The recent developments in the Zimbabwe Premier Soccer League (PSL) make for compelling reading and, for many fans, uncomfortable reflection.
Over the past three years, local football has undergone a dramatic financial transformation driven by the arrival of wealthy benefactors — popularly known as zvigananda.
Their impact has been immediate, visible, and largely successful on the pitch. But beneath the glitter of silverware and packed stadiums lies a deeper question: is local football being financially rescued, or politically captured?
The trend arguably began with Simba Bhora, then a Division One side, whose financial muscle fast-tracked them to promotion and enabled them to assemble a star-studded squad.
The reward was instant success — a league title in their maiden PSL season. Scottland followed a similar script last year, splashing cash on elite local and foreign talent, even luring back marquee names like Knowledge Musona and Khama Billiat.
Fans returned to the terraces, the brand grew, and the championship followed. Most recently, Scottland’s appointment of football icon Peter Ndlovu as team manager — facilitated by controversial businessman Wicknell Chivayo and reportedly involving huge sums — has further signalled how money now shapes the league narrative.
New entrants like Hardrock FC from Kwekwe are also setting the pace. Armed with a modern stadium, a revamped executive, and an ambitious technical team, they are openly targeting the top-flight crown.
Another new entrant Hunters FC are reported to have agreed to sell their franchise to Northern Region runners up N’ombeyawora, a team linked to Scott Sakupwanya, the owner of Scottland FC.
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On the surface, this injection of capital appears to be exactly what Zimbabwean football has long needed.
Yet, while the zvigananda dominate headlines, the traditional giants — Dynamos and Highlanders — are gasping for breath.
Rich in history, trophies, and fan base, they are nevertheless financially crippled.
This imbalance has created fertile ground for political and personal interests to step in, often under the guise of sponsorship or “rescue missions.”
The line between football investment and political influence is becoming dangerously blurred.
Several clubs, including CAPS United and Herentals, are owned or closely linked to Zanu PF Members of Parliament.
The concern is no longer just competitive imbalance, but the use of football as a soft-power tool to penetrate urban spaces traditionally resistant to ruling party influence.
The Highlanders saga is particularly troubling. The notion that a benefactor can dictate coaching appointments as a condition for financial support undermines institutional autonomy and sporting integrity.
What happens if the imposed coach fails to deliver? Who takes responsibility — the board, the benefactor, or the club’s long-suffering supporters?
Zimbabwean football undeniably needs money. But it also needs governance, transparency, and independence. Without clear boundaries, today’s financial lifeline risks becoming tomorrow’s chokehold. The beautiful game must not be reduced to a political playground.
