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It’s hard to find composure in the face of the overwhelming human tragedy that has befallen our Venezuelan neighbours.
Everything can disappear just so. The immediate impact is one thing, but the consequent hardship as rebuilding efforts begin is mind-boggling. Look at Haiti and Jamaica.
Do we really grasp the tenuous nature of our existence?
(via UPI.)
When you look out on our own landscape, the place we call home, something rabid looks back at you. A sinister energy that is frenetically devouring us—and yet, in the midst of this frenzy, there is an absolute stillness.
We are not moving. We aren’t going in any clear direction. Not forward, not back, not even sideways.
Searching for an old document, I landed on a collection of my columns from around 25 years ago. I began reading and realised that our general circumstances have barely changed.
Our behaviour is simply more of the same. I wouldn’t even say it is worse, it only seems so because we have far more exposure to it through social media. It is hardly different on the global scene.
But then, things happen. Things that remind us of who we can be. Things that exist alongside our worst parts that reveal the complexity of the human spirit.
The World Cup in football comes along every four years, and this is the first time it is being held in that crazy place that celebrated its 250th anniversary on 4 July. Alongside Canada and Mexico, the USA is one of the co-hosts of one of the planet’s largest sporting events.
From childhood, I had been drawn to cricket and football because of my two brothers. Eventually cricket took over, but football was never an obsession. Not like it was for Keith Smith, who would take his vacation to coincide with the World Cup.
Photo: Charly Triballeau/ AFP.
Were he alive today, he would probably be torn between all the matches in both sports coming almost simultaneously.
Poor Keith with his unbridled superstitions! He was so afraid of jinxing cricket matches by watching that he would move away from the television set and call friends nervously to find out the scores.
He would definitely have revelled in the spectacles, not so much on the fields, but in the displays of support that must surely be unprecedented. The Viking Row from Norway fans probably takes the cake.
And what about reports of the Scottish takeovers of pubs in Boston. No Scotland, No Party, was the cheer accompanied by tartan-clad bagpipe blowers.
And what about the exuberance at the stadia? Chants, songs, waves, flags, anthems and more flags. Colour by numbers and noise for so.
The World Cup of football went from being something alien to many Americans and Canadians to the most throbbing of experiences. Not a mean accomplishment.
But that is the allure of sport, isn’t it?
(via AP News.)
Look, despite beastly aspects, like visa blockades; the contemptible treatment meted out to the Iran contingent; petty, alienating rules that trample the spirit of the game, there is every reason for this to be seen as one of the most uplifting spectacles for global spirits.
And there’s been so many other moments for West Indians to celebrate. I am one of those people who gets choked up, especially at scenes of sadness or joy. My throat constricts, I get misty, and I am completely in the moment. To me, these are the perks of being alive.
When the West Indies men’s team hunkered down for the first Test against Sri Lanka, I’d thought I would be watching it in between other tasks. But you can sense when something special is unfolding and very early, I was riveted.
Photo: CWI Media.
Ten wickets on day one, but day two was still ahead, full of the possibility of a familiar collapse. And it seemed likely, until Amir Jangoo and captain Roston Chase hunkered down.
As they patiently made their way towards the Sri Lankan score, my anxiety grew. I felt like Keith Smith, afraid to watch lest I blight them.
And then, day three, a double century for Jangoo. The first hundred was a beautiful definition of Test cricket, and the second was a confirmation of the temperament that had been attributed to him.
Chase brought up his century resolutely—how disappointing that he fell so close to his second: six runs short! The bowling was outstanding enough to make one feel confident. It was truly a complete performance.
As for the Women’s T20 World Cup, that has been another splendid treat. The West Indies team produced some outstanding innings, but as Hayley Matthews (what a player!) said as they were trounced out of the first semi-final, they have not had the kind of resources to produce a continuous stream of prospects.
It was annoying to hear one of the commentators dismiss Deandra Dottin’s tears as being childishly emotional. It was passion—look at her heroics during the semi-final.
People can be churlish, like the woman who considered Belgian player, Jérémy Doku, “disgusting” for leaving the camp for London, to be part of his first baby’s birth.
In these dismal times, it’s like a pressure valve’s release to witness this coming together with joy and passion, win, lose or draw, an outpouring of ecstasy. A celebration of life.
In any case, it isn’t purely about the outcomes—it’s the feeling it brings to see the excellence that still abides in the human spirit. Isn’t it?
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Vaneisa Baksh is a columnist with the Trinidad Express, an editor and a cricket historian. She is the author of a biography of Sir Frank Worrell.
