The silence is noticeably deafening. After all it’s very late Sunday, close to midnight, in a rather serious suburb in northern western Trinidad, when I hear the shout from down Upper Conaree, “Where my Warriors family…?.” Our cricket-mad friend, Guyanese and Basseterre-based accountant, Amar Gossai is on the prowl, seeking company. Uncharacteristically my husband and I are most inhospitable, we ponder the call from someone I consider a brother, and even try ignoring it, but since there is not a single response from the thousands of others who accept him as their relative simply because of his country of birth, we are forced to reconsider.
“At least they didn’t defect…” Tony eventually answers him. I give it to Amar straight between the eyes: “Who you calling family? I thought I see you in a green and yellow uniform?” My mood is ugly and I am spoiling for a fight, but this is cricket and not boxing and I soon remember I am a new member of a rather mad, motley crew, an online Facebook community. Amar is live blogging from Warner Park, in St Kitts where he lives, seconds after Guyana Amazon Warriors (GAW) are soundly trashed in the Caribbean Premier League (CPL) T20 finals for the second time by the Jamaica Tallawahs (JT). He posts a photograph that leaves us speechless and without any doubt as to where his loyalties lie, JTs’ powerful hero Andre Russell on stage performing at the after game party.
That the Warriors have never been able to win any of the past four finals surely rankles, but how they lost this year proves the most painful groin blow of all for their faithful fans from Adventure to Zeeburg in Guyana, to Foulis, Fyzabad, Fitts Village, Fountain, Ffyres and Fort Lauderdale, further afield. To add further insult to injury, JTs’ loyal Guyanese-born all-rounder, Jonathan Foo, takes two crucial catches to remove first the tournament’s leading scorer, Aussie Chris Lynn and Sunday’s lone fighter, Pakistani Sohail Tanvir, a tough bearded bowler better known for his unorthodox left arm action than his batting skills. Finals night, trooper Tanvir is promoted to number four as Amazon wickets tumble around him, and slams a gritty 42 off 37 to top score in the 93 all out, for the side. Jamaica romps home with the mere dismissal of one wicket. Suddenly, stunned, we discover like dazed Captain Ryan Emrit that we have been both beaten and defeated with overs to spare.
“Well that was a Tallawahalla bing bang beating all right. Amazon not only choked, they lost their whole flipping head,” I conclude, and offer up the classic Lord Cristo composition – “Dumb Boy and the Parrot” as word play commentary on, compensation for and in commemoration of – the ludicrous loss Guyana suffers. In that famous 1962 song, the poor bird, no doubt a green and yellow-headed Amazonian loquacious Lorito literally ends up in a stew, after laughingly spilling the beans on a cuckolding girlfriend. “Where ignorance is bliss, it’s folly to be wise, But is a dumb boy and a parrot open my eyes,” Cristo sang. As kids we would bawl, “Ooh, ah ee oh oh,,” yelling “Hey, hey, hey!” and finally the salacious chorus, “walla walla bing bang in dey!”
It has been mere weeks since Amar accepted my “friend” request. Soon we shared colourful fresh updates from the first eight matches we attended, alternating between the Oval in Trinidad to the ground in St Kitts. With a Trini spouse, and two Bajan children, going to watch a CPL cricket game is akin to triggering a fresh regional crisis, we mix our conflicting colours, flags, foods, face paint, and allegiances shift with the wind and every new game.
The family can only agree on how mind-numbingly repetitive the much-loved Dwayne Bravo’s “Champion” song really is, as it plays ad nauseam to the partisan screaming red-, white- and black-dressed crowds. Sunday night, it’s my turn to get roasted. I quickly become the butt of the jokes. I get Trini “talk,” tonnes of it. Tony’s cousins, sisters Indra and Brenda, chime in from deep south of the island, to query “what is happening to the amazing warriors?” I admit after the first few wickets I had promptly deserted, weary of too much “Worriers”, and soon stood accused of suffering from “stage fright.” I quickly confessed, “You so right but I did not even reach the stage. I never made it through the door in the first place!” They type, “LOL.”
“You are a sadomasochist?” Tony enquires nicely, as I return towards the end of the rout hoping for a miracle. Angry, I retort, “Well I married you, didn’t I?” Our son on the floor, in between his nightly push-ups collapses with mirth. “Duck curry for me tomorrow!” my husband rudely puns, as one wicket after the next tumbles for zero. I retire badly hurt to the bedroom to tend to my wounds in private. The FB blogosphere is ominously silent when I get Amar’s query.
“With three straight losses I figure my team might need help so I suit up just in case..” he tells me by way of explanation. I parry, “Accountants eh, they bend how the wind blows….” Amar’s tone becomes positively glacial, very bad sign, he addresses me by my full married name, frostily adding, “I had two teams…Tallawahs #1 and (St Kitts) Patriots #2…When (Roger) Harper is replaced as coach I will support the Warriors…” Ruffled fans make sure feathers fly the next day. The internet lights up. One man points out that Warriors never had a middle order, others suggest stress and tension contributed to the defeat and recommendations range from laxatives to yoga coach.
The faeces finally hit the fan and all hell breaks loose. Yet I don’t give a bird’s behind. I blithely declare, “Yes mon, a whole team of yoga experts to help their thousands of traumatized fans, left reeling after such a pathetic display.” Forget pre-game stress, think post-game fan blues I offer another, who reminds me “worse yet” is post game stress on a Monday.
“Let’s see what the GAW will bring to the table next year” an optimist muses. I know better, I reach tensely for the “Tradewinds” on Youtube no less and an old funny, favourite, “Cricket in the Jungle” and with that I am GAWN alright.
*Indranie Deolall is incessantly singing the song’s immortal last lines with slight changes, “Find some other jackass to bat” for GAW, “This jackass finish with that!”
