Kenya: Gor Jerseys Are Not Pricey, It’s the Fans Who Are Cheap

Clay Muganda

18 July 2011

Nairobi — For the past few days, those who run down local football, the otiose fans of Gor Mahia and the club’s new kit have been on my mind.

At the same time, two young friends have been trying hard to convince me that reporting in journalism is a dying art and reporters a dying breed, if ever the former was an art and the latter a breed.

These two students have been insisting that media owners will make money hand-over-fist if all the newspaper pages that are filled with the “he said, he added, he noted, he reiterated, he observed, he claimed” kind of stories are done away with and replaced with hard-hitting commentaries and political analysis — whatever those are.

“Just as I hate Manchester United, I hate news reporters,” one of them told me over the phone from Mombasa.

“I hope the new Constitution bans reporters from media houses so that all those pages are freed from their grip,” he griped.

“Even television stations should do away with news reports and interviews in order to attract more viewers.”

My explanations that life in itself is an unavoidable reportage, a narration, a sequence of events — with the mandatory who, what, when, where, how and an occasional why — have fallen on deaf ears.

These young people don’t realise that they are reporting whenever they tell me about their numerous tribulations and few exploits while insisting that readers and viewers are averse to news reports and interviews.

I have always wanted to tell them that, ironically, just like with local football that is being killed by administrators and fans, it is the media that is killing journalism.

Analysts and commentators live off news reports while those who mismanage local football live off the game.

But since I will just be reporting examples while explaining how the media and football managers and fans are killing journalism and football, I scoot and go bury myself in the newspaper pages they so hate.

Even though these young men have never been in a football pitch, they are published writers who, despite their disdain for reporters, still get ideas for their hallowed (political) analyses and commentaries from news reports.

Late last week, one of them told me he wanted to write about Mombasa and I asked him rhetorically whether he wanted to write a travelogue or a political commentary.

In a matter of hours, his friend asked me how to write a commentary on football as his editor had asked him to write about the beautiful game. He was wondering how he was going to hack it at this moment in time when “there is no football”.

“Really?” I asked, and then remembered that, for many Kenyans, football is made in England.

As long as there is no English Premier League, there is no football and, by extension, no social life because the only time they have fun is when they don fake replica jerseys, throng entertainment spots, shout their heads off, and occasionally engage in drunken brawls, all in the name of watching and analysing football.

There has been football and football-related events everywhere, I told him, and the biggest of them all was the unveiling of the most expensive jersey in the history of football, if the reports — and the subsequent gnashing of teeth — are anything to go by.

About two weeks ago, Gor Mahia, Kenya’s equivalent of the world’s best football clubs put together, unveiled a new kit at a glittering ceremony.

The event was attended by Nairobi’s A-listers, all in keeping with the club’s tradition of attracting and bringing out only the best; its stature in society, high standards and strength — the last of which is increasingly being felt more off the pitch than on it.

The new kit has attracted more media attention than Gor Mahia’s successes, surpassing even its decades-old silverware — the Mandela Cup must now be rusty and lonely in the club’s cabinet — and is only rivalled by the publicity the club gets when fans run amok and destroy everything in their path.

Some weeks ago, Gor Mahia fans were all over the social networks, foaming at every orifice as they castigated SuperSport for suspending live broadcasts of the club’s matches.

The ban was to remain in place until the fans quit their Stone Age acts of hooliganism.

At that time, local football administrators, who are in contention for the yet-to-be-inaugurated FIFA World Cup for the worst-managed and poorly run football association, were twiddling their thumbs, caressing their bellies, scratching their aerostatic heads and generally dilly-dallying over what disciplinary measures to mete out to the club which should put its money where its mouth is and own a stadium in which the fans can vent their anger at will.

If KPL/FKL/ KFF, CECAFA or FIFA were to have a trophy for the club whose fans are ever in a state of anger, or whose fans incessantly and intermittently get offended, Gor Mahia would get a walkover.

Since the kit was unveiled, they have been looking at the gift horse in the mouth, quietly protesting as if they are waiting for the opportune moment to vent their anger, ostensibly because the kit is of low quality, and laughably, expensive.

This despite the fact that the proceeds from the sale of the (replica) jerseys will contribute to building the club, which is a brand that needs to be strong in order to provide better bargaining power with sponsors.

It is a vicious circle: a strong brand translates in to more money, wealthier sponsors, better players, more wins, more glory, more trophies and even a stronger club, and brand.

Thus, at Sh2,800, the replica jersey is not expensive. It is the Gor Mahia fans who are cheap and their antics will cheapen the club further – and make it more worthless.

AllAfrica – All the Time