Tinashe Njazi
In the unforgiving glare of the television lights, a moment of shocking intimacy unfolded on the touchline.
It was not a clash of rivals, but a breach of trust, a head coach, Takesure Chiragwi, his hand striking the face of his own player, McDonald Makuwe.
The slap was swift, but the echo, captured for all to see, would reverberate through the Castle Lager Premier Soccer League for weeks.
This week, that echo was meant to be quieted by the gavel of the PSL Disciplinary Committee.
Yet, the verdict has produced not a sense of closure, but a lingering, uncomfortable question: in the high-stakes theatre of football, can a coach literally strike a player and remain in the dugout?
The answer, it seems, is a conditional yes.
In a ruling that prioritised redemption over banishment, Chiragwi has avoided a touchline ban.
The financial penalties are substantial, a collective $5,000 fine for Ngezi Platinum Stars, and a personal $4,000 fine for the coach, with a portion suspended pending his completion of anger management counselling.
The judgement meticulously noted the coach’s remorse, his public apology, and the internal steps taken by his club, including his suspension and his voluntary departure from the Zimbabwe national team setup.
On paper, it is a narrative of accountability.
The PSL’s statement spoke of “cognisance” and “mitigation,” painting a picture of a man who stumbled, acknowledged his failing, and is on a prescribed path to correction.
But this measured response exists in stark contrast to the raw violence of the televised act itself, and to the precedents set earlier this season.
The shadow of other punishments looms large over this decision.
Consider Spencer Muvadi, an official from Yadah Stars, who assaulted a goalkeeper away from the cameras.
His sentence was a year-long ban from all football duties.
Or the two Herentals officials, Paradzai Afa and Tairos Ngoma, who assaulted a fan and a police officer.
They were banned for three seasons.
Their transgressions, while serious, occurred outside the full view of the nation.
Chiragwi’s transgression, however, was a public spectacle.
It was a stain on the league’s broadcast product, a gift to those who would question the sport’s professionalism.
And yet, for this very public act, the most direct consequence is a financial one.
This is not to say the league’s decision is without logic. There is a compelling argument for rehabilitation, for recognising a man’s efforts to make amends.
The ordered anger management counselling is a progressive, almost therapeutic, intervention. It suggests a league trying to solve a problem, not just punish a culprit.
But it also creates a perplexing hierarchy of crime and punishment. It whispers that the spectacle of a coach assaulting his player, a fundamental breach of the coach-athlete covenant, can be absolved with a cheque and therapy, while assaults away from the lens merit long-term exile.
The case is now closed, the fines imposed.
Takesure Chiragwi will, in all likelihood, soon return to his post, a man who has paid his debt.
But for the league, the more difficult reckoning may just be beginning. It has chosen a path of mercy in one of the most glaring cases of misconduct this season.
The true test will be whether this decision fosters genuine reform or simply leaves the unsettling feeling that some, under the bright lights, can walk away from an offence that would see others cast into the shadows.
