By Sheldon Hakata
FOOTBALL is more than just a game. It is an art form, a theatre where the gifted perform and etch their names into history. Zimbabwe has had its fair share of virtuosos, players whose names still linger in conversations long after they hang up their boots. Joel ‘Jubilee’ Shambo, David ‘Yogi’ Mandigora, Stanford ‘Stix’ Mtizwa, Willard ‘Mawiii’ Khumalo, and Memory ‘Gwenzi’ Mucherahowa all left indelible marks on Zimbabwean football.
Yet, among them, one name rises like a mythical figure whispered about in nostalgic recollections — Archieford Chimutanda.
‘Chehuchi’, as he was fondly known to his legion of fans, was more than just a footballer. He was
a performer, a free-spirited genius whose feet composed poetry on the pitch. His chest control was a work of art, his passes a masterstroke, and his ability to score the spectacular was something to behold. To watch him play was to witness something divine, an untamed artist painting his masterpiece on the lush green canvas of the football field.
But like many artistic geniuses, Chimutanda was flawed. He lived by his own rules, defying discipline and structure, a rolling stone that gathered no moss. His story is one of breathtaking talent, defiance and unfulfilled promise.
Born in Chihota Communal Lands, Mashonaland East, Chimutanda grew up in the vibrant footballing culture of Mufakose, where talent was honed on dusty streets and fierce neighbourhood rivalries. The ball, often a bundle of plastic bags tied together, was his first love.
He was a natural — his instincts sharper than most, his touch softer, his movements effortless. Even among his peers, he stood out, a boy who seemed to have been kissed by the football gods.
His first steps into structured football came with Glens Strikers, where he formed an unforgettable midfield trio alongside Dixon
Ngwanya (often misspelt as Ngwenya) and Stanford ‘Stix’ Mtizwa. Together, they orchestrated some of the most fluid football seen at the time. Under the mentorship of Ashton ‘Papa’ Nyazika, the young maestro sharpened his craft, dazzling spectators with his silky skills and unmatched football intelligence.
Nyazika later moved to CAPS Rovers (now CAPS United) in 1979, taking Ngwanya and Mtizwa with him. The move promised stability, players were guaranteed employment with CAPS Pharmaceuticals, a coveted deal at the time. But Chimutanda was not built for structure.
He turned down the offer, shunning the security of a stable job and a steady pay cheque. Instead, he took a different path, choosing to join Black Aces, a community team where he could play freely, unburdened by rigid schedules and corporate expectations.
To many, this was a reckless decision. To Archie, it was an act of freedom.
Black Aces became his playground, and Gwanzura Stadium his theatre. Fans flocked to witness their prodigy, a man who played football like he was composing a symphony.
His ability to control the ball was mesmerising, he
could cushion a 40-yard pass on his chest as if cradling an egg. His body swerves sent defenders lunging at shadows, while his defence-splitting passes created goalscoring chances out of thin air.
Yet, it was his signature move that truly defined him, the outside-foot pass, a technique so rare and exquisite that only a handful of players in the world could execute it with perfection. With a flick of his right foot, he could send the ball curving and swerving unpredictably, landing precisely where he intended.
Veteran coach Joey Antipas described him as a maestro.
“Chimutanda was a midfield maestro with ball control, passing, and scoring ability that were second to none. Only two players in Zimbabwean football history truly mastered the chest control technique, Archie and ‘Stix’ Mtizwa.”
His genius was undeniable, but his defiance of authority was just as legendary.
He was a rebel without a routine.
Chimutanda was the kind of player who bent the rules to his will. He rarely attended training. While his teammates were sweating it out in practice, he would be at home, deeply engrossed in James Hadley Chase novels, a cigarette dangling between his fingers.
His neighbour, Francis Kaowa, remembers their conversations vividly:
“I would ask him, ‘Mukoma Archie, it’s nearly five o’clock, are you not going for training?’ And he would just smile and say, ‘Aaah mupfana wangu, ndiri mambo webhora. Rega vanonetseka naro vaende (Young man, I am the king of football. Let those who struggle with it go for training).
Yet, despite skipping training, he never seemed out of shape. He had a peculiar way of maintaining his fitness, he would go on long solitary runs around Highfield, disappearing into the twilight, returning drenched in sweat.
Come match day, while others who had trained all week struggled for breath, he would glide across the pitch, orchestrating play as if football was second nature.
His coaches, exasperated yet spellbound, had no choice but to indulge him. They knew that when Archie played, magic happened.
With a magician’s touch, he would control the ball with his chest, cushion it on his thigh, and with one swift motion, unleash a thunderbolt into the top far corner. The net would be shaken, the stadium would explode, and Archie, ever the showman, would run grinning, arms outstretched, soaking in the adoration.
Topsy Magadza, a seasoned football analyst, described these moments best:
“In one magical moment, Archie would turn the game into art. The dude always played with a smile, and the fans adored him for it.”
For all his brilliance, Chimutanda never truly reached his full potential.
He was a rolling stone, drifting from Black Aces to Dynamos, to Bata Power, to Arcadia United, never settling, never committing. He only played sparingly for the national team, a victim of his own rebellious nature.
His story is one of ‘what could have been’. Had he been more disciplined, he could have graced Europe’s grandest stages, rubbing shoulders with legends like Diego Maradona, Zinedine Zidane or Marco van Basten.
But Chimutanda lived on his own terms.
Like Dambudzo Marechera, the literary genius who drank himself into an early grave, Zimbabwean society cheered Archie’s defiance, even as it led to his downfall. We marvelled at his brilliance, yet never intervened when his career began to spiral.
He passed away at 59, leaving behind memories of a talent so rare, yet so tragically wasted.
And now the question is who will carry the torch?
Today, Zimbabwean football longs for a new hero, someone to reignite the flame, to inspire a new generation. But talent alone is not enough. Dedication, discipline and perseverance separate the great from the forgotten.
Will we ever see another Archieford ‘Chehuchi’ Chimutanda? Perhaps. But the real question is, will that player learn from his mistakes?
The game and the fans are crying out for new heroes.
The ball is at the feet of the next generation.
Will they rise to the occasion?
