OF FOOTBALL, WOMEN AND POLITICS

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

“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

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

“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

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

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

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.