By Clayton Goodwin
The West Indians’ performance in the Test Match at Lord’s was lamentable – but it was hardly unexpected. You may have noticed that our coverage ceased after the end of the second day and I missed the sad conclusion on the third preferring to spend the day usefully in conversation with Shirley de Lawrence, promoter of the Miss Caribbean & Commonwealth, who was back in London after arranging a “rock star” tour of Ghana by her title-holder, Ashena Green. Thank goodness somebody knows to arrange a successful tour. Not that I am suggesting that the West Indian cricketers should quit the crease and take to the cat-walk. From what I have noticed that wouldn’t have fared any better there.
What went wrong?
To start with – there was the tour itself. One warm-up knock-about with fledgling cricketers who could not command a first-class county place was no substitute for proper preparation (It was a Select XI – elected from what and for what purpose). The strong teams of yesteryear used to have a programme of thirty games or so, a third of them before the first Test Match. Autres temps … and all that. Nevertheless, it was a dereliction of decency and respect for the sport to send these tyros into the fray so under-cooked. I have battered on and on about the need for a proper tour in which the players can develop their potential and bond into a team. Yes, a full tour of England isn’t possible – but couldn’t West Indies do something nearer to home.
Cricket, which was hitherto limited to the land-gentry and peasants in south-east England, took off as a national sport when William Clarke of Nottinghamshire gathered together the best talent in the land and sent the All England XI into all the corners of the country. His missionary skill paid dividends because many places, and people, who had no knowledge of the game before were converted. That included a doctor’s family in the hitherto neglected West Country. Three of his sons played for England in the first home Test Match, and they included Dr W.G. Grace, the “Great Cricketer” who revolutionised the game. It was a well worth-while investment n Clarke’s crusade.
Isn’t there somebody with the charisma, the clout and the vision to bring together the region’s best players, plus some recently retired and experienced representatives, into an All Caribbean XI to test talent in the towns and rural localities regularly against proper opposition? It may not be enough but it would be a start. Surely, the politicians, the diplomats, the tourist boards and travel enterprises, the sponsors – and anybody who could surrender to a wayward Texan, summon enough to provide the accommodation, the travel, the hospitality and the coaching. What is the point of dangling the dollar to attract youthful talent to an activity that has no effective structure or foundation? Get the players to enjoy the game, and to play in meaningful competition, and the interest will grow?
And for goodness sake get back some pride? For years we had got used to Tony Becca (and Tony Cozier) being the only itinerant journalist representing the region in press-boxes on tours to England. Yet when I went to Budapest for the indoor world athletics championships a whole hotel breakfast table, round and big enough for King Arthur himself, was occupied by journalists accredited to “Jamaica” alone. Accredited to Jamaica, and Jamaican, but mainly from the Jamaican communities in the cities of North America. What is it about athletics that can draw media attention and support while cricket cannot? Is it the proximity of the U.S.A.? Has Jamaica become so much a cultural colony of its big neighbour? And, if so, what does it say for the other territories?
Here I must disagree, however reluctantly, with that same late friend, colleague, and authority on the game – Mr Becca. He contended that whatever their transient affections for other outlets Jamaicans did not “mess around” with cricket. Cricket was serious-business; cricket was what counted; cricket was the “soul” of the country/region. Yes – but what if the country/region was prepared to sell its soul, and had already done so? Here I leave the question of the doleful effect of mercenary cricket (similar to what was called “tip and run” in my young days), the influence of India, and the whole mosaic of madness which passes as legitimate international competition, for the judgement of those who are more qualified to do it, and with better temperament, than myself. Mainly because the shortage of space deters me from treading yet again where others have trod (and keep treading) more eloquently.
And, please, let our scribes start telling the truth about the interest in cricket within the West Indian heritage community in this country. If it does exist, it is hardly noticeable by its presence. I have read reputable reporters that I admire who from the evidence of the knock-up at Beckenham claim there to be a buzz of enthusiasm among the youth of south-east London. Please …. I was there for the two days play, and, in spite of my many visits to the press tent, saw no other journalist there, except the Kent CCC resident. That means that either the observers were not there to observe what they observed, if you get my drift, or they had located themselves in the pavilion where their ears may have been “bent”, honestly and well-intentioned, but by those who were committed to a dream. The several hundred spectators of West Indian heritage present there were more of “an age when …”
Frankly, I doubt if anybody has as much experience and involvement in UK West Indian cricket in this country, particularly in south-east London, as myself. Being “in” but not “of” the community I have been able to see both the objective and subjective aspects. From 1961 when I began playing as the only white English team-member of Brockley International Fellowship Association (colloquially – Brockley West Indians) to decades of reporting club competition (the Rohan Kanhai and Clive Lloyd trophies), the very well attended games put on by the Barbados Tourist Board / High Commission, and the enthusiastic and well-organised events associated with entrepreneurs Steve Stephenson and Frank David), down to the present day when my grand-children are involved with sport in South-east London. Boxing centres abound, there are waiting lists at gymnasia, basketball is flourishing, and most young lads still want to be a football star. Today the heart-beat for cricket can be hardly detected.
Not so long ago Justin Lewis was making a film about his father Ed Lewis, known otherwise as “Bim” of the famous comedy-duo Bim & Bam. He asked if I would mind being interviewed about my memories of him, and his son picked me up by Brixton town hall to drive me to the studio. All the way the young man talked about cricket, and nothing but cricket. I was delighted. So, the youth were not lost, after all, I thought in my delusion. Then when we reached our destination he confessed: “I don’t like the game. Dad asked me to talk you about it as it would put you in a good mood for the interview. Last night I had to do a lot of research”.
I fear that this is what is happening now. A whole lot of people are telling another lot of people what they think they want to hear.
What can be done to rectify the situation? That is something I intend to pursue in another essay. Just let me get my Olympic Games coverage out of the way. That is something in which the public is interested. But I shall come back to cricket, health permitting, I can never really leave it.
To be continued