Owen, too, can go on pension
IT'S no secret that former England and Liverpool striker Michael Owen's colourful career has been on a downward spiral over the past few years. It failed to be resuscitated even after he was thrown a lifeline by Manchester United's Alex Ferguson.
When United allowed its contract with him to lapse a week or so ago it signalled the sad but inevitable exit from the beautiful game of one of the most gifted, nicest and likeable soccer players of our time.
But, surprisingly, the 32-year-old injury-prone Owen announced he would not quit the game any time soon, tweeting on Wednesday night: "Having a 5 a side tonight with my mates. If any scouts fancy popping down to assess my form they are welcome."
That probably explains why Guluva could not raise Kaizer Chiefs football manager Bobby Motaung on the phone on Wednesday night and the whole day yesterday.
With the old age home in Naturena steadily filling up - old workhorse Sibusiso Gaxa is already sitting pretty at Kaizer Chiefs Village and rapidly aging Isaac Chansa is reportedly limping his way there to join old-timers Tinashe Nengomasha and others - Owen would not be a bad addition at all to the club's ever-growing legion of soccer playing pensioners.
The more things change...
THE Machine Gun Man paid a moving tribute at the funeral of top Durban advocate Mvuseni Ngubane, whom he had appointed as secretary of the commission of inquiry into the arms deal only a few months earlier.
Saying he was with him on the morning that Ngubane committed suicide, the Machine Gun Man told mourners at the Inkosi Albert Luthuli International Convention Centre in Durban last Friday: "He was his usual self, laughing, jolly and normal."
It was such a fitting eulogy for a man who had contributed immensely not only to the legal profession, but also to the upliftment of people who were less fortunate than himself.
Then the Machine Gun concluded: "If there was anyone who owed him something, it would be me. If there was something bothering me, he would assist, free of charge."
Nice job, if you can get it
THE last time Guluva set foot anywhere near the offices of a trade union was many moons ago, at a dump called Lekton House in Wanderers Street, in the Johannesburg central business district.
The dingy, dilapidated building with a dodgy plumbing system, dangerous electrical connections that looked like the work of izinyoka and creaking lifts that stopped in between floors, housed scores of poorly funded trade unions. This sorry state of affairs was probably a true reflection of the poverty afflicting the constituency these unions represented.
Today many unionists drive flashy cars such as the Audi A6, operate from plush and air-conditioned offices, make presentations from stylish i-Pads and tweet from trendy i-Phones.
One of them - socialist-inclined National Union of Mineworkers general secretary Frans Baleni - earns a cool R77000 a month.
It's the sort of a salary that could make even the greediest of capitalists Guluva knows green with envy.
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