highlighted at the beginning are pretty clear about that - and one must consider they have not played Chelsea, Man U, Liverpool (who incidentally apart from looking solid have had that streak of fortune that usually precedes a title winning campaign). Arsenal indeed would maybe consider their style of play more suited for Europe, though in Europe we have the likes of Barcelona who look like they might be getting their groove back.

A word on Tottenham - I have always thought they have very good players, just the wrong mix when they play, but then again thats why there exists a Coach. It will be interesting to see how far Mzee Redknapp takes them. I feel for Portsmouth though - maybe there should be a transer window for coaching staff too?

I wonder what my fellow bloggers think.

2010 Qualifiers

2008-10-22T04:55:00.000-07:00

Group B
Mozambique
Nigeria
Kenya
Tunisia

28/03/09 Kenya - Tunisia
06/06/09 Nigeria - Kenya
20/06/09 Kenya - Mozambique
05/09/09 Mozambique - Kenya
10/10/09 Tunisia - Kenya
14/11/09 Kenya - Nigeria

Can Kenya make South Africa ? If we can get 13 points..

Stars?

2008-10-13T01:14:00.000-07:00

People aim for the stars so that at least they can hit the clouds (which are not light years away like the stars). Stars shine bright in the dark and twinkle too.

That is why outstanding individuals like my all time favorite basketball player Michael Jordan are referred to as stars, super-stars even. Groups of people can also be referred to as stars - the group of soccer players under former Real coach del Bosque, whom my fellow blogger Redondo so admires.

Stars occasionally do mistakes - after all they are human. But a lack of focus should not be excused twice in a game, as was the case for Harambee stars yesterday in Conakry, Guinea.

Guinea's second and third goals were as a result of poor defending from set piece plays, and considering the height advantage that the Stars players had, especially at the back, this should not have happened. Good defenders (Gallas please note well) attack the ball at the first opportunity, but yesterday costly mistakes were made, and were not helped by the perceived lack of height of the Stars goalie. He made some crucial saves.

There's loads of potential, and Kimanzi has done very well in bringing the team to this stage - considering that he has to juggle national and club duties - which means that he can't go around the country (and outside?) looking at current and potential players. Continuity is a good thing and it would be great if he actually had a solid contract, and a free hand to imprint his coaching style on the team. However Kenya has an abundance of self important individuals who think they know everything and not to mention have an affinity for the quick buck. Soccer management - or the lack of it - is still a big problem in Kenya.

Now let's wait while gnawing on our nails to see if the 'mathematics' actually get implemented. I, for one need to go to Kasarani soon..

Update: Kenya Qualified

12 group winners
Cameroon
Guinea
Benin
Nigeria
Ghana
Algeria
Côte d'Ivoire
Morocco
Burkina Faso
Mali
Zambia
Egypt

8 runners-up
Rwanda (Group 8)
Tunisia (Group 9)
Kenya (Group 2)
Togo (Group 11)
Gabon (Group 5)
Sudan (Group 10)
Malawi (Group 12)
Mozambique (Group 7) *

Now the team I do not want to meet is Egypt.. Zaki et al..

So five groups of four teams. I wonder what would be the most favourable to Kenya, at least on paper...

INSIDE A FOOTBALL FAN'S DIARY

2008-10-01T02:17:00.000-07:00

Am not the type given to the habit of going out to watch a football match then leaving before the final scoreline has been established. Put simply, I just prefer going the whole hog, unless something more urgent comes up. But then again, considering how passionate I am about this game, its hard to imagine any other thing that would be so urgent to warrant the abandonment of football watching season on any day.

Now, that was the case last Saturday. Am sitted somewhere watching this game between Man U and Bolton, when my buddy Rocko (my very hospitable host down here at the coast) gives me a call. He is hanging out with some friends who are new in town, so he wants me to join them. Things are getting dense on the pitch with Cristiano Ronaldo having just conned the referee into awarding him a dubious penalty, so naturally am a bit reluctant to ‘abandon’ the match. When I checkout, its with the misguided notion that I can catch the Arsenal match out there in town anyway.

When I finally catch up with Rocko and his ‘crew’ (two very beautiful mamasitas, to be more precise), they’ve picked their spot at the furthest corner in this joint where a live band is belting out some olden Luo tunes. The ambiance is excellent, and some revelers are already busy dancing the night away. The Arsenal game is on, but hard as I try to peer through the packed dance floor, all I can make out on the tiny TV screen at the front is the green grassy background of the pitch. The match commentary is completely drowned by the loud music and the scoreline bar is virtually illegible. Defeated, I give up and not to rock the apple cart I decide to stick to the ‘core business’… I only learn the following morning that the Gunners were stunned 2-1 by Hull City!

Since I didn’t watch the match, I still haven’t come to terms with the fact after staging some wonderful display of football lately; Arsene Wenger’s men fell to the little known Hull City of all the teams! Prior to match I had read some very interesting trivia on these teams. Incredibly the two were meeting for the first time in the league in 93 years and only for the fifth time in all. More staggering was the fact that Arsenal holds the record for the team that has stayed in the English top division for the longest period without relegation (these guys have been up there since 1919) while little Hull are enjoying their first taste of top flight football. The difference in class between the two couldn’t be contrasting. We could as well say that the two have never played in the same league.

Football is strange game though. At the end of the day, all those facts and figures didn’t count for much. Since I know quite a few souls that were left grieving by that result (even here at shabik), I’ll chose not to follow the trail any further; but not before I deliver a few more home truths. Am no prophet of doom (never has been), but with these kind of inconsistencies and instability, am getting more convinced by the day that Arsenal is still not yet ‘ready’ to reclaim the high pedestal that they once upon time majestically occupied in the Premiership. Truth be said, when you give away 'easy' matches like those, in the long run, they will count against you - big time.

Back to that Man U vs Bolton game. While Cristiano Ronaldo is widely known for his amazing ability to win and convert penalties, I felt particularly offended by his theatrics that led to that first goal. Television replays clearly showed there was no contact between him and the defender. No wonder even his own teammates looked abit sheepish in accepting Rob Styles’ howler of a decision. In short, Bolton were yet again robbed by the referee, just like they were in their previous game when Emmanuel Eboue scored Arsenal’s equalizer from a clearly offside position.

Lets face it here, the standards of officiating in the EPL have been abit questionable lately. From bookings, reds cards, to ‘goals’ (allowed or disallowed) you just keep asking yourself what has become of the men in black. Am afraid, at this rate, the high levels of refereeing is soon going to be a thing of the past. One gentleman who goes by the name Mike Riley, in particular, has not endeared himself to many players and fans of the game. This is the guy who almost booked the entire Man U squad in that epic clash at the Stamford Bridge. The seven yellow cards he liberally flashed out to the Red Devils almost landed Sir Alex Ferguson’s men in trouble with the FA briefly contemplating imposing a fine on the team. Interestingly, Rio Ferdinand (an increasingly abrasive character nowadays) was singled out for aggressive mannerism in contravention of the ‘Respect Campaign’.

On Saturday, Mr. Riley was at it again with yet another disjointed performance at the Merseyside derby. On one end of the pitch he was he waving play on when Yakubu had been clearly shoved to the ground in the box by the out-of-sorts Liverpool defender, Martin Skrtel while on the other end he was busy doing what he does best – brandishing yellow cards. Inevitably, the one man who failed to escape his wrath was homeside favourite, Tim Cahill, dismissed in the second half for a second bookable offence. And that effectively killed off the match as a contest.

While the spirit of ‘Fair Play’ is one of the core values of world football governing body, FIFA, it hasn’t helped the case that some of the more influential managers like Fergusson have found it convenient to engage in mud slinging contests with the whistlers whenever they feel aggrieved but completely turn a blind eye when a bad decision favours their teams. With the exception of a few upright men, selective judgement continues to afflict many football players, coaches and fans alike. A case in point is the ludicrous argument overhead from some the Man U fans after final whistle. These guys simply refused to own up to the fact that Ronaldo had duped the match officials. In the end one fellow cheekily quipped, “Basi toweni hio bao moja!” Now that’s outright ridiculous! In as much as Wayne Rooney came of the bench to seal the win, it can’t be denied that Rob Styles’ poor decision knocked the wind out of Bolton’s sails, having held out so well up to that point. At times all it takes is one single decision to change the course of a football match.

To end my lengthy talk-about, here is an enchanting tale. A few years ago Arsene Wenger (yes, the one and only) did the unthinkable thing of requesting for replay to an FA Cup match with… (it must have been West Ham - someone jog my memory please) following a bizarre incident resulting into a controversial ‘goal’. What happened then was that the West Ham players had played the ball out to allow for the treatment of an injured player. But for some inexplicable reasons Arsenal players chose to completely disregard the unwritten rule of fair play applied under such circumstances. In an incident involving Nwankwo Kanu, Marc Overmars and Immanuel Petit, instead giving back the ball to the opposition, the trio carried on with play from the resulting throw-in leading to a goal which the referee allowed anyway. Justifiably so, West Ham were infuriated and lodged a formal complaint though the FA was reluctant to issue a boardroom ruling. In the end it took the wisdom and benevolence of Wenger to request for a replay. His wish was granted and Arsenal won ‘again’, fairly though this time.

Harambee Stars final hurdle

2008-09-29T23:10:00.000-07:00

I am eagerly waiting for the weekend of October 11 when hopefully Kenya's Harambee stars will do what they rarely manage to do - win away in Conakry.

A win will boost the team's confidence greatly ahead of the next round of qualifiers for the 2010 tournaments, and at the same time boost the country's FIFA rankings (currently at 86). This might have a positive knock on effect of maybe opening up the doors for a Kenyan to land in the English Premier League (a friend of mine says that a country needs to be ranked 70 or better for its nationals to play in the EPL - unless its an exceptional talent).

We need a few more strikers though. Watching the game against Namibia, we were too tame, albeit in control and failed to finish off the game with a few more goals. I've not watched Ambani play but it's said that he could be a solution..

By the way, whatever happened to Mwaruwari of Zimbabwe? Last season he was scoring here and there (remember Man U). This season I can't even remember which team he belonged to.

IT'S A RICH MAN'S WORLD

2008-09-17T02:41:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: this post was penned in the backdrop of serious emotional conflict on the writer’s part; readers are advised to take every word herein with a pinch of salt.

This week am strongly compelled to begin with an apology and a concession. An apology for my prolonged absence from this space and a concession that my absence was necessitated by the cares and burden of this place of wrath and tears that is our world. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, yet I can no longer withstand the overwhelming urge to break my deafening silence.

While my pal Redondo was busy juggling matrimonial responsibilities that came along with his newly acquired polygamous status (in the form of that pay-TV thing that he has been ranting about for so long) mine was a more heartrending experience. From a frustrating wild goose chase in pursuit of a dodgy newspaper editor (perched high somewhere in a glass office) who simply didn’t have the balls to face a smalltime writer like myself over the cancellation of loose-end deal to an accidental rendezvous, in downtown Nairobi, with an old flame lost in my radars for so long, I was left completely drained out; more like a fish out of the waters, you could say. So much of my minor mishaps for now. Perhaps that’s a tale I’ll live to tell one day when all men and women here at shabik will have grown old and grey with age. Am not digressing further!

For some reason I was only able to catch the weekend action of the English Premiership in bits and pieces. In total, the second half of the Liverpool-Man U match, the last ten minutes of Arsenal’s walk about at Ewood Park and the first quarter hour of the Man City-Chelsea game was all I caught. At the risk of sounding very politically incorrect, the results didn’t disappoint me in the least. When you hold the enviable titles of English and European champions you should contend with the simple fact that you are an easy pick for all and sundry. I also think Man U’s dominance over Liverpool was becoming a bit annoying. Many Man U fans will hate to admit that the 2-1 deficit wasn’t a true reflection of the game. The fact is that Man U were clueless for the better part of the match and they are pretty lucky that Rafael Benitez’s team spurned chance after chance that came their way on that rare opportunity to run over the Old Devil like a steamroller. Period. And why on earth was Wayne Rooney playing in defense?

Allow me to make yet another concession at this point; for any other reason, Arsenal’s 4-0 thumping of Blackburn, courtesy of an Adebayor hat-trick, might have been flattering enough, only that am neither a hater nor a lover of Man U. Conversely, I feel nothing for Arsenal either. Ati now Arsenal can breathe easy coz Adebayor has finally found his scoring boots, right? Wrong! Putting my money on a team that is perpetually a ‘work-in-progress’ with a lousy striker who has a reputation of often blowing hot and cold is the last thing am doing. After all, its still not lost in the minds of many Arsenal fans the superb pacesetting job they did for their rivals last time round, or is it? For lack of better words, I think at this stage there is a dire need for restraint and magnanimity – not the chest thumping and name-calling that am already hearing.

Then there was the so called Battle of the Billionaires or the Clash of Cash – a game that came and went by without much of a spectacle apart from a glorious Robinho goal on his debut and the dramatic expulsion of John Terry for a dangerous tackle. Too much ado about nothing, huh? And this actually reminded me about my little chitchat with Redondo the other day on the same issue. Does a team which hasn’t laid its hands on any major trophy in almost forty years now suddenly become successful overnight as a result of a takeover (whatever that means!) by some rich Arabs in the Middle East? Apparently, and sadly so, that’s the crusade that the Abromovichs of this world are suddenly trying to preach.

Much as I’ve heard some absurd arguments to the effect that the money invested in football clubs by these wealthy businesspeople is good for the game, I still read a lot of mischief in this whole takeover fad. I stand to be corrected on this, but there exists something genuine about all successful teams the world over, an authenticity that not even money can buy. Its called a tradition, a winning culture indoctrinated right from birth. It is this culture that has brought endless success and an infinite financial windfall to great teams like Real Madrid and Barcelona (Spain), Liverpool and Manchester United (England), Rangers and Celtic (Scotland). Closer home, teams like Al Ahly and Zamalek (Egypt), Orlando Pirates and Kaizer Chiefs (South Africa) and of course Tanzanian perennial rivals Yanga and Simba have upheld the same winning mentality from way back when money was not a major factor in the game.

The point here is that in each of these cases, success on the pitch preceded the boardroom financial boon – not the other way round. It has to be said, though, that Kenya is the only nation in the world known to have killed the closest semblance of that winning culture that was embodied in AFC Leopards and Gor Mahia. But then, we Kenyans are a strange lot.

It would therefore be foolhardy to believe that Manchester City for all their mediocrity over the years will suddenly become an English football powerhouse two or three years from now simply because their new billionaire owner has a few more loose-change in his deep pockets to spend. It didn’t happen with Shinwatra, their former Thai owner, and am not so sure it will happen now with… that rich guy from the Abu Dhabi United Group (what’s his name again?) Even Chelsea was a relatively successful team with a couple of domestic and continental honours (albeit minour ones) long before the moneyed Abromovich arrived. My point? Success in football is something that comes gradually - painstakingly built over time - not something to be instantly bought over the counter with free flowing petro-money. Furthermore, am still skeptical about the business interest of these billionaire businessmen in football. To me it looks more of an ego trip, a temporary distraction to the more demanding business matters; some sort of rich man’s play thing. What happens when these rich men get bored with football and its boring routine (did I just say boring?) is a question that I dread to consider at the moment. Your views and reactions?

WENGER HAS IT RIGHT

2008-09-14T23:45:00.000-07:00

As a married man, I have learnt through experience to admit when am wrong and to give second consideration to my every perception, attitude and decision. Unlike in my erstwhile state of bachelorhood when I thought I knew it all and my knowledge was infallible, I have come to the realization that I have no monopoly of knowledge

I suppose you are wondering why I would begin my post on such a remorseful and pensive note. Well I have just realized that the more I think I understand the dealings of soccer (especially the business aspect of it) the more it becomes a complex maze that I know little about. I have penned some very harsh criticism of Wenger on this blog but as the old adage goes, 'only a fool never changes his mind'. Am not saying that am convinced that Arsenal is going to clinch the Premiership this season, am just saying that am beginning to see the wisdom in Wenger's pragmatic approach to buying players and building a team. This morning, I read Mike Ashley's statement on his intention to sell Newcastle United. He painstakingly pledged his love for the club and his unwavering commitment to see the club succeed both as a business and in terms of trophies haul. I could not help but feel sorry for him as he narrated how he no longer felt safe going to watch matches at St James' park with his kids, for fear of an assault. What a way to treat a man who's only crime is trying to offload some baggage (Owen, Smith and Barton) from St James' Park. For all the money he has poured in the club, he should at least have a say in what approach it should have in buying players. My intention is not to rekindle the hot debate on who (between club managers and owners/directors) should decide which players to sign. No am just saying that there should be a consensus on this and that consensus should be based on which approach yields the desired results.

It’s on the basis of the story of Newcastle & Westham vis-à-vis Arsenal that I pull my hat off for Wenger. Any club that is aspiring for glory yet does not have the financial muscle of Man-U or Chelsea must decide whether they want to go Arsenals way or Man-City’s way. The choice is between selling a club and keeping the overheads low through careful purchases that provide value at a bargain. While the transfer market and the going-ons there in has made huge headlines, Wenger has remained true to his philosophy of keeping off all that drama. Arsenal has meticulously executed their business approach to soccer. They don’t renew contracts for players above 30 for periods longer than 1 year. Arsenal’s youth program has been very vibrant even though Wenger has been accused of not co-opting enough graduates of the youth academy into the senior team. It was delightful to watch 16 year old Jack Wilshere deliver a sublime final pass to Adebayor that resulted in the 4th goal. At Wenger’s service is an astute team of scouts that have been known to track their targets sometimes for as long as 2 years. While other clubs are driving themselves to debt in pursuit of expensive, over-paid big names that many times end up as big flops, Arsenal's approach even incorporates a wage structure that has a ceiling.

I must say that Arsenal’s way has shown promise both for the current campaign as well as for the future. Come to think of it, its pure genius how Wenger buys cheap, builds, utilizes and eventually offloads players at a profit as they get to the sunset of their careers. With the emerging onslaught on the EPL from the East and other rich dynasties, English club owners will have to decide whether they want to run their clubs smartly or let them become another rich sheikh’s/princes’ play thing. As for Arsenal I must say they have it right, not just with the financial bottom line but the quality of play too. Their Saturday display at Ewood Park was to say the least exquisite. I was reminded of Real Madrid of old. Allow me to quote Blackburn manager Paul Ince on his take on the match- "Arsenal's passing was a joy to watch"

MY POLYGAMOUS ESCAPADES

2008-09-08T00:24:00.000-07:00

My silence here has been deafening. Well am back. I have been attending to other matters: football.
About two weeks ago, the good Lord shone his mercy on me and spoke to my dear wife. Believe it or not my wife decided that she was done fighting this co-wife I call soccer. She decided that she should take her undisputed position of first wife. As my first and only true wife, she reckoned she had nothing to fear.To show how liberating her new found realization was, she installed DSTV in our home. Now, that was my wife in her true colours, taking the bull by the horns.

I must say that I was quite puzzled, wondering where the catch in all this was. My confusion however did not hinder me from devouring these lovely goodies. I suddenly found myself in this hitherto dream world. So wide was my choice that on the first night I didn't watch any single match for more than 5 minutes. My channel flipping was akin to the proverbial hyena that split himself right through the middle trying to follow two opposite paths leading to two sumptuous meals. In fact my situation was worse than the hyena’s: there were more than two meals in the form of Supersport 1-7., ESPN, ESPN Classic etc.

I have since accepted that this is no dream but reality. This acceptance has ushered in a new lifestyle that is virtually lived on my couch right in front of my TV. I have no interest in anything that draws me away from my beloved companion. My wife however is beginning to question the wisdom (or the lack of it) of her brave action. She has realized that living in harmony with a co-wife is no easy task. Tolerating her (the co-wife) is hard enough. She has resorted to other tactics to restore sanity into her territory. For starters, we seem to get allot of invitations to birthday parties and family functions. Curiously, the timing of these functions has been spot on- Saturday and Sunday afternoons. My reluctance to attend these parties has been met with even more creative distractions. She has decided that since I claim to be such a sports lover I may as well extend my love of sports to playing at least one sport. Her choice of sport and her way of communicating the need for it couldn't be more ego-bashing. This past Saturday, she dragged me to a swimming pool ostensibly in a mission to put a check on my ever distending pot belly.

Dear brothers, be careful what you ask for, coz you might just get it. What begun as a dream come true has turned into a crisis. As if fighting my wife is not hard enough, I have found a new 'foe' by the name of Trufena (our house-help). When I think DSTV, I think soccer. Little did I know that there’s more to it than just soccer. Her busy fingers have discovered Africa magic, a channel of African movies. Yes, those movies that I so love to hate. My wife on her part has developed a new liking for blockbuster MNet movies and it’s becoming a real headache explaining to her why we should lock the channel on Supersport. The remote control has become a WMD (Weapon of Marriage Distraction).
So what does a man do? Honestly, I don't know. Maybe there is need for the formation of an FA (Fanatics Anonymous) as my friend Helen wittily quipped.

Harambee Stars , Too much money in soccer?

2008-09-04T07:14:00.000-07:00

Just bought myself a ticket, though I am still not sure I am going for the game yet.

After following the frantic last minute dealings as the transfer season in Europe, I am now not sure whether I want to keep following English soccer that keenly. It has become a case of who has the most money (never mind debt) to buy the best players. It will be interesting to see how Man City fare with their new billionaire owners who, as rumuored, offered a 'blank cheque' for highly regarded players around Europe.

Something's got to give though. There's only so much money, and so many players. And what happens to the small clubs.

A few miscelleneous posts

2008-08-25T10:20:00.000-07:00

Arsenal in Crisis?

2 games into the season and Redondo is calling for Wenger's head. Interesting, considering how far he's brought the club. I would prefer to reserve such judgement until at least half way through the season though.

Statistics show that changing a coach frequently more often than not destabilizes the team. (Think Newcastle, Bolton and Real Madrid between Del Bosque and Schuster)

From the sentiments of key players, (Cesc, RVP and Adebayor) they would move from Arsenal if Wenger was to move on for whatever reason. Of course there's no guarantee that they would make good on their intention. So getting rid of Wenger may infact make things far much more worse.

Fact is there's loads of money in soccer and if you don't have it you don't have it. I would hate to see Arsenal going the way of Leeds United, taking on loans that are pegged on future gate earnings.

There's money to buy players, lets just see whether it will get spent.

My personal soccer philosophy

I only watch beautiful soccer. As soon as it becomes highly mechanical, I lose interest. Hence my supporting Arsenal and Real Madrid. (at least Real Madrid have a reputation of winning in style).

No Excuses

However there's no excuse for the footballing display of Arsenal FC over these first two league games of the season. I have not watched them personally but from what I have read online, there's a lack of motivation or lack of team spirit, and the poor performance has not necessarily been as a result of a perceived weakness in the central midfield.

Watching how the team performs over the next 2-3 games will probably be a good indicator on whether this will be addressed soon.

In my opinion Gallas should be replaced as captain. I actually wonder whether he should be in the team at all.

Olympics and soccer

Watching the Olympics come to a close at the Bird's Nest, I wondered what it would take to host this in Africa(let alone Kenya). The organisation involved, and of course hard cash was out of the roof. I watched a bit of the soccer finals (both ladies and men) and concluded that one must take their chances in the sport.

Brazil's women had by far the greater possession and intricate footwork (yes their women play great soccer too) but still failed to score against a resilient USA side which won the Gold medal after scoring in extra time. Nigeria had more of the possession against a ruthless Argentina side (both sides played lovely soccer too).

AWAY WITH ARSENE WENGER

2008-08-25T02:30:00.000-07:00

About a decade ago, a not so wise Englishman by the name of Alan Hansen wrote a book by the title: 'You'll win nothing with kids', in reference to the ManU side of Giggs, Scholes, Beckham and the Neville brothers. The same side that went ahead to win the double in the same year that Hansen's book was published. There was some merit in Hansen's argument, however he overlooked the other major factor of whose hands were tutoring these 'kids'. Sir Alex Ferguson was that factor. If Hansen's book was published today and if the subject of his thesis was Arsene Wenger's current gunners squad, then his book would have been a best seller. Unlike his ManU nemesis, Wenger has failed (so far) to deliver titles with his youthful side.

Not only has he failed to add to our trophy chest, he has driven many arsenal fans to apathy. I recently overheard a local gunner bemoaning the state of affairs at Emirates. He tickled me when he suggested that someone should compose a Wenger dis song similiar to the kind that local hip hop artists (Bamboo & co.) were famous for. For a team that boasts a global fan base, Wenger's failure is just totally unacceptable. To his credit, he has done well in balancing the books, but for me (and i believe most Arsenal fans) a tidy balance sheet is the least of my concerns. What good is that cash when we cant show anything for it. The fans aren't the only ones suffering, the players too must be beginning to feel it. I wonder how it must feel for Arsenal players, to be part of a squad that no player worth his salt is dying to join! Over the past two or so months we have been treated to the drama of Christiano Ronaldo and his quest to Join his dream team (Real Madrid). Others like Robinho are even toying with the possibility of forking a whooping 45 million Euros to buy out his contract in his quest to join Chelsea. Strong words/phrases like 'modern-day slavery' were even used to describe the difficult place that these players found themselves in. Yet in all this there was no mention of a similar desire to move to Emirates, on the contrary our more ambitious players (like Adebayo) were crafting an exit plan or should i call it retirement plan.

English clubs baffle me by their patience. How does a major club keep the same coach for 12 seasons when all he has to show for his fat pay cheque is a paltry 3 premierships and zero European glory. I think it boils down to lack of ambition. Why cant Arsenal do a 'capello' on Wenger, the way Real did two seasons ago? Trust me, Chelsea got it right when they showed the door to Avram Grant. Second place was not good enough for Roman Abromovich. As they say, 'second place is no place'. What I cant understand is why the club owners are so content with 3rd , 4th...Nth place. Wenger must be sacked. Arsenal needs new thinking and the only way that we can move forward is by doing away with the negative and unambitious ways of Wenger. You cannot boast of having money yet not see the need of spending it to improve your lot. He is a f***ing miser who has no place in modern football.

WHEN WE REACHED OUT FOR GREATNESS

2008-08-17T23:31:00.000-07:00

(The Final Sequel to ‘Football Was My First Love’)

“Where I am from, there are two kinds of men; us and them…” ;proclaims the beginning line in the all too familiar commercial for the beer brand that officially sponsors the broadcast of the English Premier League matches on pay TV. The advert, which am sure all armchair English football fans know very well, is about two rival estate teams which we are told, in typical male chauvinism, have an annual practice of engaging in fierce football battles on a dusty estate play ground.

Then one day, something extraordinary happens, some guy over-hits the ball which goes flying right into the back of a bypassing distribution truck for this particular liquor brand. Predictably, the immediate reaction of the perplexed testosterone-pumped men is to give chase with the sole intention of retrieving the ball and getting on with the game as quickly as possible. What follows are scenes of a huge gang of grown men frantically running after the ramshackle of a truck through the mazy backstreets, estate cafeterias and all.

Finally they catch up and succeed in flagging down the runaway truck but upon opening the backside, where the ‘precious’ little ball is safely laying, their eagerness is emancipated by the irresistible sight of crates upon crates of the cool rich dark drink - whence, a football match turns into a binging spree! Its only when the truck driver pull away again that the men are jostled back to reality and a fresh chase ensues, “….there is a drop of greatness in every man…”, so concludes the voiceover at the end of the commercial.

Other than my special affinity to the particular brand of brew in question, [and I suspect its by design and not by default] for some time I kept scratching my head over the advert; there was something about this commercial that I couldn’t just place. Then there it was glaring right into my face. The setting, of course! The advert in its entirety was actually shot at the famous ‘Dezza’, that dusty play ground in Eastland’s California where I and my big bro Ted grew up in. How could I have ever missed to notice the white blocks of flats in the background, is the question I keep asking myself.

For those who are not privy to the story behind ‘Dezza’, I have previously recounted here the special attachment that I and Ted have to this nondescript playing ground. But then this is just something else all together – a reenactment of the many football matches that we watched in our boyhood at the very same venue.

Conveniently, back then, there used to be a few creative chaps in town who were thoughtful enough to organize mini-tournaments in the neighbourhood during school vacations. [I particularly take pride in the dubious distinction of having been born and schooled during the preschool holiday’s tuition era – whatever that means - that so heavily weighs on the shoulders of the miserable present day generation of primary school-going kids that I bump into 365 ¼ days of every single year]. One such lad was a guy who simply went by the name ‘Masanta’. Curiously, Masanta was not such an old lad (he must have been in high school by then) but his great acumen in the organization of two-week tournaments drawing teams not only from ‘Calif’ but also from other Eastlands estates like Majengo, Eastleigh, Ziwani, Biafra, Kimathi and Shauri Moyo is something that I still marvel to this day. Somehow, almost single-handedly, the guy always managed to run well organized events with proper fixtures, highly reputed match officials, winners’ trophies and prize money to boot.

One of these highly reputed whistlers was a certain Ali, who despite being physically challenged (he used walk around the pitch with a pronounced limp) was both a well accomplished and favoured referee. Probably so because of the professional way that he handled matches, he was accorded reverence akin to the retired Italian referee, Pierluigi Collina. In the same league with Ali, was one other referee who usually amused us with his theatrics of frequently blowing his whistle accompanied with wild gesticulations in a fervent attempt to stamp his authority on the field. We never really got his real name right – so Ted and I simply christened him ‘muborana’ for his Cushitic countenance.

But then of course the main attractions were the competing teams and the players themselves. Back then California happened to have been a neighbourhood with a considerable Muslim population and naturally our favourite teams in the senior category (over 18) used to be California Terrorists and Al-Shabab - the two home teams. The Terrorists were the more illustrious and popular yet Al-Shabab also boasted some real talent within its ranks. Notably, child prodigy Salim and his elder brother Rama stood out from the rest. In the junior category (under 16) we were spoilt for choice because there were so many good teams here, but the popular ones were Rangers (a highly talented though grossly indisciplined team), Blackout and Lucky Strikers (under the tutelage of coach by the name Lameck). But more significantly a small class of players who would go on to take their game to the highest level indeed honed their skills on this platform. The two examples of Asman Ngaiywa (Monnie) and Ezekiel Akwana (Lefty), who both later turned out for Mathare United, will suffice.

All was rosy though, more often than not, Terrorists’ arch-rivals, Bash (Majengo) and Eastleigh Sportiff would break the hearts of the partisan home crowd. There were also those odd moments of insanity on the pitch when things would go haywire. One such incident was when the Rangers players, led by their flashy goalkeeper Vin, completely lost their heads after being knocked out at a very crucial stage and descended on the opposition with blows and kicks; in the aftermath, a few bruised faces and some broken goalposts lay scattered on the ground to account for the unsporting behaviour of Rangers and their unruly fans. On yet another occasion, one notorious chap by the name Fred (he happened to be Vin’s kid bro) smashed countless empty bottles on the pitch in an ill-advised act of vengeance apparently in a bid to disrupt the competition after his team suffered a similar fate. In the end it took the intervention of event organizer, Masanta, who literally chased him around the estate and upon laying his hands on him forced him to clear up his mess.

In the final analysis, amidst all the high and low of our daily indulgence, we relished every single moment of it; for that was when we reached out for greatness…

Postscript:
For Redondo,
who shared much of it with me

AFRICA'S BEST HOPE

2008-08-15T05:29:00.000-07:00

When, I was a young lad, my mother often advised me to be myself. The reason she never relented in dishing out this line of advice was that she noticed that I was fond of imitating people and trying out what they were doing. While aping my older brother was not necessarily misfit behavior at that age, my dear mom understood that every human being has their own unique gifts and she made it her mission to drum this on me and encourage me to explore my own talents. As I think of the world economy today, am convinced that in order for Africa to remain competitive, Africans need to be themselves.

Some of you may be wondering what am ranting about. Well, the way the world works, only the best in whichever trade stand to reap maximum benefits from it. Am disturbed every time i see some of the efforts that African nations (Kenya included) are making to partake of the global economic cake. Take the BPO (business process outsourcing) craze that Kenya (and other African nations) is yapping about. I think its shaming that we would be so enthusiastic about building a whole industry on our conviction that other than the English themselves (and the Americans of course) we speak the best English. Indeed the whole concept of call centers in Kenya is built around two things: the first being Americas need for cheap customer care services and the second being Kenya's relative high density of English speaking schooled population. I may sound like a mere critic who has no better alternative. Trust me, I do. The alternative I have is one that takes advantage of our natural strength- sports.

Africans are inherently artistic and athletic. Some of the richest and most prominent Africans (past and present) are sports personalities and performing artists. Indeed the worlds most celebrated footballer ever (pele) is of African decent. As am typing this article, my MS word text editor has recognized the name pele and the inbuilt thesaurus/spell checker has promptly corrected me to make the p caps i.e Pele. According to Sports Illustrated, 5 "black" men made it to the world's top 12 highest paid sports personalities this past sporting year, namely; Tiger Woods ( rated 1st with $127.9 million), LeBron James (rated 5th with $40.5 million), Ronaldinho (rated 7th with $37.5 million), Kobe Brayant (rated 9th with $35.5 million) and Shaquille O, Neal (rated 12th with $35). My fellow Africans, Wood's annual salary is enough to fund a whole ministry's annual budget! what a way to eat at the white mans table!

Sports has become big business. The affluent west is bored stiff and cannot live without regular entertainment. Corporate America and Europe is spending top dollar to tap from their sport crazy population. Visa card for example forked a colossal $ 866 million in sponsorship for the Beijing Olympics. The English premier league on its part earned 2.3 billion Euros in the 2006-2007 season. Many Africans have found their way into the west's entertainment menu, yet Africa has not awakened to the large potential there in. How many African nations for instance, have sports ministries that are well funded? The European Soccer leagues are awash with African talent despite the odds that these players have overcome to make it to the leagues. It baffles me that many of our sports defectors have been vilified yet with just a little forward thinking we could package them as our hottest export product.

The west needs Africa to satiate its every increasing appetite for entertainment. What better opportunity than this. As I mentioned earlier this sports thing comes natural to us. What the west would consider difficult is already easy for us. For starters we just need to continue procreating and bringing forth those strong and artistic offspring. Trust me its easy; i managed one even without trying. Secondly, a little effort and planning needs to go into packaging the product. To finish of let me encourage my friend Edwin in his quest to sire and bring up the next Thierry Henry, you can do it blindfolded.

AFRICA'S SPECIAL PLACE

2008-08-15T02:58:00.000-07:00

If there is one place where African football can proudly stake its pride of place on the game’s high table, then it has to be in the Men’s Olympic Football tournament. In stark contrast to the World Cup where the Quarter Final double act of Cameroon and Senegal remains the continent’s only memorable excursions, Africa has some fond memories of the event at the Olympic in the past few editions of the global games.

That having been said, it's only natural that many great African football stars of the past and present have used the Olympic Games as a launch pad into the international stage. Names of great players like Kalusha Bwalya (Zambia), Samuel Kuffour (Ghana), Taribo West, Celestine Babayaro and John Obi Mikel (all Nigeria) immediately come to mind. Personally, am very nostalgic of the 1988 Seoul Olympic because that was my first exposure to the event at the Olympic level. The one match that stood out from the rest was that unforgettable Zambia vs Italy encounter. I particularly remember two things about this match: one is the relative ease with which the Zambians, non-entities then, dispatched the highly rated Azzuris (4-0 was the final score with Kalusha Bwalya grabbing a stunning hat trick) and two is the rather unorthodox celebration style that the Zambians adopted; laying side by side flat on their backs with outstretched limbs.

Needless to say, this was year of the ‘Great Kalu’, Zambia’s greatest footballer of all time. His heroics at Seoul earned him the Africa Footballer of the Year Award (1988) and soon he was on his way to PSV Eindhoven to hone his blooming professional career. But there was more to this great team than just their mercurial captain. This in my judgment rates among the best national squads ever to emerge from Africa. Were it not for the tragic airplane disaster off the coast of Gabon, a few years later, that snuffed the life out of this golden generation, by now Zambia’s name might have been engraved on the rolls of honour of Continental champions and perhaps the southern African country might even have been one of the continent’s flag bearers at the 1994 World Cup in the USA. Of course, by some stroke of luck Kalusha Bwalya wasn’t part of the ill-fated traveling party. The legend lives on and the rest, as they say, is history.

While it’s a widely acknowledged fact that Zambia and Ghana were the forerunners in Africa’s quest for glory, it is our inordinately flamboyant and boisterous brothers from Nigeria who finally bequeathed us with the honour of a first gold medal in event at the Olympic. That was back in 1996 in Atlanta, Georgia. And what a spectacle the ‘Super Eagles’ were! From their cool yet swashbuckling style of play on the pitch, orchestrated by the languid Nwankwo Kanu (just like Bwalya before him, he was voted 1996 Africa Footballer of the Year), their adoring brass band supporters to their somewhat hilarious celebrations whenever they scored a goal, the Nigerians were simply a sight to behold. Speaking of goals and celebrations, Celestine Babayaro’s imitation a drunkard with that staggered walk after scoring with a powerful header in the final match against Argentina definitely took the prize for the funniest celebration. Just for the records, in beating Argentina in this match, the all conquering Nigerians achieved a rare double over South American aristocrats having made a remarkable comeback in the Semi Final to brush aside a strong Brazilian side that boasted the likes of Ronaldo, Bebeto, Rivaldo and Roberto Carlos within its ranks. In the end, so charmed by the charismatic ways of the Nigerians was the Atlanta crowd that it gave the ‘Super Eagles’ a standing ovation like no other at the final whistle.

Not to be outdone by their eternal rivals, four years later in Sidney, it was the turn of Patrick Mboma to lead the 'Indomitable Lions' of Cameroon to the podium to receive the winners’ medal. Myth has it that ever since the inaugural official Men's Olympic Football Tournament was played at the London games in 1908 an interesting 20-year pattern has recurred to provide the most memorable football tournaments in the Games’ history. It still remains to be seen whether Beijing 2008 will provide a continuation of this curious sequence.

Shabik and a few miscellenous views

2008-08-11T00:43:00.000-07:00

This being my first post on this blog, I have been thinking about what I should write about. It is intriguing watching the shenanigans of the transfer season - the (mostly) lies about which team is going to buy who and who's going to get relegated or win which trophy. I sometimes think that the British press have nothing better to do than invent stories.

I was wondering whether we'd ever get the kind of coverage that the sport of soccer enjoys in the European leagues. I would love to be able to go watch my favourite (local) team each weekend - with young ones (when they arrive in this world).

There's only two things better than watching soccer from the couch (or at the local) - watching it at the stadium, and actually playing it.

Anyway back to reality - Man U seem to have become masters of the penalty shoot out. I didn't get a chance to watch the Community Shield because my GTV decoder suddenly began to misbehave (quite unbecoming behaviour considering the eagerness I had).

Having been one of the main proponents of mpira.blogspot.com which after sometime suffered from a lack of attention, it was nice to see shabik.blogspot.com coming up as a reliable source of football analysis. Perhaps in the not too distant future Shabik will be sending its very own D'Stefano or Redondo to cover the World Cup in 2010... You never know.

FOOTBALL MADNESS IS BACK!

2008-08-08T08:42:00.000-07:00

Taking into account the furore that Redondo’s post almost caused in this space earlier in the week, I wish to begin by making a major concession as a conciliatory gesture to our slighted sisters out there. While my intention is not to reintroduce the debate through the backdoor, this one simply just can’t pass unnoticed. Thank God the season of football is once again here with us!

After enduring endless episodes of those exceedingly dour Mexican soaps – a la Lamuher de Alonzo – which run for months on end, with the overused predominant themes of deceit and conflict, at least now football ‘addicts’ like myself will have something worthwhile to look forward to every Saturday afternoon.

A lot has happened in the transfer market during the close season with Cristiano Ronaldo’s saga dominating the headlines. The choice of team for which a player turns up for has become such a complex business. In this age of globalization, these long drawn negotiations, whenever a player is moving clubs, have become the norm rather than the exception. The last time I checked, Manchester United were still insisting that Ronaldo is going nowhere, but am still very skeptical; Real Madrid has built a reputation of pulling a rabbit out of the hat every season, a last minute deal wouldn’t surprise me. In fact their President Ramon Calderon who seems to be enjoying every moment was back at it again only a few days ago with a tongue-in-cheek quip that “Madrid are just a spectators in this soap opera”.

Thankfully, as the dust begins to settle, its time to get back to work; and who knows this better than the coaches? Judging from the statements that some of them having been issuing lately, a good start off the blocks seems to be the short term priority. Manchester City ’s Mark Hughes, has been very categorical in his comparison of football clubs to ‘Football Factories’ intent on producing high quality performances. And for that reason he has issued a decree to limit access to the players by the agents, friends and family at their Carrington training ground.

Others like Premiership debutant, Luiz Felipe Scolari, have had very little time for orientation and settling down. Despite finishing runners-up in the Premiership and Champions League last season, the blues are still perceived as a ‘boring’ team by many fans. Ostensibly, that seems to be a major concern for Big Phil who has been reported to say that he will oversee a culture change at Stamford Bridge . Ironically, the Brazilian who also pledged to “break with the past by promoting talented youngsters ahead of expensive import” was quick to add that he would adopt a “more modest approach than that of former Manager Jose Mourinho”. Apparently Mourinho’s ghost is not going to go away from Stamford Bridge any soon.

On the converse, Scolari will perhaps take heart from the support that he received from his captain John Terry who overtly stated that Chelsea now boasts “a manager who can lead the team as well” - (Poor Avram Grant, just where did he get it all so wrong?). But while Terry is busy offering support to his manager, his counterpart, William Gallas, at the Emirates Stadium is one man who desperately needs every support to remain the team leader but is so far receiving none. Arsene Wenger, fondly referred to as the ‘Professor’ by the club’s ardent supporters, is one man with a very long memory. Towards the end of last season, as the Gunners began to succumb to the considerable pressure from Manchester United, Gallas completely lost his head in that drawn match at Birmingham and Wenger has forgotten. Now the shrewd French manager questions the leadership of his fellow countryman and is considering stripping him of the armband. Cesc Fabregas has expressed his desire to take over the captaincy, but the grapevine has it that Wenger’s preferred choice would most probably be the hard tackling Ivorian defender Kolo Toure.

So there you have it folks! The official 2008-09 European football season gets underway this Sunday when Portsmouth face-off with Manchester United at Wembley in the Community Shield – the official curtain raiser of the season. Whether you owe your allegiance to Manchester United, Arsenal, Chelsea or Real Madrid just follow your instinct; be there for the big kick-off and enjoy the rest of the season.

As for my pal Redondo who still seems to be caught in that little domestic quagmire, I guess for the time being we could just do with our usual male-bonding sessions at our favourite hangout while indulging in sumptuous servings of the biggest serial drama on TV (read the English Premiership). But in the event you succeed in the worthy course of installing that Satellite Pay-TV thing, then rest assured I’ll become a more frequent visitor into your household!

LET A MAN BE

2008-08-04T02:00:00.000-07:00

What is it with women and soccer? I have been having a 2 months long impasse with my wife. I want to watch soccer on a regular basis on satellite TV but she wont let me install GTV or DSTV. My efforts to convince her that satellite TV will be good for the whole family have been futile. It irritates me that the occasional glances I have on TV only reveal angry Mexicans doing what they know best in the form of lamuher de Alonzo et al.

My struggle for emancipation (the freedom to enjoy soccer any time) did not start 2 months ago though. I have had a long history of women in my life that believe that soccer is a relationship breaker. I once had a girlfriend who would feign sickness just before the kick off a must-watch match like the champions league finals. Her trickery was not limited to sickness. She would bring up issues, which according to her needed my immediate attention smack in the middle of an adrenaline-drenched match. Just incase you begin to think that I am the problem, fancy this - a common friend flys back home after 3 years in the States and visits his former classmates at campus. But his timing couldn’t be worse: his visit coincides with the opening match of France 98 pitting Brazil Vs Scotland. He walks into the room and all the girls are showering him with hugs and kisses. In contrast the boys give him a casual glance & “wasup”, quickly returning their gaze to the screen where they stay glued for the next 90 or so minutes. You can imagine how infuriated our lady friends were. The well-planned home coming party was botched and we were all branded wet blankets.

The struggle between women and men over sports is not new and is not about to end either. What women have failed to realize all along is that sport (for me soccer) espouses the very essence of manhood. The essence of manhood is found in testosterone; the hormone that defines manhood through unique physical and attitude attributes. Testosterone is what has driven men over the ages to war. Testosterone wants to conquer. The object of conquest has varied over the years. Some, like the conquest of a woman are perpetual but others like conquest of animals (for food, and security) have been overtaken by technological advancements. Modern day man has found another object of conquest. He wants to conquer his opponents in the sports arena. Soccer is all about beating your opponent, rubbing it in and feeling good about it.

My appeal to our dear sisters is: let a man be. Let him compete, win, enjoy his victory. Let him brood in his loss. Don’t try to compete with soccer, coz u cant win. He needs it just the same way he needs you. He needs to unwind. Testosterone does not allow him to unwind the way you do. It dictates that his way of unwinding is by competing and hopefully winning.I don’t want to be labeled a marriage breaker and a teacher of false dogma, so I leave it there.

A SAD FOOTBALL TALE

2008-08-01T06:29:00.000-07:00

Last weekend local lads Tusker FC, against all odds, clinched the CECAFA club championship in Dar-es-Salaam but still suffered the indignity of enduring a 17 hour road trip back home from the Tanzanian capital. Though I hardly expected pomp and fanfare to greet the newly crowned regional club champions on arrival, I was appalled beyond words at the cold reception that Tusker FC was accorded. I particularly take exception with the indifferent attitude of the supine Kenya Football Federation officials, the equally befuddled Kenya Premier League Limited. Its my position that our football authorities owed these players the brief luxury and comfort of a flight back home.

Granted, the CECAFA championship has over the years lost abit of its gleam and is a far cry from its mid 80s editions which by all standards were more competitive and generally keenly followed by a wider fan base. However, one is still left musing over what became of our identity as a people and sense of nationhood. Redondo, one of our contributors here, while commenting on the same subject earlier in the week put it thus: “Kenyans as a people are known to ape the west and glorify foreign things and maybe soccer is just one of those things where we show who we really are…what the local game needs besides professionalism is passion for the game and love of our country...”
I agree with him in toto.

The local media should also share the blame for the downtrodden path that the CECAFA competitions have taken in recent years. In spite of Tusker’s sterling performance, the tournament was covered in a somewhat lukewarm fashion by our local print and electronic media. Save for national broadcaster, KBC - which aired a handful of matches featuring Tusker FC - I don’t remember seeing a single snapshot on the local dailies of the action in Dar in the entirety of the tournament.

Save for two personalities - Rwandan President Paul Kagame and Ethiopian businessman Sheikh Mohammed Al Amoud - who have diligently undertaken the obligation of donating the prize money, the participating teams in CECAFA tournaments have found very little reason to celebrate.

Indeed, am surprised we keep whining that the Persian Gulf nations are ‘poaching’ our talent. Honestly, by now we should have figured out how to stop the ‘talent drain’ that has seen some of our best athletes defecting to the Middle-East. Other than just blindly aping the west and anything western, it would be a prudent move to put into practice some of those things that we so admire about the European game.

Consider this: last February when Tottenham Hotspurs won their first piece of silverware in almost a decade by beating Chelsea FC in the Carling Cup final, the London team couldn’t help parading the their ‘prized trophy’ around town - never mind the snide remarks on the sides by some envious fans of their cross-town rivals (Chelsea and Arsenal). Now, how about that for start? Who can tell how much of a morale boaster an open roof bus parade of their trophy from the JKIA through Nairobi’s business district all the way to their Ruaraka base would have been for the Tusker players? And what a spectacle it would have been if only merely to ‘break the news’ to the ignorant self-proclaimed ‘football fans’ in town who didn’t even have a clue that Africa’s oldest regional tournament was being played next door!

Tusker’s story vaguely reminded me of the humiliating predicament that the defunct Shabana FC once suffered some years ago after a Premier League match in Mombasa. Short of funds to take them back home to the distant and far away lands of Kisii, the poor lads found themselves stuck in a seedy backstreet kiosk in the coastal city for a night or two. Now, that was the height of apathy!

So much of my gripe, but perhaps its high time we toned down a little bit on this DSTV/GTV fad and reevaluated our state of nationhood as far as sports in general and football in particular is concerned.

I AM WORRIED FOR SOCCER!

2008-07-31T02:17:00.000-07:00

I have been keenly following the proceedings at various European clubs during this summer break and all I can say is that am worried for the future of soccer. Why? Because soccer as a sport is no longer what it used to be. Soccer used to be a sport of the common man; the various forms of it, from the paperball kicking school kids of third world Africa and South America to the world cup conquests of the likes of West Germany and Brazil.

As a sport soccer heralded national pride and fostered community. Soccer was a unique community identifier. Take the vicious rivalry between the once famous Gor Mahia and AFC leopards for example. Back in the 60s to the early 90s these two teams were predominantly Luo and Luhya respectively. The Nyanza - Western province rivalry contributed a great deal to the supremacy of these sides. Back then it was a cardinal sin for a player of either team to switch sides to the opposition. The rivalry however did not hinder national unity; on the contrary it provided the unique motivation that eventually raised the standard of the game in Kenya. Evidently, the vast majority of the national team players were drawn from the squads of Gor and AFC. Next door in TZ we had Yanga and Simba which have since faded of. Further a field in Spain, the different regional identities and pride found its expression in the soccer arena. The Catalans and the Iberians have over the generations fought hard battles on the soccer pitch under the banners of Barcelona and Real Madrid. This perennial rivalry has been the special ingredient in the wonderful cocktail that Spanish soccer is.

So what has changed? A great deal has. The only thing that motivates players in today’s soccer is money. Players switch sides randomly when money is flashed with no regard to culture or identity. I must admit that my beloved Real has been a culprit in this by luring players with pay offers that few can say no to. Am convinced that this trend is dangerous for soccer and is what has largely contributed to the emergence of certain attitudes in the game. For example winning has become the top most and only agenda in soccer. Well it has always been priority but in the past, how you win was also very important. The unique playing styles that largely were expressions of different cultures are fading away. We see more speed & power than skill in soccer. It’s sad that speed and power is winning most of the titles at the expense of quality.

My thesis is that we need to redefine soccer. We need to inject that missing ingredient of identity. I am hopeful that all is not lost. Spain’s recent victory at Euro Cup proves that tradition still has a place in soccer. Spain did it their way - the same way they have always played. Hope lives on!

THUMBS UP FOR ‘GHOST’ AND HIS BOYS!

2008-07-28T03:47:00.000-07:00

On Sunday the reigning KFF Premier League champions did all Kenyan football fans very proud by reclaiming the once glamorous CECAFA Club Championship after beating the hard fighting Uganda’s URA at the National Stadium in Dar-es-Salaam. That the Ruaraka based ale men finally bagged the regional diadem after repeated failure by Kenyan teams over the last seven years in laudable enough.

Though still smarting from the doubled tragedy of being unfairly denied the opportunity of participating in this year’s CAF Champions League tournament - for reasons not of their own making - and having their coach Jacob ‘Ghost’ Mulee being dropped acrimoniously as the national team head coach, Tusker have displayed great depth of their character by bringing the Cup back home where it belongs.

The fact that Ghost’s team was pitted against some of the regional big names including battle hardened home teams Simba and Yanga and still managed to prevail is truly something to take pride in. More startling is the fact that the home boys were on the road for over 12 hours and only arrived in Dar just within a few hours to the kick-off of their first match against Tanzania’s Simba.

It also struck me that coach Ghost Mulee has greatly matured in the game over the years if his inordinately modest and self-effacing attitude is anything to go by. Even in the face of resolute performances against some of the tournament’s big boys, Ghost resisted the overwhelming and self-destructive temptation of writing off the opposition, insisting that he was only going to celebrate after the job had been done.

Needless to say, this victory certainly evokes the fond memories of the year 2001 when the Harambee Stars, then still under the guidance of Ghost, annihilated the Kilimanjaro Stars 3-2 at the same venue to lift the coveted East and Central Senior Challenge Cup after a long wait of 18 years. Of course, many will fondly recall that it is in the same tournament that local crowd darling Dennis Oliech announced his arrival on the big stage of international football. Oh, what sweet memories!

Coming at a time when the Harambee Stars are on the rise too, Tusker’s success gives us more reason to be upbeat about the present state of our game. But we must not rest on our laurels, lest we slide back into the same old familiar murky pit. Before the World Cup cum Africa Cup of Nations campaigns resumes in September, our feuding federation officials must show goodwill and pay back in kind by lending our boys all the support they need to move to the next level. The ball is squarely on KFF’s court now.

Well done Ghost! You and your boys have truly made us proud to be Kenyans!

THE SEASON OF HIGH DRAMA IS HERE WITH US

2008-07-23T06:28:00.000-07:00

The wave of euphoric student unrest that recently rocked secondary schools across the nation brought to the fore pertinent disciplinary issues that for so long the administrative hierarchy has attempted to sweep under the carpet.

The spiraling act of revolts is not anything new though. If my memory serves me well, during our days there used to be agelong traditions that every final year student felt compelled to observe just after sitting the last paper. It came in the form of showing open defiance to the school authority and quite often, the object of this hostility would be the extremely despicable Deputy Headmaster - the discipline master on most occasions.

Ideally, your average chap would deliberately engage in some kind of a misdemenour then blatantly refuse to take the punishment that came along with it. The more adventurous and daring fellow would go as for as partaking the forbidden ritual of setting ablaze all his documented literature in the full glare of his bemused teachers.

Of course all this was done on the presumption that the four year stint at the educational facility had been irrevocably terminated. But woe unto him who was not lucky enough to score good grades and found himself in the same institution a few months later seeking readmission!

A few weeks ago when former Arsenal man Alexander Hleb publicly lambasted his coach Arsene Wenger, his wayward actions bore a striking semblance to the rebellious attitude of these hotheaded secondary school misfits. Perhaps, Hleb too couldn’t resist the temptation of engaging in one final notorious escapade before setting sails for the Nou Camp.

But then, this being the unofficial holiday season in Europe, Hleb has found himself in the good company of other like minded comrades in crime that include the likes of Cristiano Ronaldo, Leonel Messi and Emmanuel Adebayor. It’s the season of high drama and everyone wants to provoke the authorities by doing something really whacky.

Take Adebayor’s case for instance. Though it may have escaped your memory, we are talking about the same player who only a couple of years back openly disregarded the stern warnings of his former club, AS Monaco, to link up with the Togolese national team for a training camp in the run-up to the 2006 Africa Cup of Nations tournament. Predictably, not before long he was rocking Togolese apple cart too by challenging the authority of his Nigerian coach Stephen Keshi. A word of advice to the Gunners - cut loose the tether quick and let the guy become a problem to his new handlers wherever he chooses to go; the sooner, the better.

Then there is the saga of Hleb, who it seems can’t stop raving and ranting, in a deliberate effort to disparage his former club at every available opportunity. What I find most obnoxious is his attempt to lure other players to ‘follow’ him out of the Emirates stable. And what more, all his best friends now happen to be former Arsenal players.

Cristiano Ronaldo too has done tremendously well to estrange himself from a club that as recent as two months ago was alluding to him with all adjectives imaginable for his unprecedented heroics in the Premiership and Champions League campaign. How the times have changed! But they say a woman is the source of every man’s trouble. Ronaldo is no exception here. His steamy love affair with his Spanish heartthrob Nereida Gallardo seems to explain in part his current predicament.

His doublespeak too has also been quite phenomenal. At one moment all he wants is to be shipped off to Real Madrid because it’s the team he has always wanted to play for. The next minute he isn’t interested anymore apparently so because he is upset about his girlfriend’s alleged past involvement with his teammate to be Sergio Ramos.

Luckily for those who love scandals, the Ronaldo-Nereida drama has proved to be a timely and juicy rendition to the popular local soap Chinedu & Akinyi that has steady gained prominence in the box office since it premiered a while back.

Finally, I wish to put the big debate to a conclusive end. While everyone else is busy shopping, one team by the name Arsenal, that purports to be perpetually broke, seems to find it honorable to proclaim that they are a ‘selling’ team. Sell all you can but spare your longsuffering fans the emotional trauma of pretending that you can win the Premiership next season. Lest you forget, the issue has always been whether you guys can challenge Manchester United and Chelsea to the title. Ever wondered why? Just a food for thought to diehard Gunners.

ALWAYS ON THE MOVE: THE NOMADIC LIFESTYLES OF FOOTBALL COACHES

2008-07-21T05:20:00.000-07:00

A football coach’s job could at times innocuously pass for a real life version of the ‘musical chairs’ – that all time favorite game during our school going days. One moment you are sitting pretty and fully in charge, the next minute you’ve been unceremoniously displaced (or rather replaced) and everybody quickly move on as if nothing really happened.

But if the thankless job of a coach could vaguely mirror the merriment of going round and round in circles trying to beat the other competitors to the closest seat, the technicalities and intrigues that go along with the job is anything but child’s play. And given the guaranteed job insecurity of the profession, coaching is quickly becoming a globetrotting vocation that only the bighearted dare to undertake.

Inevitably, the aftermath of the Euro 2008 has been the flurry of movement by both club and national coaches across the continent. For some its a classic case of a push finally coming to a shove, yet for a few lucky ones, its either a case of making a big break and landing the highly coveted plum job or simply moving on to other alluring challenges.

For some strange reason, neither success nor failure has come out as the standard yardstick to prompt a change of guard at the helm, during this close season. Newly crowned European champions Spain together with Italy, Portugal and the Netherlands form the motley of countries that have opted to hire new coaches in the wake of their respective performances at Euro 2008. At the club level an almost similar trend has recurred at Chelsea, Barcelona, Inter Milan and of course Ajax Amsterdam.

Fenerbahce bound Luis Aragones must be a happy old man having accomplished a feat that for so long eluded so many coaches before him from his native Spain . In as much as it’s common practice for victorious coaches to step down in honour and glory after achieving a conquest of this magnitude, I wonder what more would motivate a man approaching his septuagenarian years in the daily rigors of a job in which he literally has to supervise a bunch of playful charges as young as his own grandchildren. No offence here, but I would have thought the old man should be whiling away his time in the serenity of a seniour citizen’s home somewhere in Madrid.

Without a doubt, the big winner has got to be Carlos Queiroz, Sir Alex Fergusson’s longstanding understudy at Manchester United. However, with limited experience at the national level only having had a brief spell with South Africa’s Bafana Bafana, I reckon what awaits Queiroz’s in Portugal is far from a sinecure. Vincente Del Bosque is the other man who has finally contrived a deserved and long overdue step-up into the big league of national team coaches. But with his appointment coming in the wake of Spain’s momentous achievement and the 2010 World Cup looming large, the former Real Madrid boss has his job well cut out right from the onset.

As for the losers, the name Marco Van Basten surely stands out. The shocking and acrimonious ouster of his Dutch team at the hands of Russia reduced the legendary AC Milan icon into a forlorn and disconsolate figure. But he too will have a much needed timeout as he cools his heels at his beloved Ajax Amsterdam.

Typically, as you would expect of Jose Mourinho, the ‘Special One’ has not hesitated to announce his return in a big way. Going by his quick overtures to his old boys at Stamford Bridge, Ricardo Carvalho and Frank Lampard, it seems he already knows which directions to look as he seeks to reinforce the Serie A reigning champions.

But the one thing that I still can’t explain though, is how AC Milan’s Carlo Ancelotti managed to evade the hangman’s noose after his team’s mediocre performance last season. All said and done, he’ll surely need his new signing Ronaldinho to quickly rediscover his magical touch of yesteryears for him to keep his job much longer.

(In memory of former Harambee Stars coach Reinhardt Fabisch who passed on last Tuesday in Germany. May the Almighty rest his soul in peace.)

MY PASSION, MY OBSESSION

2008-07-16T01:29:00.000-07:00

(A sequel to Football Was My First ‘Love’)

I have previously written an article here about how exposure to football at an early age in my neighbourhood’s dusty playgrounds evoked a deep and everlasting passion inside me for the game. It’s my wish to digress further and flip the other side of the coin – life in school and football.

After our estate team had been disbanded the only avenue left for us to play football was at school, which was actually a good thing for me and my brother Ted. We both attended St. John’s Primary School which happens to be in Kaloleni estate, a neighbourhood that has produced many football stars of the past and present. Kaloleni (or simply Ololo) was a football-mad estate dotted with numerous mini play grounds for the intra-estates competitions. But the most distinguished landmark, which stood like a colossus right in the heart of Kaloleni, was the City Stadium, the second largest football arena in town, then.

Quite naturally, even in school the number one pastime activity was football, since a majority of the kids were drawn either from Kaloleni or the neighbouring Makongeni (Okongo). And so at every slight opportunity we would engage in a kick-about – during PE lessons, at mid-morning break, during lunch time and even in the evening after lessons. The footballs that we used back then were basically made from polythene papers stuffed with papers then woven together with synthetic rope (every class had its own expert weaver of these footballs). Our football grounds were hardly demarcated and for goalposts we normally had huge boulders or other personal possessions like schoolbags or a heap of sweaters. Many are the times that there would be great contestation as to whether a ball had gone out of play or if the ball had gone in or sailed over the crossbar (our football matches were rarely officiated by a referee).

I have to be honest and state that in my class, I happened to be one of the fringe players who rarely made it into the first team sheet. But it’s a confession that I make without any shame or fear of reprisal considering that amongst my classmates was one Jeffrey Oyando, the veteran Tusker FC midfield supremo. Jeff came from a family in which football literally ran in the blood. His dad Joe Oyando (now deceased) a former international player was a long time technical bench member of Kenya Breweries FC (Tusker) and the national team Harambee Stars. As a pre-teenage lad Jeff was very strong on the ball and showed obvious signs of becoming a great player. And indeed he truly lived up to the expectation and joined Kakamega High, the former secondary schools soccer powerhouse, where he further honed his skills, before making a debut in the National League.

Another notable player in our class was Zablon Otieno (aka Odhis) who played for Gor Mahia in the late 90’s. Inspite of his seemly languid poise and fragile stature, his talent was undeniable. His main undoing was his penchant for persistently making loud complaints on the field to the chagrin of teammates and opponents alike. Then there was the stocky and bullish Alphonce Aloo who was two classes ahead of me and in the same class with Ted. Alphonce briefly turned out for KCB in the KFF Premier League in the late 90’s. Curiously, in my class was another notable chap - Fredrick Orieyo (aka Taabu) formerly a member of the national boxing team Hit Squad. Looking back in time, even then he possessed the same overbearing physical presence that in later years would turn him into such an intimidating opponent in the boxing ring. Surprisingly, back then, he seemed keener on kicking a ball than throwing a punch, though quite often he would also get himself into a nasty brawl or two.

That was back then, some 20 odd years ago. Now as I look back to those days, I get the conviction that my interaction with the likes of Jeff and Zablon, as peers, is what truly kindled my passion for the game.

To be continued...

TRANSFER MARKET FIASCO – EVERY COACH’S NIGHTMARE

2008-07-16T00:54:00.000-07:00

Two remarkable things happened on Sunday 6th July at the Wimbledon 2008 Tennis Final. One was that Roger Federer’s vice-like grip at the All London Club came to a sudden and dramatic end when he was sensationally beaten by his longtime Spanish rival Rafael Nadal. And two, Real Madrid President, Ramón Calderón, was granted access to the dressing room immediately after the epic showdown where he is reported to have told the new champion that the deal to sign Cristiano Ronaldo from Manchester United was “done and dusted”. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the skewed business that defines the modern day football transfer market!

To many undiscerning souls, it may have sounded odd, or even absurd, why Calderón would divulge such intricate details to Nadal, a tennis superstar, of all the people. While it maybe unknown to many, Rafael Nadal has always had a deep-rooted relationship with Real Madrid. Over the last couple of years he has become a distinguished guest at the Santiago Bernabéu, especially during those special matches . Ramón Calderón on his part, has always made it his priority to voice support for anyone who hails from Madrid . His omnipresence at virtually all the Grand Slam Finals that Nadal has featured in recently is a strong testimony to this. So now you get the sense behind Calderón’s loud whisper in Nadal’s ear.

So much of the Calderón-Nadal bonding. Of course its an acknowledged fact that the Spanish giants have perfected the art of wooing big names from all over Europe; remember the infamous Galacticos? Recently, the club has had its sight set on Portuguese star winger Criastiano Ronaldo, and for good reason. Despite drawing lambasting reactions from Man United they don’t seem likely to relent any sooner. But then, that’s just business. Speaking of business, the only place where business seems to be running is in the transfer market, with all the big names in Europe shopping out for the best quality available.

Nowadays, no single transfer is complete without a little bit of some controversy. Claims, accusations and counter-accusations have become the norm during transfer negotiations. And this season more than ever, there seems to be a protracted war over whose transfer saga raises the thickest dust. It’s still unknown whether Cristiano Ronaldo’s ankle operation will have done enough to put off his overzealous suitors. The lull in the Ronaldo saga however is likely to be overshadowed by other equally intriguing transfer stories, a majority of them involving Premiership players.

Without sounding too cynical, it has to be said that the zaniest of all is the one surrounding Togolese striker, Emmanuel Adebayor, who for all his inglorious misfiring qualities has managed to raise so much rubble at Arsenal. Honestly, this fellow is nothing but a largely overrated underachiever, his 24 league goals haul last season not withstanding. For him to put so much pressure on the club to the extent of even making ridiculous demands is simply laughable.

Then of course, there is the story of Frank Lampard, who Inter Milan is delicately courting. Typically, Lamps has remained very calm, leaving it to the Inter emissaries to engage in all the talking with his London club which in the past has equivocally stated that they are keen to keep him. As for Alexander Hleb, his doublespeak has left little doubt in the minds of many that his time at the London club could be over. I have a feeling that Belarusian is eager to have a change of scene.

Ironically while some players have continued to draw flattering offers from far and wide, others like Cameroon’s Samuel Eto’o have only drawn blank cheques. Rejected alongside Ronaldinho and Deco following Barcelona’s systematic decline, Eto’o has not attracted much attention in the transfer market, strangely so for a player of his stature. While it remains to be seen who is going to end up where, Club President, Chief Executives and Coaches will continue haggling, horse-trading and buccaneering in the intensely competitive transfer market.

‘BEEFY’ GUNNERS: BELARUSIAN GOES BALLISTIC

2008-07-10T04:48:00.000-07:00

First it was Adebayor and Bendtner, now its Hleb and Fabregas; apparently, there seem to be no end in sight to the now all too familiar infighting amongst the Gunners. Call it ‘sibling rivalry’ or whichever name you prefer, but these persistent on and off the field altercations are increasingly turning into an ugly eyesore for the Londoners. The million dollar question that remains begging here is - how do you explain those unnecessary petty squabbles that have at times taken a physical dimension? I mean, these guys are meant to be working together for heavens sake - as a team, not throwing expletives and punches at each other at the slightest opportunity.

Last season, when Adebayor and Bendtner saw it best to square it out right in the middle of a game, both the Arsenal technical staff and players chose to downplay the infamous incident and no official explanations were given. Just for the records, many will remember that in that Carling Cup semifinal match, while the Gunners were busy feuding, Tottenham took advantage to give them a real hiding, 5-1 was the actually deficit; their worst of the season. But surely, what more would you expect from a ‘team’ that chooses to fight itself?

So now they are at it again. And am I surprised? Certainly not. The source of all the trouble this time round is Alexander Hleb, would you believe it? Apparently, the unsettled Belarusian has not been very happy lately with his manager, Arsene Wenger, over what he referred to as “his role in the team”. Now, that’s a common parlance amongst professional players, many of whom believe that they have a better knowledge of which positions, what and how to play their roles in the team. Quite understandable indeed from a player’s view point. What’s not understandable is where his Spanish teammate Cesc Fabregas came in. For him to have gone as far as branding his teammate a ‘selfish’ player, then am tempted to believe that the two must have been having a longstanding beef and Hleb probably just took the perfect opportunity to lash out at the Spaniard. Maybe that’s Hleb’s way of saying goodbye to an annoying teammate who always gets the all praises for your donkeywork. These guys are really good at washing their dirty linen in public, don’t you think?

FOOTBALL WAS MY FIRST ‘LOVE’

2008-07-07T02:08:00.000-07:00

Ever wondered how some of those little things that we do as children can significantly shape our adulthood leaving a profound and lasting impression in the later years? The other day I hooked up with my bro Ted after quite a bit of some time and naturally before too long our chitchat interestingly digressed as we nostalgically recalled our childhood years; all those memorable moments with their lows and highs slowly wafted back as we unwound the clock and went back in time…

I grew up and spent a better part of my childhood and teenage years in Eastland’s California estate - a neighbourhood made famous in recent years by Calif Records, the music studio that has propelled many of the celebrated rap artists like Jua Cali and Nonini to fame and stardom. Back then, there used to be an open field in this neighbourhood which was christened ‘Dezza’-aptly so because the ground surface, just like in a desert, barely had any patch on grass. In my own reckoning, Dezza was meant to have been a parking lot of some sort for the residents, but over the years it had been transformed into a mini-stadium for recreational and sporting activities that drew large audiences from other neighbouring estates. And how fortunate that Dezza was right behind our flat!

During those days kids from each flat would form football teams to compete against each other during school vacations. The team from our flat owed its existence solely to one enterprising lad who was slightly older than the rest of us. His real name was Edward but everyone simply knew him as ‘Shedu’. In essence, Shedu was the club-founder, owner, coach and team manager, all rolled up together. So much of an authoritarian was he that he would roundup all his players everyday after school and take them through rigorous training seasons. Now, that was back in the mid 80s and I was barely eight years. Naturally there were many family ties in our team; my elder bro Ted also happened to be my over-protective teammate. There were atleast four other pairs of siblings in the team, the most intriguing being Shedu’s younger brothers, Papa and Dudi. Dudi, our goalkeeper, was the younger yet the more influential and assertive of the two. At the time he was the skipper of the team and a few years down the line he would go on to take charge of the team as the player-coach when our coach Shedu finally quit his ‘job’ to concentrate on studies upon joining secondary school.

Sadly, our team was disbanded after a short but memorable existence when all the parents in the neighbourhood seemingly conspired in a secret pact to restrict us from engaging in our exciting boyhood escapades.

But that did not deter some of us who had already fallen in love with the game. In our household, football was a cherished subject. My dad loved listening to football commentary over the radio and with time it just rubbed on us. The first major football tournament that I can recall was the 1986 World Cup held in Mexico. That was the year Diego Maradona shot into the limelight with a virtuoso performance that earned Argentine its second World Cup trophy. Although, I have very little recollection of the tournament as a whole, I can still remember the final match between Argentina and West Germany, one of the best finals ever, which the South Americans won 3-2. The following year presented an even more enthralling football festival for us since everything was happening closer home. I was ten years then, and more conscious of my growing passion for the game. Instinctively, my brother Ted and I took the cue from dad, a great fan of Gor Mahia, and keenly followed the club’s memorable route to victory in the Africa Cup Winners Cup (Mandela Cup). At the end of the tournament, members of this wonderful class of ‘87 instantly turned into our childhood idols. In the same year Kenya also hosted the 4^th All Africa Games in Nairobi, and the national football team, the Harambee Stars, finished runners up to the great Pharaohs of Egypt. I can still recall the final match at the Moi International Sports Centre, Kasarani and that controversial Mohammed Ramadhan goal that sunk Kenya, as if it was just yesterday.

Thereafter I played, lived, ate, and slept football for all I cared about. I had desperately fallen in love with the beautiful game. Unfortunately, I’ve since lost contacts with entirely all my teammates from Shedu’s squad (save, of course, for my brother Ted who is also still equally enthusiastic about the game). As a result, I have spent many man-hours watching, discussing or writing about football – all engagements which I have undertaken with an unquestionable fervour. Those are the seeds that were sown in me from a very early age that have left me the passionate football fan that I am today.

To be continued…

POMP AND BLISS AS SPAIN CONQUERS EUROPE

2008-07-07T00:30:00.000-07:00

After enduring an identity crisis for years, the proverbial ugly duckling has finally matured into a fine handsome swan. Class upstaged tradition last weekend when a vintage Spanish side shed off the unenviable tag of Europe’s perennial underachiever of yesteryears to become rulers of the continent. Befittingly, the long overdue accomplishment by a team that has so often flirted with success took forty four long years to come by.

While many had expected the final showdown to be a closely contested affair, with all due respect to the Germans, it has to be said that Spain won it hands down. Regardless of the solitary goal win, which wasn’t a true reflection of the happenings on the field of play, Spain was by far the better team.

German coach, Joachim Loew, overstretched his tactical approach in the hope that at some point the Spaniards would falter or make one grave mistake. That chance almost fell right on their laps in the opening exchanges when the otherwise blameless Sergio Ramos’ short pass right outside the box was intercepted by the lurking Miroslav Klose. But strangely, Klose somehow didn’t have enough poise to mete out the punishment and Spain breathed again.

Luis Aragones on his part opted for creativity, an attribute that quite evidently endeared his team to most of the neutrals over the period of the tournament. In the absence of eventual golden boot winner, David Villa, he handed out Cesc Fabregas a place in the starting lineup ostensibly to add more width to his already illustrious midfield. The move certainly paid off handsomely as the German midfield dynamo Michael Ballack was outfoxed while wide men Bastian Schweinsteger and Lukas Podolsky were critically starved of meaningful ball supply.

Paradoxically, in a game that the small-bodied Spaniards looked overawed by the German’s raw brawn it took the speed, strength and great anticipation of Fernando Torres to break the German resistance. Jens Lehman’s abilities had been abit suspect through out the tournament but the moment Phillip Lahm was beaten for pace it would have taken something really special for him to deny Torres from that sort of position.

Thereafter the Germans didn’t impress for a moment. Their set pieces, which they have often employed as a valuable tramp card, were horrible to say the very least. Not even their dreaded long range shots could do the trick, evidently so because the Spaniard simply didn’t give them any spaces within shooting range.

In the final analysis, while we can’t deny the fact that the best team ultimately won the tournament, its still in order to factor in yet another valid argument into the mix. For all their past failures and near misses there is one school of thought that has that Spain’s main undoing on the big stage has been as a result of regional loyalty that has superseded the national interest for the game. Its been said in the past that too much animosity within the Spanish football as a result of cultural, historical and political difference between the country’s various regions is to blame for the adverse counter effects on the national team’s ambitions.

But all is well that ends well. It is without any doubt that the image of Real Madrid’s Iker Casillas lifting the pristine Henri Delaunay trophy will remain etched in the memories of all Spanish fans for many years to come.

GRIT MEETS FLAIR IN EURO 2008 FINAL

2008-07-01T03:30:00.000-07:00

At the start of Euro 2008 I made a partially correct prediction that Germany along side the Netherlands would make the finals because I fancied the uncommon blend of grit and flair to sum up the tournament.

Well, after exactly 22 days of uninterrupted football, save for 4 odd days split in half prior to and after the semi final matches, the final act of the 13^th edition of the Euro Cup will be staged today at Vienna’s Ernst Happel Stadium. At the risk of sounding politically incorrect, I dare say that the tournament has popped very few surprises to me. Other than the shocking 3-1 defeat of pre-tournament favourites, the Netherlands, at the hands of the industrious Russians all the other traditional power houses got only as far as would have been expected.

The Italians are renowned for their age long defense mentality but its high time they realized that tournaments are won by scoring goals. With just three goals for and four against in four matches, the Azzuris hardly justified their dignified position of the World Champions. The largely overrated Portuguese looked so vulnerable in set pieces that for a moment I doubted the credentials of Carvalho, Pepe and Fereira, all acclaimed defensive stalwarts. As for the hopelessly lousy French team, I have already given an elaborate synopsis of their poorly scripted plot, so I’ll save my breath.

But if some of the big boys disappointed, a handsome compensation package came in the form of Russia and Turkey, the two rank outsiders who came so close to stealing the show. After an initially slow start, the Russian lit up the tournament with sterling performances that left more fancied opposition like the Swedes and the Dutch reeling in their wake. My player of the tournament remains to be Roman Pavlyuchenko, the sharp shooting sniper from Moscow who had the Dutch defense in sixes and sevens in that memorable quarter final win. Escape artists, Turkey, rode the wave of their mental toughness and an extraordinary ability to wriggle free from tight spots. But one can never use the same trick once too often; their lack finally ran out when Schweinsteiger and company gave them a dose of their own medicine.

The two finalists, Germany and Spain, couldn’t have been more contrasting both in style and the dissimilar routes that they have taken to a final Vienna rendezvous. Typically, the Germans muscled their way with a combination of an intricate tactical game plan and unrivaled physically endurance. While their talismanic captain Michael Ballack has been their mainstay in midfield, Bastian Schweinsteiger has plotted and delivered the final blows with remarkable precision. The only cause of concern has definitely been their ageing goalkeeper, Jens Lehman. The fumbles and soft goals that he has conceded are perhaps tell tale signs of prolonged layoff warming the bench at Arsenal.

In contrast, the smooth and seamless passing game of the Spaniards is enough testimony that after years of trying they have finally been able to overcome the stage fright symptom that often afflicts them on the big occasion. Its amazing that Luis Aragones seems to be spoilt for choices in the midfield where the exploits of Barca duo Xabi Hernandez and Andres Iniesta have relegated midfield supremos Cesc Fabregas and Xabi Alonso to the bench. All said and done, the final match today promises to be a titillating affair.