Many sportsmen and women have won so many accolades in their short but illustrious careers that some of them care to remember – but there is always the elusive race human beings just can’t win despite their superpowers – that’s the race against death. Dear readers, my fingers are trembling as I’m penning this article in search of suitable words to bid farewell to a great footballer and longtime friend, Manuel “Pornjor” Mendos, who went to meet his Maker earlier this week after an illness. I came to know Mendos in the early Eighties when he joined Hungry Lions as a strongly-built youngster and the ebony skinned boy from the southern part of Angola immediately played himself into the hearts of the hard-to-please Ovambanderu clique which did not take kindly to other tribes at the time. Having been exposed to other tribal groups from an early age, I always saw it as my duty to protect minority groups from being discriminated against and became very close to the likes of Mendos, the Basson brothers Justice and Lesley, Dr Mike Oxurub, Fleish Hange, Gideon Gurirab, Foresta Nicodemus and the late Ringo Skrywer – up to this day I’m still in close contact with the aforementioned players. I vividly remember the day when we played Chelsea in a league match at Grootfontein, and on that particular day we were cruising and gave Chelsea a torrid time in their own backyard. At some stage, Mendos, who was fluent in the Otjiherero tongue, angrily told me to cut down on communicating in Afrikaans on the playing field as we needed to confuse our opponents. The tall and talented Chelsea defender, Pule Subeb, was marking me and could not believe his ears that I could utter a word of Otjiherero as he was apparently under the impression that I was from Upington – I felt so embarrassed because my identity was at stake, and since that day I started paying more attention to my mother tongue. Pornjor, as Mendos was known amongst the Hungry Lions clan, was a no-nonsense defender in his heyday and, though he spent the best of his playing days at unfashionable Hungry Lions – he had very little peers in his position as a tough tackling centre back, and could have walked into any other top team had loyalty not played its part. His talents never went unnoticed, and Mendos was eventually snapped up by the star-studded Black Africa outfit, but his long overdue return to his roots ended prematurely after a career-threatening knee injury put paid to his promising football career. Manuel Mendos was one of the most adored guys at Hungry Lions because of his great sense of humour – I never saw him angry, even though most of the blokes in the team took turns to have a go at him as they scattered around to describe his not-so-attractive looks. If the departed Mendos was playing football in another country – he would have been dispatched in the most dignified fashion he so deserved, but Namibian football is run by a bunch of scumbags who are too puffed up with self-importance. It’s not strange in domestic football these days to see players wearing black armbands because of so-and-so distant relative who passed away, while the deaths of so many great players go unnoticed. A case in point was that black Saturday afternoon when Blue Waters took on arch rivals Tigers in a vital league match at the Kuisebmond Stadium in Walvis Bay – the very same day one of Namibia’s greatest footballers was laid to rest. What really made yours truly gatvol was that Johannes “Pwiro” Angula slaved for both Tigers and Blue Waters during his prime and the occasion presented a good opportunity for both teams to bid farewell to a former star. But, to my surprise, no moment of silence was to be observed in honour of this great son of the soil until the last-minute intervention of a perceived troublesome journo. At the current rate, yours truly would not be at all surprised to see imported league matches being called off if a dog belonging to one of the football officials is run over by a car. After all, that’s the state of Namibian football. Nevertheless, Brrra Mandy, may your soul rest in eternal peace in one piece. So, until we meet again, Kaende Nawa! When Days are Dark – Friends Are Few Well, there is an old adage that says when days are dark friends become few, and this seems to fit the bill when it comes to Brrra B. It has been a hectic week for the uncompromising Brrra B who lost his younger sister last week and, instead of being showered with condolences, bad luck just seemed to be following the baritone vocalist. The grapevine has it that Brrra Alhpa aka Barry White’s hard-core reluctance to let loose his grip on Athletic Namibia has propelled the line Ministry to employ dirty tactics in another desperate bid to get rid of the thick-hide athletic official. The line Ministry resolved to evict the beleaguered discipline from its premises at the Windhoek Independence Stadium – leaving the beleaguered discipline homeless and penniless after the Sports Commission had put a lid on all funding to Athletic Namibia for the time being until their house is in order. The latest twist must have been the last straw on the camel’s back, because it’s crystal clear now that almost every Dick – never mind Tom and Harry – wants to see the back of Alpha for good. Dear readers, please pardon me, it’s not my beat to take aim at fellow pen-pushers, but paging through the back pages on Mondays is becoming an unbearable exercise with every publication, including the electronic media providing conflicting reviews on the weekend’s matches in the Namib Premier league. Football is a kind of religion, and supporters become extremely stressful when hearing that their favourite teams have lost matches they expected them to win, only to find out the next day that they indeed triumphed. I trust my colleagues are not tripped in the April Fools’ web.