Lunga Adam: Heita, Sguda! This interview has been a little while in the making. Every time you looked to be showing us a clean pair of heels, we dusted ourselves off and continued the chase.
Andile Cele: Ha, ha, ha, you just want to get me into trouble wena.
LA: Now that we’ve finally got you here, let’s not waste any time. You didn’t stay such a long time at Orlando Pirates, or in top-flight football for that matter, owing to injury troubles, but you made the time you had there count. By that we mean you made lots of memories at the Soweto giants.
AC: Well, let me tell you a few stories because we had a couple of characters during my time at Pirates, and I think the biggest one was Jean-Yves Kerjean.
LA: Ha, ha, ha, we remember him. He had a chiskop. And was very defen-sive… 5-4-1.
AC: My man, that guy was something else. Where have you ever heard of a coach who went into a game knowing exactly who his three substitutes were going to be? Regardless of whatever situation the game was going to present at any point, he’d just put those guys in, as if they were some Lotto numbers he had dreamt up. If he decided that he was going to put in Tso (Benedict Vilakazi) and this one and that one, then that was what was going to happen, come what may. One time we went to play Free State Stars at Charles Mopeli Stadium. At the time, they were a very good team comprising the likes of Jimmy Kauleza, Hleza Mofedi, Goodman Mazibuko and David Radebe. We as the players always used to tell the team manager, Phil Setshedi, that ingwenya ayimnandanga (he wasn’t a good coach), but he and the rest of the management were always adamant that we just had it in for him. So, before that game, ingwenya announced his starting line-up and then said his substitutes were going to be the late Thabang Lebese, Tso, and I’m not sure who the third one was. We went out and played. To say that Free State Stars were giving us a tough time in midfield would be an understatement, to the extent that we just couldn’t go forward and create goalscoring opportunities. Thank God, the score remained 0-0 at half-time. Guess what, Kerjean goes on to introduce Lebese in the second half! Now, it does not take a rocket scientist to realise that that was not the game to introduce Lebese, but that’s what he did. The funny part of it all, though, is that at half-time, Dumisa Ngobe called Setshedi over and said, “Mr Jones, come see why we always tell you that ingwenya ayikho mnandi.” Ha, ha, ha. Now, the guy liked to supply the players with chocolate slabs in the dressing room. So, Setshedi and a few other club officials came round to listen to his half-time team talk, but Kerjean didn’t even see them. Probably because he was busy throwing chocolate slabs on the floor, all the while shouting, “Shoot! Shoot! Shoot! Score! Score! Score!” Setshedi and Co. could not believe what they were seeing. They just went crazy! Setshedi said, “These guys (Free State Stars) are coming at us, but you keep saying shoot, shoot, shoot, score, score, score, and throwing chocolate slabs on the floor. No coaching! Nothing!” Ha, ha, ha.
LA: Hilarious.
AC: You know, the crowd always gets excited when they see the players warming up before the game. What used to happen before games during Kerjean’s time at Pirates is that only the goalkeepers and three of us, who had been told we weren’t going to play, would first come out to warm up. And the crowd would be so disappointed. The goalkeepers would be doing their thing on the side, while the three of us would be dribbling around and playing the Rondo. You’d hear the crowd shout-ing, “Hey, kanti ikuphi iPirates? Ikuphi iPirates (but where’s Pirates? Where is Pirates)?” Meanwhile, the guys in the starting line-up would still be inside the dressing room, with the coach rolling out towels on the floor for them so they could do stretching exercises. He’d also be pampering them with chocolates and water, and encouraging them to shoot, shoot, shoot when they come onto the ground. And then when they come inside the field, yho, they’d put on a great performance! But I wonder how we came second that season, because I believe we came second. I’m telling you, there were always funny stories, especially when that guy was in charge.
LA: Please share with us those…
AC: He was a very funny guy. He believed a lot in these powders that you consume for strength. Sometimes when we were arriving in camp, we’d find him already there and waiting for us in the foyer, ready to give you your powder. Whenever you parked your car and saw his car in the parking lot, you knew what awaited you, ha, ha, ha. He was very persistent when it came to that stuff. The other thing is that the guy really held in high esteem any player who had scored a goal. If you scored a goal for him, hayi (no), you were like his king. Mina, breakfast was not my thing when we were in camp because I did not understand the logic of eating breakfast at 07h00 and then being called again for the pre-match meal at 10h30. Already, at that time, I had weight issues, so I was trying by all means to avoid the road that led to the kitchen so to speak, ha, ha, ha. You’d not see me in the dining hall during breakfast. I remember one time we played SuperSport United on a Wednesday and they were leading. I then scored an equaliser, before Steve Lekoelea scored the winner – we won 2-1. I scored a very good equaliser, so I was his king. On Saturday, we flew to East London to play Bush Bucks. On the Sunday morning before the game, he had named his starting line-up and I was obviously included in it. My roommate was Philani Kubheka. When he woke me up for breakfast that morning, I told him, “No, mf’ethu (my brother), I’m not going to breakfast. You know me and breakfast.” So, off he went. No sooner had he done that, than I heard a knock on the door, and something told me this was the knock of someone who had some heavy parcels in his possessions. It felt like it was the head knocking, not a finger. When I opened the door, there was the coach… bringing me breakfast in bed! There was every-thing in there. He kept saying to me, “You have to eat. You have to eat.” I was like a small baby there in bed, with the coach feeding me yoghurt and all this other stuff, all because I had scored for him on Wednesday. When Kubheka and the likes of Jo-seph Makhanya came back from breakfast, they found me in bed being treated like a king by the coach. Ha, ha, how funny.
LA: A banquet… for one!
AC: From then on, everyone wanted to score for this guy so they could get breakfast in bed. That’s how he treated us when you had scored for him, but make no mistake, you play one bad game, you are gone. You are on the bench. He does not take you to the stands. He takes you to the bench, but you stay there for three months or so. And he was very obsessed with the studs of the soccer boots. If you fall during a game and you had insisted on wearing multi-stud boots, hey, you are in s**t! I remember that was my first season with Mbulelo Mabizela at Pirates, so us being there was like a big dream, but when we arrived there, we found a funny coach. All he knew to say during half-time was, “Shoot, shoot, my friend. Shoot, shoot.” Even when we were in trouble, ha, ha, ha. Some of us were even gaining weight because of this habit of telling us the line-up and who was going to come on. We are sitting there on the bench, and you guys watching on TV are busy saying, “This game needs Andile”, or, “This game needs Makhanya.” But thina we are sitting there on the bench knowing very well that we are not going to be coming on today. For every game, this man would bring chocolate slabs, like Milky Bar and Top Deck. We’d take these delicious treats with to the bench, and the late Bra Joe Ramokgadi, our masseur, was in on the act. We’d play our chocolate cards close to our chests, so to put it, so that the television cameras wouldn’t catch us out, and then take a bite now and again. After all, we knew we wouldn’t be playing! Another obsession of his was having his players drinking lots of water. That was his coaching. I remember in one game that was beamed live on TV, we were playing Leopards at Johannes-burg Stadium. I was on the bench that day. The guy had fed Makhanya with so much water, that 25 minutes into the match, poor ‘Duku-Duku’ had to ask from the referee to go to the loo and relieve himself. Fortunately, the referee allowed him the little sprint to the ablution facilities. Eish, I doubt Kerjean even understood South African time because there were times we’d start training at 15h30. You know, Johannesburg Stadium is next to Ellis Park. Chiefs used to play their Wednesday evening games at Ellis Park. So, we’d be training at Johannesburg on the Wednesday afternoon because maybe on that day we had no game, and training would not stop. We’d hear vuvuzelas nearby, which was obviously a signal that the Chiefs game was about to start. I remember the other day we had to go and watch a Chiefs game while we were not prepared at all, ha, ha, ha, because we finished training just before the game started.
LA: Who were the other characters?
AC: Luc Zoa came to join us. He was a funny guy. He stayed alone in a flat in Sandton. It was our (Mabizela and Cele) first season at the club, so we were new and he was new. The only difference was that he was Cameroonian and he could only speak French. Mabizela and I stayed in Emmarentia, so when it was time for training, the driver would first pick us up and then pick up Zoa. That’s how we developed a bond. We’d be chatting and laughing, and he’d be teaching us these French words, most of which I have since forgotten, ha, ha, ha. He and Mabizela were very quiet, but during that trip from Emmarentia to Sandton and then to town to fetch the likes of Makhanya, Tso and the late Lesley Manyathela, it was fun. Mabizela was an introvert, Zoa was an introvert, but they’d speak freely. However, immediately after we picked those guys up, they’d just keep quiet, ha, ha, ha. So, the guys would ask me, “Labantu ubuhleli nabo, kanti abakhulumi yini (Those guys you were with, can’t they talk)?” I’d tell them, “Hey madoda, labantu bayakhuluma uma ningekho la. Uma kungena nina bayathula (guys, these guys can talk when you are not around. But as soon as you arrive, they become quiet).” When this guy from France (Kerjean) came, it was a lifeline for Zoa because now he had a coach he could communicate with. He started enjoying himself. I remember one time we played Mamelodi Sundowns at Johannesburg Stadium and Carlo Scott outpaced Mabizela and Zoa, and then Zoa committed a foul. But the ref mistakenly gave a red card to Mabizela, so he was out for the next game and Zoa kept on playing. He always teased Mabizela about that, ukuthi uyibhari wena, awuboni (that you’re a fool, you can’t see). But the funny story, and this is when we saw the best of Zoa, is when we went to play TP Mazembe away in the Democratic Republic of Congo in a qualifier for the CAF Champions League group stage. I was on the bench. Thabang Stemmer was on the bench. I think Makhanya was on the bench. Dumisa Ngobe was on the bench. Lebese was on the bench. Kerjean played with Gerald Raphahlela, Vilakazi and Godfrey Sapula in the middle, I think. Strong line-up. He had a very strong team made up of the old guard, like Tomas Inguana, Willem Jackson and Innocent Chikoya. We played in Lubumbashi and that was before they laid the artificial pitch there. The pitch was in a terrible state. From the very first minute, we were under pressure, but we managed to get a break-through in the second half when Raphahlela scored a beautiful goal. I’m sure he’s still complaining that there was no TV coverage for that game, so South Africa will never know about that goal. He scored a cracker, a volley from outside the box.
LA: Great stuff.
AC: So, we were leading. Now, we needed someone like Ngobe to come in and make sure that we stabilise the midfield, lock everything and take a 1-0 lead home. And, towards the end of the game, as TP Mazembe kept on piling the pressure, we were all standing on the bench. No one was sitting down. Setshedi was there. I mean, we were literally standing! We were all coaches on that day. Zoa was coaching in French, Kerjean was coaching… we just wanted to see this game through. We kept on telling Zoa to tell the coach to put in Ngobe. Zoa would take the message to the coach, in French, but the coach would ignore him, ha, ha, ha. He was on the coach’s ear all the time, but the coach had his eye firmly fixed on what was happening on the pitch that he barely had time for anyone and anything else. The next thing we knew, boom, those guys had equalised! Zoa was now more on the coach’s ear, and before we knew it, the coach turned towards him and unleashed a right hook!
LA: Ha, ha, ha, few things must be more hurtful than being punched by your own coach. But it’s you guys who’d sent him to talk to Kerjean! True what they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions…
AC: We had to intervene, ha, ha, ha. We managed to separate them and held on for a point. We laughed about it when we went back to camp, but they made up. Kerjean would criticise him in the media and tell all the papers and Irvin (Khoza) that he was bad, but what I appreciated about him (Kerjean) is that he was very forgiving. He was quick to forget. If you had wronged him, he’d quickly find a way of resolving the issue and then he’d be speaking with you at the dinner table. He was not one to hold grudges. But, hey, that was a very funny story. We kept it to ourselves up until we left Pirates because, even though we were not told to keep that story a secret, we felt ukuthi (that) it was too embarrassing to leak. It was a very big season for us and Pirates had previously won the league with abo (the likes of) Sapula from Turkey and Lebese. That time, Pirates was like the Sundowns of today – all the stars were playing for Pirates, you see. The youngsters were only me, Mabizela, Manyathela, Makhanya, Kubheka and Stemmer, and we were very close.
LA: So close that you even used to cut each other’s hair.
AC: That used to happen in Makhanya and Stemmer’s room. Normally, in the evening, we’d go there to do haircuts. Makh-anya would be so creative on your head, even creating that line that Nelson Mandela had in his haircut, ha, ha, ha. The funny thing is that he’d be playing barber while in his Calvin Klein underwear, with nothing else on. Look at how bow-legged he is! He’d go from one guy to the next, to the next, until he had cut all our heads. You’d, however, hear him complaining, “Sengizoni charger manje, niyasokolisa maan (I’m going to start charging you a fee, you’ve become a nuisance).” We’d stay there until late, mostly talking about the game we were going to play. For example, if we were going to play Jomo Cosmos, Makhanya would say, “Eish, Terminator is coming! Eish, uyagijima lomuntu. Uzokubamba uTerminator (that guy can run. Terminator will catch you).” We’d part ways late in the evening when “adult movies” were starting on M-Net, ha, ha, ha. He’d say, “Eish, guys, it’s better we go to sleep now. Be-cause if we watch these things, when we wake up in the mor-ning, our heads will not be in the right places.” Although I must hasten to add that some guys did not always heed that advice. No names mentioned, though, unless I want to get myself killed, ha, ha, ha. Yeah, those are the funny moments, and we were very close to each other. I remember at one stage Sis Zodwa Khoza (may her soul rest in peace) was complaining that at our flat we were not buying healthy food and were instead spending money on useless things. As a result, if we were going to play on a Saturday, we as the youngsters would be made to go to camp on Thursday. Eish, we were not happy at all about that and we’d be asking why we were going to camp a day earlier than the rest of the team. We were told that the reason was that at the hotel is where we could eat healthy food and watch our diet. The senior guys would only join us in camp on Friday evenings. I can’t begin to tell you how much that used to annoy us. More especially when Bruce Ramokadi used to say, loudly, “No, don’t worry, Sguda. One day you’ll be seniors as well.” As we finished train-ing on Thursday, and preparing to go to camp, the seniors would say, “See you guys. We are now going to see our partners.” Ha, ha, ha.
LA: Talk about rubbing salt into the wound.
AC: Although this arrangement annoyed us a great deal, there was just nothing we could do about it because we were scared of Sis Zodwa. I mean, she never missed the opportunity to set the record straight, ha, ha, ha. You were often told, “Hey, ungumntwana wena (you are a child)”, and you knew there and then that your game was over. There was no person we were scared of more than Sis Zodwa. But she was very loving, very caring. She used to give us that motherly love, that tough love. Those were very good times. Before you go, I just want to say that we owe it to Augusto Palacios that South Africa knows about us, as he persisted on us being given a chance. When this thing of playing youngsters was unpopular at the time, Palacios insisted, “No, play these guys.” People used to say I’m only good on the ball but I don’t mark, but Palacios loved me. He used to put me on the bench, but I knew that at some stage he’d put me in. We always see coaches giving substitutes instructions before they come on. Palacios would give all the other players instructions, but when it came to me, he’d only say, “You know hey. You know hey.” That “you know hey” meant, “Go and do your thing.” That humbles me even now, that this guy knew that I knew, ha, ha, ha.
LA: Indeed, you knew. You’ve left the Soccer Laduma readers in stitches with all these unbelievable stories and for that we thank you. We’ll allow you a little breather and bring you back on Still In Touch in a couple of weeks.
AC: Take care, mfowethu.
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