Kasi flair debate: does showboating hold SA players back?

Vusi “Computer” Lamola’s first touch as a Kaizer Chiefs player is a story one young fan in the stands never forgot. The moment the ball rolled back from the centre after the opening whistle, the legendary dribbler stood on top of it, waved his hands and greeted the Amakhosi faithful. The crowd went wild. It was, as the story goes, a warning to the opposition that he intended to dribble them until the very last minute. Lamola did not wait for opponents to be beaten and broken before he entertained. He took them on from the first minute, when they were strong and able to answer back.

That old story sits at the heart of a debate now stirring again in South African football, and it belongs to the people who fill township grounds on weekend afternoons: is showboating a proud expression of kasi culture, or a habit that holds back the very players the crowds come to watch?

For one longtime follower of the game, the answer has cost him something. He used to be a devoted fan of off-season kasi tournaments, zig-zagging across Gauteng from the East Rand, where he grew up, to Soweto, where the kasi games were born, to the Vaal, where some of the country’s finest talent could be found. When the PSL took its Christmas break, he would head to Pitori Mahlanyeng in search of raw, unscripted diski, and he says every minute was worth it. He no longer goes. What changed his mind is the theatrical showboating he now cannot stand: grown men rolling on their bellies, dancing on their knees with the ball, or jumping up and down like toddlers doing jumping jacks. Defenders of the practice call it culture and diski DNA. He sees purposeless trickery masquerading as kasi flavour.

The trend is creeping back into the Betway Premiership. After established showmen such as Thabo Rakhale, Khethokwakhe Masuku, Ntsako “Never Die” Makhubela and Thabo Qalinge retired, a younger generation picked up the baton. Orlando Pirates’ Mpho “PhoPho” Padime and Simphiwe Masilela are now the ones flaunting tricks, and Kaizer Chiefs’ Mfundo Vilakazi is regularly tempted to unleash one or two, unprovoked.

Coaches, too, have had to weigh in. Orlando Pirates coach Abdeslam Ouaddou criticised players for unnecessary showboating, likening the practice to a circus. He slammed time-wasting and sterile possession early in matches, when games were still in the balance, and threatened that players who put tricks above winning would not play under him. Yet after a 4-0 panel-beating of African Stars at Orlando Stadium, he softened his tune, delighted by what he had watched.

That stadium, affectionately known as Esgodini sikaMaminzela, is the true historical home of dribbling in this country. In the 1970s and 1980s, weekend crowds watched Joseph “Carlton” Moloi of Moroka Swallows, Percy “Chippa Chippa” Moloi of Orlando Pirates, and Kaizer “Chincha Guluva” Motaung, who went on to found Kaizer Chiefs, dribble the living daylights out of one another there. Later came Jomo Sono, Nelson “Teenage” Dladla, Joel Ace Mnini, Zebulon “Sputla” Nhlapo, Kagiso “Zero My Hero” Mogale, Pule “Ace” Ntsoelengoe, Jan “Malombo” Lichaba and Andries “Six Mabone” Maseko, juggling the ball with gay abandon.

The difference between those legends and today’s showboaters, the writer argues, is movement. The old masters were never stationary. Opponents were left eating carrots while a goal was scored, or at the very least created. Tricks that achieve nothing, performed only when a match is already won at 4-0, he calls the work of cowards who kick a man when he is down. For the fans in the stands, the question remains whether the flair they cheer is building careers or simply delaying them.