BY THE time wunnah read this West Indies fate will be sealed one way or the other so I can only speak of the T20 experience of the weekend just ended. I Market Vendor joined the faithful and long suffering West Indies cricket fans, trekking to the Mecca of cricket in the Caribbean, Kensington Oval, last Friday gone full of doubts and fears; thankful to Mr Lewis and Mr Duckworth for their system of calculating who wins what when the rain fall; thankful that rain fell in Guyana and that our boys were into the Super Eights part of the revolutionary and truly exciting form of cricket the World T20 Championship. As I was strolling down to the Oval, armed with salt fish, boiled green banana, Cassava, flying fish, coconut bread and water, Mr Walker’s liquid delight to blend with de ice and coconut water, I couldn’t help but feel upbeat and happy even if I didn’t quite understand how Wavel Hinds had risen from the cricketing dead and gotten back into the West Indies team (I thought the man was on pension, after all he was opening for the Windies with Sherwin Campbell!)The volunteers were out in force, the park ’n ride was working, visitors galore, accents unsure, the stands were packed and the oval ground was impeccable, hats off to the team from Barbados Golf Club led by Eamon McCarthy who changed the style of cutting and had a circular pattern this time around. And even if things did not go our way there were plenty of other teams to shout for as long as they were not playing against the Windies. there was Sri Lanka, and India and Pakistan and South Africa, what could possibly go wrong, somebody had to win, right? Wrong! By Sunday morning I was asking myself whether I should not be spending the day at St Patrick’s cathedral in mourning, hoping that the Monsignor might not miss me from the proceedings! I felt battered and bruised as everyone of my teams get beat and beat bad, Pakistan had become for me the Pakistindies, India was beaten and West Indies gave me acid reflux. Catches dropped like we had butter in we hands, batsmen in and out so fast you could no t risk going to the bathroom and then that awful missed catch where two big men, one being the wicketkeeper watched as a ball get skied up in the air and fall between them like two confused school boys! I nearly pelt way all the food and drink and walk out, I was hurling the usual threats that I never supporting West Indies again, never coming back to Kensington.But 24 hours in cricket is a long time, Sunday was mother’s day and if there is one thing that every West Indian man values it is his mother! And so it was written that the West Indies would come out and play with their hearts for the one woman that no West Indian can betray, his mother! It was like a new team, Ramdin behind the stumps, men diving and sliding like the Aussies, pace like fire from Roach, Taylor, Sammy and Bravo. Pollard and Bravo brilliant in the field, off field the winer girls were gyrating till muh head was giddy and then Chetwyn from party stand bring in two body painted ladies, them did spinning like blenders. Chris Gayle was a beast, the only place he ain’t hit the ball was in the toilet, it was an innings to savour, one of those “I was there moments.” Finally the maroon shirts, hats bandanas and flags were waving in the breeze, West Indians were screaming with delight and all was well on Sunday morning at the Oval as our team delivered big time! I Market Vendor gone fuh now.You have a blessed and a wonderful day, yuh hearrr!
