Matters Cricket: 'Have a good evening boys'
Wed, Apr 29, '15
Kensington Oval will be teeming come this Friday, as the West Indies try to level the three-Test series. On the other side of the fence, England, will be trying to secure the series-win. Until then, might I disturb the peace? Before I begin though, might I rewind the clock forty-one years?
Any visitor and cricket enthusiast, who has ever visited Barbados in general, and Kensington Oval in particular, will know how much a true Bajan appreciates his cricket - good cricket. On more than one occasion, I've visited, and have asked, just for conversation, "Tell mi, were you at Kensington when Lawrence Rowe scored his triple?" Invariably I'll get this transfixion, as if I'm taking the Bajan, back to his heaven. "Oh my Gaawd," he or she will start off with. From there, I'll get comfortable.
On a family vacation back in August 1996, I visited Kensingston Oval when there was nothing happening, just to show the Missis and my younger son, the scene of that high-crime. There, I posed the said question to a solitary little peanut-man. It was a good hour and a half after, before we could pry ourselves loose. By popping the question, I had taken the little-man, back to his heaven. And, he refused to return, to the drudgery of his everyday-hell. Having not having been there myself, I wallowed in living, virtually every ball of Rowe's knock. And I also take Wisden's word, which of the innings wrote, "The artist exhibited superb footwork and balance".
I have of course, have been fortunate enough, to have seen Rowe in his ackee. And for those who were not, take my word, as recorded under 'History' in Rowe's thriller, which appeared in the Cable & Wireless 1996 Series tour brochure. On page 27, it is written, "If Rowe did not always have the consistency of confidence that great players must need if they must maintain greatness, when he was on the go, cricket was never treated to a more mellifluous sight." And folks. So what if I quote myself? Who else, is going to quote me?
Be that as no one will, permit me to draw attention to, what I consider, an interesting little piece (see attached), on the spills and thrills about being a cricket writer, as seen by the lumbering former England seamer - Mr. Angus Fraser.
I often muse, when individuals misrepresent their lines of work - like, hearing a mechanic call him or herself, a 'mechanical engineer', or, a construction technician, an architect. The difference being, years of theoretical training, practice, and at the minimum, two grueling eight-hour all-day examinations. That's why, to give the writing profession the respect it deserves, one will never-ever hear me refer to myself as, a cricket writer. The gulf between one who scribbles mischief every now and then, and a 'bonified' cricket writer, is much too wide. Twice, I tried to pass myself off as such. And on both occasions, I failed miserably.
Booked on one of those pre-dawn flights out of Guyana to Trinidad, I arrived at the Cheddi Jagan Airport at 3:00 am, as I was told to do. When I got to the ticket counter, I was advised by the Bwee lady, that I would not be on the 5:00 am flight, as I was scheduled to be. "The flight is overbooked," I was told. "But, I'm supposed to be on it," I insisted. "Sir, only the cricketers and cricket writers, are guaranteed a seat this morning," the lady said. "But, I'm a cricket writer," I said huffing and puffing. "Sir, tek weh yuself, before I call security," I was advised. And that was, the end of that.
Not taking the hint, before the Australia-West Indies Test at Sabina Park in March 1999, I moseyed on out to the middle, to have a look at the wicket. "Well," I said to myself, "if one Michael Holding can do it, then, so can I." On approaching the pitch, I was met by a 'red-seam' policeman. "I'm a journalist," I said proudly, displaying my little press credential. The little policeman would have none of it. "Bway, tek weh yuself, before a start swing mi baton." That too, was, the end of that - and, much to the amusement of one Mr. Holding himself. No wonder these days, I only agree with him, fifty percent of the time.
Be that as those two humbling moments were, I've persevered to take the sweet, with the bitter. I have rubbed shoulders with some of the great ones. And most, have been kind to me. "Mr. Lloyd," I meekly asked the West Indies tour manager in Durban back in January 2008. "Might I - at your convenience - get a story from you?" Without hesitation the Ayatollah mumbled, "Sure. When will it be convenient for you?" Unprepared, I hurriedly prepared my list of questions.
Similarly, last June, I humbly approached Mr. Courtney Walsh before play began on the final day of the West Indies-New Zealand Test at Kensington Oval, using the same sad-sack humble-pie line. "Ambassador Walsh, might I get a story from you?" Again, I was obliged. "I'll be down to see you, before play starts." And low and behold, he was. And the little police man? He's still standing in the middle of Sabina Park, swatting flies. And Bwee? Their flame has been extinguished. And serve them both right. Now, how about that, for getting even? Talk about, "setting 'guzum'."
But be my bad wishes, as they often times are, I've also had a few 'ups' mixed-in with my many 'downs'. Before that same West Indies-Australia Test match in Kingston, I approached the doyen Mr. Tony Cozier, busily pecking away on his laptop. "Tony," I suggested, "let me write this one up for you." Without missing a peck, and without looking up, Tony whispered, "sure man." And that was that - the thrill of writing-up, one of the most thrilling Test matches, that has ever been played - Devastating Lara Turns The Tide.
And, do I want to be a real cricket writer? Hell no. When evening-time comes, and the umpires have uprooted the stumps, I want to be able to, walk away, and to, "have a cold one." I do not want to have to be sitting there, anchored ball-and-chain to my seat, pecking away, in order to meet some ten o'clock copy-deadline.
It's then, that I shut things down, fold my tend, and with a sly grin on my face, say to all and sundry, "have a good evening boys."
