WHEN Kwekwe United failed to show up for their own home match against Herentals, they didn’t just embarrass themselves but the entire Premier Soccer League. The Bata Stadium walkover wasn’t just a logistical blunder or a one-off crisis; it was a full-blown indictment of the current structure of Zimbabwean football’s lower tiers. And maybe, just maybe, it’s the moment that finally forces us to confront a long-ignored elephant in the room: Zimbabwe desperately needs a single national Division One league. Right now, our Division One setup is split into four regions — Northern, Southern, Eastern and Central —each producing a champion that gets promoted into the PSL. On paper, it sounds inclusive and regional. However, in practice, it’s a fragmented conveyor belt that churns out clubs unprepared for the rigours of top-flight football. Season after season, we witness a depressing pattern: promoted teams that sparkle for one or two games before crashing back down under the weight of financial chaos, logistical nightmares, and player unrest. Few, if any, survive past the first season. How do we expect clubs that barely travel beyond their provincial boundaries to suddenly handle cross-country trips and big-stage responsibilities? A single, unified Division One would be the perfect filter. If a club can’t manage trips to Mutare, Gweru, Bulawayo, Kariba, and back during a second-tier campaign, they have no business being in the PSL. National competition should be the proving ground, not the top flight. This view is echoed by analysts and coaches across the board. “It will be easier for teams to then adapt when they come into the Premier League,” argued one former PSL coach. “They get used to travel, to pressure, and to expectations beyond just their region.” A national league would act as an incubator, weeding out the casual entrants and forcing clubs to build robust structures before they ascend. When PSL match officials, Herentals College FC, and fans all showed up at Bata Stadium, only to find no players from the home side, it was a low point for Zimbabwean football. Coach Saul Chaminuka and his assistant arrived at the stadium. But their players? Nowhere to be seen. Their absence wasn’t accidental. It was a revolt. Players had reportedly downed tools over unpaid March salaries and unfulfilled bonus promises. Pre-match accommodation had been rejected, and attempts by club officials to scrape together funds fell short. The result was the first home no-show in recent PSL memory. And while some sympathised with the players, most condemned the club’s failure to honour a fixture. For a city that had only just returned a team to the big time after a 16-year absence, this was a public relations disaster. “Are we respecting the league sponsor when matches are not fulfilled, not because of the weather, but due to a team’s failure to turn up, at home for that matter?” one PSL insider asked pointedly. This is where club licensing comes in. Not as a bureaucratic tick-box exercise, but as a real-time filter to determine who is serious and who is not. Had Kwekwe United been thoroughly vetted before promotion, perhaps we wouldn’t be here. Financial audits, infrastructure assessments, staff contracts — these should be minimum requirements, not afterthoughts. The PSL’s media officer, Kudzai Bare, laid it out clearly: Kwekwe were in breach of Order 31 of the league’s regulations, failure to fulfil a scheduled fixture and bringing the league into disrepute. The solution is twofold: merge the four regions into a single national Division One, or implement and enforce meaningful club licensing at that level. Let clubs experience the same logistical, financial, and sporting pressure that exists in the PSL before they get there. Will it be easy? No. Will it cost more? Initially, yes. But it will also raise the bar and eliminate the chancers from the champions. We can’t keep running a national league like a boozers’ tournament. The PSL isn’t a glorified Sunday league. It’s the country’s flagship football product, and when teams start missing home games, that product becomes toxic for fans, broadcasters, and sponsors alike. It’s time we built a better launchpad. Not with patchwork regions, but with one unified league that demands excellence before it rewards promotion. Let the Kwekwe meltdown be the wake-up call. No more embarrassing walkovers. No more ghost fixtures. No more second chances for first-time failures. The future of Zimbabwean football lies not just in who plays at the top, but in how they get there.