Playing the Game

[First published in February 2001, when the cunning little Kafupi was beginning to dream of a Third Term]

Playing the Game

            ‘Good morning honourable ministers,’ said the Great Wabufi. ‘I declare this Cabinet Meeting open. For newly appointed ministers, I should first explain that I am the Sole Cabinet. I am the one who was elected, and I have the mandate. You are appointed by me to minister to my needs. That’s why you are called ministers. I let you do the discussion, then I take the decisions.’

          ‘What discussion?’ whispered Mafusha Mpamba, ‘We have never even discussed anything. Not even economic policy.’

          ‘I heard that,’ snapped Wabufi. ‘I have told you before, economic policy is in the hands of the IMF. The Cabinet just has to decide which roads to repair, and where to put the drains, and things like that.

          ‘As for you, Mpamba,’ continued Wabufi, ‘you just look after your little Health Budget, and make sure you don’t give any of it to the doctors.’

          ‘Health?’ sneered Mpamba triumphantly. ‘You’ve forgotten, I’m the Minister of Poaching.’

          ‘Its you who’s forgotten,’ sneered Cycle Mata, ‘you were moved to Health last week.’

          ‘Can you honourables stop twittering and listen to me!’ shouted Wabufi, his little legs swinging angrily in the air. ‘The agenda for this morning is the National Football Team. We about to be kicked out from the second round of the Cosafa Cup. The nation is in disgrace. The government must take action!’

          ‘I thought we were all agreed,’ said Hacksaw Sengana, ‘that FAZ is an independent body, and government cannot not interfere.’

          ‘Don’t be silly,’ laughed Wabufi. ‘If we agreed, then we can change our minds anytime. Now, any suggestions? What do you say, Billy Baritone, you’re the Minister of Sport.’

          ‘I was in Sport, Mr President, but now I’m in the Environment …’

‘We’re all in the environment!’ laughed Cycle Mata.

‘I mean, er, Commerce,’ bleated Baritone.

          ‘You were moved to Poaching last week,’ advised Cycle Mata. ‘Sorry, Old Sport!’

          ‘Sport!’ said Mad Kuku suddenly. ‘That’s me!’

          ‘Then why didn’t you say so earlier?’ snapped Wabufi, banging his little fist on the table. ‘That’s why Cabinet Meetings take so long, with all you half-wits trying to remember which ministry you belong to! Now tell me, Kuku. Why have we lost seven games in a row?’

          ‘So many reasons, Mr Chairman. I think this foreign coach Brewer is a bad influence on the team. Dutch beer instead of kachasu. Tobacco instead of dagga. Training instead of resting. Celibacy instead of healthy exercise …’

          ‘But what is the main problem?’

          ‘We can’t score.’

          ‘Of course they can’t score if they remain celibate!’ guffawed Lawless Repugna. ‘Me, I scored twice last night!’

          ‘So what can we do?’ persisted Wabufi, ignoring gormless Lawless.

           ‘We’ve got the highest number of red cards. When it comes to shin kicking, elbowing and ball squeezing, we’re the best in Africa!’

          ‘That’s it then! We just need to be given proper credit for our talents. One point for a goal. Two points for a yellow card! Three for a red! We’ll be world champions within a month!’

          ‘But according to the FAZ Constitution,’ interrupted Hacksaw Sengana, ‘we have to follow the rules. Games are won according to goals.’ 

          ‘Then we must change the rules! Don’t we have a majority of Chipolopolo fans who want us to win? Rules are made by people! So they can be changed by people! That’s what we mean by democracy ! Democracy is about people. If democracy is not about numbers, its not about anything!’

          ‘Excuse me,’ rumbled Hacksaw Sengana. ‘But if we change the rules, it won’t be football anymore. We have to play according to the rules!’

          ‘I don’t care what game you call it, so long as we win. The only question is, how do we get into the third round of the Cosafa Cup?’

          At that moment there was a chanting heard from outside the cabinet room. Third Round! Change the Rules! Third Round! Change the Rules!’

          ‘That is the voice of the people,’ said Cycle Mata. ‘We have to follow the majority.’

          ‘No,’ said Hacksaw. ‘We can’t change the rules after we have joined the game.’

          ‘This Hacksaw had better stay quiet,’ hissed Cycle Mata, ‘or I’ll extract his teeth. He is deliberately fomenting discontent, and identifying himself as a threat to national unity.’

          ‘Referees are appointed by FIFA,’ Hacksaw persisted,  ‘and not by the government.’

          ‘Then I shall appoint my own Football Administrators,’ said Wabufi, ‘to draw up a new constitution to suit myself. So long as we retain a level playing field, that’s the main thing. And as President, it’s for me to decide where to put the goal posts. I declare this discussion at an end, and the meeting closed.’

          As they trooped out of the Cabinet Room, Hacksaw was heard mumbling to himself ‘What does he know about football?’

          ‘Beware of low level strategies,’ said Billy Baritone. ‘A little chap like that can run straight between your legs and put your balls in the back of the net.’