SHARUKO ON SATURDAY : In that moment, Yogis legacy, was sealed – The Herald

The Herald

MAYBE, this was the unique sound produced by emotions, when they are being ruthlessly battered, by the sheer power of the forces of brutality.

When a people have to deal with the emotional torture, which comes with being hammered by a combination of the agents of adversity, and the merchants of calamity.

Thousands of beating hearts, inside the old stadium, enduring a tough examination from hell, concerned by the state of their heroes vulnerability.

And, their teams insecurity.

For the majority of those, crammed inside the place they call their fortress, this was the sum of all their fears, a people buckling under the weight of the possibility of failure.

For 88 minutes, their souls had been tortured by the sheer intensity of this blood-and-thunder showdown, where the two sides had fought a ferocious fight, for every inch, of this hallowed turf.

But, now and again, their spirits had also been cheered by the amazing quality of the fight, which their men had put into this fiery battle, undaunted by its ferocity, each of them a model of reliability.

Every man, in their blue-and-white identity on that field, had fought long and hard, the forwards stretching the opponents with their relentless mobility, the defence repelling the danger, with stubborn rigidity.

There had been no room for stupidity, no desperation for popularity, no individual quest for celebrity status, just collective efficiency, from each of them, in pursuit for the immortality, which would come with success.

With a sense of responsibility, for club and country, they had fought with both maturity and dignity.

For the sake of their nationality, a country desperate for the good old days, and wild nights, exactly 10 years earlier, when it was taken on a merry ride, which reached the gate of paradise.

And, for the sake of the majority, sitting in the stands, united by their cause and demanding the result, which would guarantee a return, to the exclusive group of the elite clubs of the game, on the continent.

Now, only two minutes of regulation time were left, to define everything.

An adventure, which had taken them to Mbabane, Maputo, Paris, Sousse, Cairo and Abidjan, in a marathon campaign covering over 91 000 km, on their travels, rested on these final two minutes.

They had fought battles in Mozambique, Eswatini, Algeria, Egypt and Cote dIvoire, for this cause and, now, all their dreams rested on these final two minutes, in this place, which they called home.

In this poor neighbourhood where they were created, exactly 45 years earlier, before transforming themselves into a giant of an institution, which made a mockery of their humble origins, giving their community something to brag about.

In this Sunshine City, their home, their castle, the heart of the domestic kingdom which they have been ruling since they won their first league title, in the year of their establishment, in 1963.

So, this wasnt the time for faith to disappear, for doubt to creep in, for failure to become acceptable, as an end product to the collective suffering, which they were all enduring, in those final moments of this contest.

The opponents couldnt have come with a bigger profile, five-time champions of African football, and the stakes couldnt have been higher, in this winner-take-all showdown, for a place in the semi-finals of the 2008 CAF Champions League.

Zamalek, also known as the White Knights, were in town.

And, for 88 minutes, they had also fought for their badge, which has five stars, as if to remind everyone, of the number of times they have been crowned champions of Africa.

The crowd knew the stakes, if the Egyptians who brought with them Ghanaian international forward Junior Agogo scored, it was over for their team.

The Challenge, For These Glamour Boys, Was As Simple As It Was Complex

Somehow, even though Dynamos, Zamalek and ASEC Mimosas, had all gone into the final group matches, with a chance to qualify for the semi-finals, the Ivoirians game was pushed back, to start seven hours, after the match in Harare.

A draw, which appeared to be the likely result, with two minutes left, would have meant ASEC would qualify, should they beat Al Ahly, in their final group match.

So, the challenge for the Glamour Boys was simple, try and win the game, and they would be off to the semi-finals, at the expense of Zamalek, at the expense of ASEC and, of course, at the expense of the biased, and pathetic, CAF leadership.

But, time was not on DeMbares side, with only two minutes left.

Then, the Glamour Boys were awarded a free-kick, just outside the Zamalek penalty area.

It appeared everyone knew this was it, the final chance, the one between greatness, and emptiness, between hell and paradise, success and failure and ecstasy and agony.

If ever there was an occasion, David Mandigora would have wanted to smoke a cigarette, to try and reduce the tension, which was exploding inside his body, and the tsunami which was destroying the emotions of those packed inside the stadium, then this was it.

Everything he had worked for that year, in this campaign, now rested on this moment, a swing of the leg by one of his players, hope that the ball beats the wall and, even if it did, hope that it also beat the keeper.

It appeared to be too much of a gamble, especially considering it was against such an organised wall of Zamalek defenders, full of Egyptian internationals, who knew the values of defence.

In the preceding 178 minutes of action, against these Glamour Boys, in Cairo and Harare, this group of defenders had found a way not to concede a goal, including keeping a clean sheet, in the Egyptian capital.

The odds were firmly against the hosts, even with this dead ball opportunity and, as Rufaro held its collective breath, amid a wave of silent prayers, one man appeared to be standing on a secluded island, where everything was fine.

It was Yogi!

Maybe, he knew that, if he showed any signs of panic, it was going to filter on his players, including the man, who would take this dead ball.

During the game, he had made a change, a significant one, to try and give his team an extra dimension, in their attack, by encouraging his namesake, David Shoko, to spend more time, in the attacking phases, of the team.

He had trusted him to add punch to their attacks, and that confidence, from his coach, appeared to filter into Shokos game, and his impact, in those closing stages, became quite pronounced.

But, would David the coach let David the player take this free-kick?

In this team, packed with senior players, at this stage of this contest, when all their dreams could be shattered, by someone, whose ability to deal with the weight of such pressure, had never been tested?

Yogi called one of his players to the touchline, amid the bedlam of the mini conferences, which were going on all over the field, and sent a message to his troops.

Whatever he said, we might never know, given he is a man who was never comfortable with taking any credit, someone who liked to stay in the background, doing his work quietly.

That Free Kick, The David

Connection, The Immortality

So, the Egyptians lined up their wall, Rufaro held its breath and ASEC Mimosas, in their hotel rooms, were probably praying that this opportunity should be missed.

Some, inside the stadium, could barely watch as David, the player started his run, swung his left foot, the connection with the ball appeared perfect, delivering the energy, which powered it, from its base on the surface.

Anyone who claims he, or she saw the balls movement, from the time of its contact, with Davids boot to its destination, somewhere into the top corner of the Zamalek net, is a blatant liar.

Even the television cameras missed its flight.

The Egyptian wall never moved and neither did their goalkeeper.

Then, everyone saw the ball, it had nestled into the back of the Zamalek goal and, the explosion which erupted at Rufaro, must have shaken the Richter scale, used to measure the intensity of earthquakes.

There are moments in football, just like in life, which define heroes.

When time appears to stand still, frozen by the significance of the occasion, when nothing else appears to matter.

And, in the 88th minute, of the eighth month of the eighth year, of the new millennium, for David Yogi Mandigora, and his fearless band of the Glamour Boys Class of 2008, it all came to pass.

In their eighth game, since they first met, and eliminated the holders Etoile du Sahel, they reached out for the stars, and kissed the edges of immortality.

No one, who had the privilege of watching that game, especially what happened, in the 88th minute of that encounter, will ever forget what they saw.

In that moment, Yogis legacy, as a legendary player, and iconic coach, was sealed.

A golden moment frozen in time, preserved for reference to genius, to remind future generations there was a time when good men, capable of superman acts, roamed our football fields.

Maybe, its something that runs, the proud identity of the one who slayed the giant Goliath, in that powerful biblical tale.

Seven years earlier, on October 6, 2001, their namesake, David Beckham, had found himself with similar responsibility, needing to convert a free-kick, in time added on, against Greece at Old Trafford, to take England to the 2002 World Cup finals.

He duly delivered, with that execution completing his transformation, from a man blamed for his countrys World Cup elimination, in 1998, to a national hero.

You can always tell when a genuinely momentous footballing event has taken place, Joe Bernstein wrote in the Daily Mail.

The stadium rocks, literally, with all the noise and sudden movement from fans, and the television cameras consequently shake as they record history.

So, it was when David Beckhams 93rd-minute free-kick at Old Trafford took England to the World Cup finals in Japan and South Korea.

The video footage is extraordinary, you will rarely hear noise, or see a spontaneous outpouring of joy like it.

It elevated Beckham to Goldenballs status and saw him follow Diana, Princess of Wales, as an English icon, who became a global figure.

Until that iconic moment at Rufaro, no one had questioned Yogis legacy, as one of the finest players to emerge in this country, his starring role for Dynamos, had been scripted, a long time ago.

At the age of just 23, he had won the Soccer Star of the Year, back in an age when this award really represented greatness, when winning it was an endorsement of immortality.

Fate had somehow ensured his crowning moment, as a player, would come in 1980, which means no one would forget it because it will forever be associated with the countrys Independence.

But, there were questions about his true credentials, as a coach, and it didnt help that he lived in the shadow of the greatest of them all, when it comes to local coaches, Sunday Chidzambwa.

And, when he was appointed the Dynamos coach, amid the chaos which followed the clubs fight against relegation, in 2005, which culminated in the last-day survival act at Mucheke, this was seen as just another example of the madness, which was prevailing at the club.

With virtually the entire DeMbare team, which had represented the club in 2005, leaving to join newboys, Shooting Stars, at the start of 2006, this looked like Mission Impossible, for Yogi.

Somehow, he rebuilt his team and, by 2007, they won their first championship in 10 years and, the following year, he took his Glamour Boys into the semi-finals of the Champions League.

It couldnt have been done by a more humble servant of the game and, more importantly, by a better man.

Yogi might be dead now but domestic football will never forget its ultimate gentleman.

Its impossible to forget what happened in the 88th minute of that showdown against Zamalek in 2008.

To God Be The Glory!

Peace to the GEPA Chief, the Big Fish, George Norton, Daily Service, Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse and all the Chakariboys in the struggle.

Come on Warriors!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Khamaldinhoooooooooooooooooo!

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SHARUKO ON SATURDAY : In that moment, Yogis legacy, was sealed - The Herald