BACK in the days of our innocence, when we were little primary schoolboys who spent the better part of the week in our khakhi uniforms in the goldfields of Chakari and our mothers were the centre of our world, we somehow really believed that Shackman Tauro could fly once a ball was sent into the penalty area.

The barriers of white settler rule were coming down one after the other, the march towards Independence was now in full throttle, the smell of freedom was in the air and there was a detectable mood of optimism everywhere in the old and over-populated black neighbourhoods of Chakari.

We were in the twilight years of the '70s, soon it would be the '80s, and now and again the message was being drummed into our young ears, both at home and at school, that there was a likelihood that big changes were about to happen in the country.

We were too young to understand all the politics that was unfolding around us then but we knew a lot about football, the game that we played at school and on the streets after school, the teams that we supported and the players that we idolised.

Back in those days in Chakari there was a big contingent of Rio Tinto supporters because, usually, there was always a relative -- a cousin, an uncle or even a brother -- or someone whom we knew very well, who played for this team.

But there was also the big influence that came with the big teams in the capital -- a Dynamos that we had known for sometime as a dominant force and a CAPS United whose emergence, and triumph, was sweeping away a lot of young hearts into its corner.

Then our hero was David Mwanza, who had been born and bred in our neighbourhood, a true genius whose talent later shined so brightly that Rio Rinto could not resist him.

We knew his family well, his father was a policeman at the mine, his elder brother Douglas was also a good player, his younger brother Amon was also very talented while his sister Alice played netball very well.

He was our idol -- the first talent to emerge from our little mining compound to become a real big star -- and we all loved him because he gave us hope that we were not all destined to end up as mineworkers who would spend their life trying to get gold from the underground tunnels.

We knew Victor Mapanda well, because he had briefly been part of our community before his talents took him to the big league of Rio Tinto, but he was not our hometown hero like David Mwanza because he had not been born and bred in Chakari.

We knew a number of good players then, who had little to do with our little mining town, but simply because they represented the big teams from the capital, which had a big following in our small community.

One of our heroes, then, was Shackman Tauro whom we imagined to be a larger-than-life character who was so good, as a goalscorer, we actually believed that he could fly inside the penalty area.

In the madness that followed the spectacular emergence of CAPS United, its brave challenge to the established order in 1979, its crowning as the best team that year and its flock of talented young players coming from the high-density suburbs of Harare -- at a time when hope was a common denominator in the conscience of our nation - the name Shackman Tauro was special.

As the leader of the line in the goalscoring machine that was CAPS United, Tauro represented greatness and, as the '70s turned into the '80s and it became clear that Makepekepe was here for good, it also represented the future.

The future of a young team that was causing waves in the country and changing the established landscape of football and not only winning matches, on the back of beautiful performances, but also winning the league championship.

That was in 1979.

It was a great year for Makepekepe, in general, and Tauro in particular given that he was the undoubted outstanding player of that team he was honoured nationally as the Soccer Star of the Year.

And, in those years, the Soccer Star of the Year award represented greatness and was given the people who deserved the honour - long before a new generation of journalists with partisan interests, so hooked to their hometown teams they dumped their professional ethics in the dustbins - devalued this prestigious award.

Back in those days Tauro was not only a CAPS United asset. He was a national asset who represented the future of a nation that had just come out of global isolation and was celebrating its return to the international football family.

He represented the future of a game that we all loved, that was coming out of the international wilderness and was celebrating its reunion with the world against the background of a promise of success in which we all believed that we would soon become the best team in Africa.

By the time we welcomed good old 1980, with the Independence and Great Expectations that it brought, Shacky was there to fulfil all our dreams, to transform himself from that goal-scoring number nine whose goals would only delight the constituency of the green-and-white Green Machine family into one whose goals would delight an entire nation.

When our Warriors were reconstituted in 1980, as a national team that was acceptable to the Fifa family, there he was, the 19-year-old Tauro -- still a few months short of his 20th birthday -- getting a place in the team as the chief source of the goals that we needed to power us to greatness.

For some of us, who had been born in the '70s, this was the first national team that we knew - that good feeling that came with getting a national representative side running onto the field to fight for your cause, that sensational feeling that came with everyone playing under the umbrella of one united nation for one great cause.

For the first time we got to know that the club barriers that divided us and turned us into groups of CAPS United, Dynamos, Highlanders, Zimbabwe Saints, Rio Tinto, Gweru United and Bata Power supporters were just artificial walls that could be demolished all in the name of our beautiful country.

For the first time our generation fell in love with the realisation that even the best player from a team that we considered to be the opposition -- who was the ultimate symbol of the enemy -- could, for those good 90 minutes, turn into a man that we all loved and who could deliver for the cause of our nation.

The Four Nation Independence Tournament at Rufaro was, to our generation, the first taste of real international football where we could proudly support our national team and, boy oh boy, what a team that was.

Goalkeeper Frank M'kanga, Graham Boyle, Oliver Kateya, Sunday Chidzambwa (captain), Ephert Lungu, David Muchineripi, David Mandigora, Wonder Phiri, Robert Godoka, Onias Musana, Max Tshuma, Joseph Zulu.

For some of us, out there in our little world of Chakari, this national team represented the triumph of the coaching methods of John Rugg -- our beloved Rio Tinto coach -- whose men made almost half that team.

Boyle was as good a rightback as we will ever get and he played for our beloved Rio Tinto, Lungu was as good a centreback as we will ever get and Rugg had taken him from Vanad Mine in the Mutorashanga area, as a raw teenager, and turned him into one of the finest centrebacks our country will ever produce.

Godoka was a flying winger, the creative force down the flanks whose every touch and pace brought hope for everything that Rio Tinto, Kadoma and Chakari represented, and we felt so good that he was part of this national team.

Zulu was the midfield magician, so good that he could have played in the English Premiership if the doors to Europe were as open then, for African players, as they are now and he was the heartbeat of the Rio Tinto team -- a man we could all trust to weave his magic to turn things around.

Rugg, our old wily Scottish coach, was the man in charge of that national team and as they ran onto the pitch in that tournament for the sake of their independent homeland, they represented our dreams of greatness, shared our hopes of success and, together as one united team, we were ready to face the world.

Shackman Tauro was the man who led the line in that search for goals and, just like Godoka, Lungu, Boyle, Phiri and Zulu, he became a part of us -- a big part of our dreams, a big part of our hopes.

He did not let us down.

He scored twice in the 6-0 destruction of Mozambique and then hit the winning goal, in the dying seconds, of the final against Zambia as our independent homeland celebrated its transition to freedom with success on the football fields.

Shackman Tauro became a national hero, the man with the boots that we all trusted to deliver the goals that would help us in our march towards greatness, the striker in whom we invested our trust that, cometh the hour, he would be there to put away the chances and take us to the Promised Land.

We had all along believed, out there in our own little world in Chakari, that Shackman Tauro could fly and, as he scored all those important goals in the name of our homeland, we really began to believe that he was a supernatural human being.

We had known his exploits long before he came of age with that performance for the Warriors in the Four Nation Independence Cup.

We had known, even though we were just mere kids, of the six goals that he had scored for the North Zone Select in their demolition of Kaizer Chiefs on June 2, 1977 - just 26 days before his 17th birthday.

We had known that he had scored a superb hattrick in his first game for CAPS United, when he was a mere 14-year-old, and all those stories about how his inclusion in the first team had caused problems given opposition from some officials in the team who were concerned abiut his age.

We had known that he was good. We even thought he was too good.

And, when that drama unfolded at Rufaro leading to his transformation into a national hero on April 21 1980, when his winning goal before 40 000 fans gave us that sweet victory against Zambia, we shared with him his moment of greatness.

The Greatest Ever

Moses Chunga calls himself The Greatest and, in some way, he is probably right because -- in terms of natural talent -- Bambo was up there with the very best that you can ever think of.

He was that all-round genius, the attacking midfielder who was the creative hub of his team and a goal-scoring wizard who could get as many as 46 goals in just one season, including some of the greatest goals that we will ever see.

He could score from virtually everywhere -- long distance free-kicks, corner-kicks, the easy tap in, the cheeky goals, the good ones, the ordinary ones and, what was so different about him, was that he was effective with either foot.

He could hit a free-kick, from 30 metres out, with the same power and accuracy with his right boot as his left.

While Chunga has a reason to believe he is there at the top, something that will forever be a source of debate, what I believe cannot be debated is that, in the era after Independence, Shackman Tauro is the greatest goalscorer that we have produced as a nation.

The late Peter Nyama, known as Thunderboots, was a super goalscorer in the early part of the '70s but -- in the '80s and right up to now -- Shackman Tauro was in a class of his own.

He was that footballer who was only born to score goals, that rare breed that you could count on to provide the finishing touch, that superman whom you could trust to get the job done.

There have been a number of pretenders to his throne since Independence with the late Gift "Ghetto" Mpariwa, the late Charles "Chola" Chirwa and Agent Sawu coming into the picture.

But Shackman Tauro was special and he remains, in the era of the country that calls itself Zimbabwe, the greatest goalscorer who ever graced our football fields.

He was not the greatest player, that honour to me will always go to either Peter Ndlovu or Moses Chunga and I have struggled to separate them all these years, even though when it is clear to me, that in terms of national contribution, the Flying Elephant takes the award of the Greatest Warrior of All-Time.

But noone scored goals like Shackman Tauro, no wonder they ended up calling him Mr Goals, and he was so comfortable in that penalty area you would think that it was his home.

Death Of A Legend

The last time I saw Shackman Tauro was at a boxing tournament, put together by Stalin Mau Mau at Raylton, some time this year and we took time to talk about our beloved Manchester United as we watched the fights.

He looked in good spirits. And in good health, too.

I didn't know that he was a loyal fan of boxing, until that night, and we really enjoyed our time before I left him in the company of a couple of other guys as I retired for the night.

It didn't ring a bell in me that this was the last time that I was seeing the greatest Zimbabwean goalscorer that I have known all my life.

On Thursday, as I received an e-mail from my colleague Lawrence Moyo that Shackman Tauro, the Lion of Makepekepe, the man that the great Shona commentator Choga Tichatonga Gavhure called Chinyaride, the man that Eddie "Mboma" Nyatanga, a devoted CAPS United fan, called Bere had passed away at in Harare the previus day.

It was a bolt from the blue.

It didn't take me long to realise that we had lost a legend of our game, that this was the biggest football news on the day in Zimbabwe and the story that was fit to be the back page lead item in The Herald.

Bigger than Egypt's sensational win over world champions Italy at this Confederations Cup, bigger than anything that I could think about in football terms, bigger than anything that could happen here in South Africa at this tournament.

For this was not an ordinary man saying goodbye to all of us the living souls. This was a super hero of Zimbabwean football, a man whose appeal cut across the barriers that divide us at club level, the man who became a symbol of the Warriors and who gave his all for the sake of his nation.

A football star who was a model professional to the kids growing up in Chakari and Highfield, a superstar who played the game with a smile, a man who devoted his life to our football and, in later years, tried to help a number of other players get to the heights that he had scaled.

He coached Blackpool to second place in the 1995 league championship, being robbed of the league title by a shameless piece of match-fixing that gave Dynamos the benefit of doubt in the final round of matches, and he laid the foundation for Ndochi's emergence as a force.

But his heart was always with his beloved CAPS United and, now and again, he would return to the Green Machine to take up roles in the coaching set-up of the side that he called home.

Now it's all over.

On Thursday night, the great Shackman Tauro breathed one last time and, in one swift movement, crossed the wall that divides the living and the dead. He was just 49, too young an age for one to die, and was just 11 days shy of his 50th birthday.

You Will Never Walk Alone

Goodbye Shackman, the ultimate Zimbabwean goalscorer that I have ever known and, on the evidence of the football crop that has been coming through in our country, the greatest goalscorer I will ever know.

You were cut from the cloth that makes greatness and I will always remember that goal, for the Warriors, when we beat Kenya 2-0 at Rufaro to win the Cecafa Senior Challenge Cup in 1985.

That was our first major title as a country and, as they always say, it's the first cut that is the deepest.

Thanks Shackman for all the memories mate. For all the goals. For all the great times we shared together. For all the moments that we laughed together. For all the wisdowm we shared together. For all the sad times we shared together. For being the ultimate symbol of CAPS United. For being the ultimate goalscorer when it comes to our national team.

But you will never walk alone Chinyaride. You are simply fulfilling our mandate as human beings that once we are born, then we will have to die at some point in this journey on this earth.

You lived your dream Shackman.

There is no need for us to cry now. This is our fate as humans. As much as we would have loved to have more time with you, the reality is that we have absolutely no control of what happens the next minute, the next hour and the next day.

We should actually be happy that we got that great time to share with you. For that we have to thank the Almighty God for giving you the talent to be so good and a good 50 years to live on this earth.

My little sister Margaret, born at the time when you were being crowned Soccer Star of the Year, did not live to see her first birthday. Millions of children, some born with a better football talent than you, never get to see their first birthday.

You will never walk alone Shackman. Remember yesterday we were at Warren Hills saying goodbye to Joel Shambo, saying goodbye to Stanley Ndunduma, saying goodbye to Oliver Kateya, saying goodbye to Onias Musana, saying goodbye to Gift Mpariwa and all the other great players who graced our fields?

Remember we said goodbye to Choga Tichatonga Gavhure and, together, we buried that great voice of our football.

"Kamhepo karikuita kurova kachibva nekumadokero

"Vakomana ve Makepekepe vachirisundira mberi, mberi

"Richitorwa nechikomana Joel Shambo, Jubilee, Headmaster, Mwalimu, mazita kuita kupfekerana

"Achiriisa nechekurudyi kuna Stanley "Sinyo" Ndunduma achiisa bhora rakanaka zvikuru mu 18-area..........Chinyarideeeeeeeeeeee.........Shackman Tauro...............Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo"

Remember we said goodbye to Evans Mambara, that golden voice of English commentary on radio.

Yesterday it was Joel. Today it's you Shackman. Tomorrow it's me, or Mboma, or Charles Mabika, or Chunga, or Madinda, or Peter, or anyone who is still part of the living crew.

Go well Mr Goals.

You were The Greatest and it's sad that because of national duty commitments, I can't be there today at Warren Hills to say goodbye Mr Goals. But I will be there in soul and spirit, the way it used to be when I was a little primary school kid in Chakari in the '70s, and I certainly believed that you could fly.

Maybe Romario could sing this part of the song The Living Years for me and the rest of the crew who can't be there at Warren Hills today to say goodbye to the greatest Zimbabwean goalscorer of our time.

"I wasn't there that morning

When my father passed away

I didn't get to tell him

All the things I had to say

I think I caught his spirit

Later that same year

I'm sure I heard his echo

In my baby's new born tears

I just wish I could have told him

In the living years.

Say it loud

Say it clear

You can listen as well as you hear

It's too late when we die

To admit we don't see eye to eyet wish I coul have told him in the living years

Say it loud, say it clear

You can listen as well as you hear

It's too late when we die

To admit we don't see eye to eye

Super, Super Pharaohs

It would have been cruel not to talk about the Pharaohs of Egypt following their sensational win over world champions Italy at Ellis Park on Thursday night and, as I watched them play, I felt proud to be an African.

Who said at the weekend the Pharoahs were a team in terminal decline because they played Oman in a friendly international, because they lost 1-3 to Algeria in a World Cup qualifier and because they were held at home by Zambia?

Yes, the team that played the same Oman team that some people said Fifa president Sepp Blatter did not know, did not only score three goals against Brazil but only conceded a last-gasp controversial penalty in a 3-4 defeat at this Confederations Cup.

On Thursday they beat world champions Italy 1-0.

Football can be a crazy game.