THE Zimbabwe Football Association (Zifa) has once again dipped into the global bargain bin of foreign coaches and pulled out a largely unfamiliar name.
Romanian tactician Marian Marinica arrives with a Uefa Pro Licence and a passport thickened by stints across Europe, Asia and Africa.
But as The Warriors brace for another rebuild, the question remains: Is Marinica a timely asset — or a sequel to a costly mistake?
Official statements describe him as “highly accomplished”, a developer of youth and diaspora talent and a believer in “modern football philosophy”.
On paper, his curriculum vitae teases connections to Arsenal, Chelsea and Liverpool.
Scratch deeper, and the reality is less glamorous: mostly academy, technical or scouting roles, some more than a decade old.
The true test of a national team coach, especially in Africa, is competitive results on the continent. And there, Marinica’s record is mixed at best.
Yes, he took Malawi to the last 16 at Afcon in 2022 — a legitimate milestone.
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But what followed was a rapid decline.
Back-to-back defeats to Egypt saw fans hound him out and MPs publicly call for his dismissal.
“We don’t even know where these people got this man from,” one lawmaker fumed.
The Football Association of Malawi didn’t fight to keep him.
Two wins, three draws, three losses — a middling record for a football nation desperate for progress.
The criticism was familiar: a rigid, defensive style that left players uninspired and supporters restless.
Former internationals openly campaigned against him.
Zimbabweans have seen this movie before.
Michael Nees — another obscure, highly licensed European coach — arrived with promise and left under a cloud after dismal results and no clear identity for The Warriors.
He became a symbol of Zifa’s chronic fascination with unfamiliar resumes over proven African success.
The risk is not that Marinica lacks knowledge.
It’s that Zifa is again betting on potential rather than evidence.
The football governing board again ignored the credentials of local coaches such Kaitano Tembo and Kalisto Pasuwa, who have proven track records of managing successfully on the continent.
Pasuwa, in particular, is a stand-out candidate.
Only last month, Zifa roped in Tembo to be the team’s second assistant coach to try and help the failing Nees.
It remains to be seen if “Munhu Mutema” will be part of the new coach’s backroom staff and provide a local perspective.
Zimbabwe’s football crisis is not tactical — it’s systemic: governance chaos, inconsistent selection policies, squandered talent and fans starved of ambition. A national team coach is expected to be the face of stability when institutions falter.
So, the Romanian must do what Nees could not, which is to win immediately and unite the local and diaspora strands of Zimbabwean football.
No amount of licensing can buy patience from a fanbase that has seen too many “rebuilding projects” collapse within a year.
Marinica brings experience — but not a track record that guarantees progress.
He inherits both opportunity and suspicion. If results are slow, his foreign-outsider label will weigh heavily against him. If he succeeds, he may finally break Zifa’s cycle of misplaced faith in unknown Europeans.
But until the wins arrive, the appointment feels less like a bold strategy — and more like Zimbabwe tipping its hat once again to the allure of the unfamiliar.
The Warriors deserve more than another experiment.
Marinica must prove, quickly, that he is the exception.
