There’s physical football, and then there’s whatever Kitara FC are putting on display this season. If Friday’s 1-0 defeat to KCCA FC was meant to be a football match, Kitara clearly missed the memo.
What unfolded instead was a travelling circus of petulance, reckless aggression, and moments that belonged more in a disciplinary hearing than on a football pitch.
Start with goalkeeper Meddie Kibirige, a man who seems to have confused his gloves for license to behave however he pleases.
A reported spitting at Sammy Ssebaduka is not “gamesmanship.” It’s indefensible. It’s disgraceful. And as if that wasn’t enough, Kibirige added a needless nudge-like kick onto Ivan Ahimbisibwe while collecting a cross, as though basic professionalism is somehow optional.
Manny attacked me when is posted this video. https://t.co/uO8Lk0eEB5 pic.twitter.com/FjrbbCXBEp
— Papa Ken (@kmuwanga13) April 17, 2026
Then there’s Muhammad Shaban, already walking a disciplinary tightrope on a yellow card, having bundled Lazaro Muhindo, deciding that the best use of his other time was to slap Joel Sserunjogi. Not a tussle. Not a mistimed challenge. A slap. Because apparently, when the football fails, Kitara’s Plan B is playground theatrics.
And if this were an isolated meltdown, perhaps it could be dismissed as a bad day at the office. But it isn’t. It’s a pattern, an increasingly ugly one.
Just last week, Kitara players were caught stamping on Taddeo Lwanga of Vipers SC, as the two sides played out a barren stalemate at the St. Mary’s Stadium, Kitende.
Before that, Milton Karisa, Vipers’ captain, was on the receiving end of yet another kick from Kibirige. There’s a recurring theme here, and it’s not subtle.
So the question practically asks itself: exactly what does Kitara do in training?
Do they rehearse defensive shape, or refine the timing of off-the-ball kicks? Are set pieces a priority, or is it spitting accuracy? Is there a session titled “Maintaining Composure,” or has that one been quietly scrapped in favour of “Escalation 101”?
Because whatever the curriculum is, it’s producing a team that looks less interested in playing football and more invested in disrupting it.
Against top sides, especially, Kitara’s approach collapses into a crude formula: launch the ball, lunge into challenges, and hope intimidation compensates for a lack of finesse.
Physicality has its place in football. But there’s a line; clear, bright, and non-negotiable, between robust competition and outright thuggery. Kitara aren’t just flirting with that line; they’re trampling over it with muddy boots.
And here’s the uncomfortable truth: this isn’t hurting opponents as much as it’s exposing Kitara themselves. Every reckless act chips away at their credibility. Every cheap shot reinforces the same unflattering narrative, that when faced with quality, they resort to chaos.
Football demands intensity, yes. But it also demands control, discipline, and respect. Right now, Kitara are offering none of the above.
What exactly are they being taught?
