A game of Cricket --- and not the insect either

It’s been approximately three years since I held a cricket bat in my hands, two years to the day since I threw a spin ball smack into the middle of a stump and much too long since looking at a game live, or on the television. I am doomed. See, back in the day when I my permanent residence was Dominica, I lived for rainy days when we played cricket in the through the downpour with our mothers screaming at us if we caught a cold.

I existed solely for pick up matches and Sunday afternoons when my dad and his team competed with opposing villages for the title of head honchos. Of course back then they substituted tea for shots for rum, were drunk by the first inning and never completed a single game. Still, those memories keep me sane on the bitter cold American evenings and early mornings when I cannot sleep because the sound of engines drive me insane.

Yesterday I spoke to my little sister who rubbed in my face the fact that she was about to play cricket with the boys on the beach. It serves me right doesn’t it? I mean I practically ran away from home to come to the US without thinking of the consequences. True, I have made a little life here for myself but what is life without cricket? It’s like telling a hardcore football fan to give up his life’s passion; like keeping a whale from the water…that’s not fair right!

And so today I wanted to remember all the great things about the game. Wooden stumps collapsing from a hit, LBW’s called before they are even made, village children playing in the dirt and rain, the spirit of togetherness and eleven players all dressed in white.

Which brings me to the subject of white uniforms; everyone wants to know why cricketers wear white? Well it’s for the simple reason that the ball is red and therefore white is the best dress for visibility. In a white background, the ball can be seen clearly by the man about to hit that cricket ball into history. I myself like to think that it’s because we are purists. The game of cricket is so pure that we do not want to sully it by wearing anything but white.

So the next time you feel the need to make fun of the game of cricket, or laugh and the wonderful men and women who drink tea during breaks, think of the millions more people out there who are staunch supporters of the art. Yea I said art because that’s what it essentially is. Cricket is a blooming art form that many have tried but few have mastered.

Think Sir Jacob Hobbs, Adam Gilchrist, Sachin Tendulkar, Sir Garfield Sobers, Vivian Richards, Don Bradman and all the other cricket greats who have made the game both remarkable and memorable.

To be quite honest there isn’t another game like that of cricket (not in my book anyway). And the next time you are lucky enough to visit England, Australia, Pakistan, India and any of the 700 and some Caribbean Islands, feel free to ask where you can play a pick up game. Not only are we willing to share our art form with you; it’s always nice to indulge a stranger in a spot of tea.

Adios...and good playing.

The Olympic Bird Nest Flop

Can you believe that the multi-million dollar Olympic bird nest built in Beijing has now become a rotting mess? Well it has. Prior to these events, the structural masterpiece was receiving raves from critics all over the world but today that has all changed. Not only is the paint peeling off but it costs 8.8 million a year for mantainance alone. What a drag! The chinese are such an ingenious people that I personally think its only a matter of time before they come up with a few ideas to keep it in one piece.

So far, I have heard that the area around Beijing’s massive Bird’s Nest stadium will be turned into a shopping and entertainment complex in three to five years. How appropriate! The only confirmed event at the 91,000-seat stadium this year is Puccini’s opera “Turandot,” set for Aug. 8—the one-year anniversary of the Olympics’ opening ceremony. Aaawww...here are a few ideas of mine as to what can be done to help the situation.

1. Call up Angelina Jolie - The UN-representative half of the Hollywood power couple has always been willing to help out a worthy cause. From adopting tots off third world countries to lending a sympathetic ear to to those less fortunate; I'm sure she would be delighted to assist.

2. Turn it into a housing development - With a population of over 1.3 billion, goodness knows housing projects are needed just about eveywhere in China. How about turning the masterpiece into a housing development. I'm sure the good folks over there would appreciate it.

3. Have an annual pillow brawl -

TAKEN – Love or hate him Liam Neeson is a god

Die Zeit für Rache ist gekommen. (The time for revenge has come.)

To be brutally honest, as an eternal fan of action flicks, the previews of the upcoming movie TAKEN had me on edge. Not only am I a fan of Mr. Neeson with his stunning good lucks and seductive voice, I am a fan of revenge. This movie seemed too good to be true. Imagine my surprise when I learned that it was all that it had been hyped up to be – and then some.

TAKEN is the most thrilling movie that I have seen in a long time and I have seen a few good movies. I remember trying to get into the theatre to see the movie 300 with my javelin and being told that I had to leave it outside; what a bummer! Suffice to say, after witnessing Gerald Butler in all his male glory (and getting over my initial angst at not being able to transport my lance into hostile territory), I wondered if there would ever be another hero to steal my heart. Ladies and gentlemen I give you British royalty Liam in full James Bond, Jason Bourne mode. I do think that a franchise should be created with that man heading the new – well maybe the ‘not so new’ generation of super spies, but I digress.

From beginning to end I must admit that I was enthralled with the enigmatic Neeson as he makes his way to France and fights perverts’ one section at a time. During the course of the film, we get many a glimpse of the web of human trafficking and the victims hidden behind the curtain that should not be hung. You can therefore understand why I felt not an ounce of remorse when a man was tortured for information and then left to die within darkened chambers. Neither was I moderately annoyed when Mr. Neeson shot the wife of a former friend in the arm to learn the truth from him. Like he explains for all those interested, ‘it’s only a flesh wound but I will kill her if I have to,’ or something to that extent.

All in all, my ‘impressed’ factor rose to the roof after a death defying car chase, swash buckling jumps unto a moving boat and super ninja skills to take out more than half a dozen highly trained killers. Did I mention that I was impressed? After it was all over I could have cried because I wanted more – so much more, which is why we need a TAKEN franchise people. After you have seen this god of a man take out bad guys you will understand. And all in France no less. What could be better than watching your favourite spy kicking some terrorist ass in the most romantic city in the world!

Like someone said, death has never been more satisfying to watch.

Oui, oui, oui

On to a more serious note, while the movie was solely an action one, the crisis in it was all too real and I got to wondering, what someone like me can do to help the situation? It is a sad state of the world when young girls and women are being sold in the name of profit.

How Cold Was That?

The cold warmed my bones though I'm not sure how. It came in sweeping yesterday with a raging fury and deep chill that should have frightened me; it didn't. Instead, the snow fell in beautiful, perfect flakes and covered the world in white. The beauty of it all called to me and in an instant I was outside enjoying the fluff.

It should have been cold alright, especially since I was not wearing any shoes or winter jacket. Not because I hate the bulk but dues to the fact that sometimes you have to let go a little. I prayed to myself that there were no bits of broken glass lying around - there wasn't.

My Night Out on the Town

On the rare occasion that I go out I tend to try enjoying myself as much as possible since it may be a while until someone can lure me out from my den again. During the oh so cold winters, I would much rather remain indoors cooking up a new book instead of traversing through the gunk and to a new bar as many are wont to do during those times. Well, unless it’s snowing. I love the snow and I will endure the cold for half an inch rather than stay inside. These are the pictures taken on my night out with a few friends.

I THINK

Home

I think I left myself there
In the depth of your sermons and love letters written badly
Within songs unsung and poetry from bleeding hearts
Among my old things in the dark basement where I once existed

I think I left myself there
Beneath the rotting mango leaves and coconut palms
Together with a folded up raincoat in my fathers arms
Next to that old grey house where we sat at lunchtime. Once

Funny thing is…I can’t remember where there was
Or will be
I just…THINK

Who said I hated clothes...

Growing up my mum was constantly reminding me that I needed to put more clothes on when folks dropped by the house. Ok, not to be a brat or anything but shorts were invented for the purpose of wearing them am I right! Anyway, I grew up on an island. Not only that, I grew up in the countryside. Think lots of trees and a great deal of rivers and the ocean a mere skip and a jump away. Why the hell would I want to wear clothes when a simple bathing suit would do?

As I grew older it was my brother who took offense at my choice of clothing. As a track and field athlete you do not want to restrict your movement dear friends so of course spandex and sports bras were the rage with me. Oh but brother dearest banned me from his social life. He was not to be seen with the ‘back flipping - javelin throwing - love wearing very little clothing sister’. I was banished. The question remained, would I choose my comfort over my blood. Guess what? I wore his trousers and his shirt and even his shoes. Braided up my hair like a hippie and prowled the town looking like a tomboy.
The girls found me rather attractive as a boy (of course they had no idea that I was merely imitating one), and the boys - well lets just say I always got along with the opposite - same sex that day. My brother was less than thrilled and he called my parents with every threat imaginable to banish me from his entire existence. Needless to say his pleas did not fall on deaf ears and mummy called to say that she was proud of me for wearing clothes for once in my life. That ought to have taught him. My dad as usual remained quiet and one evening when I walked into the house told me that I should remain true to myself. My father hardly ever says anything unless he's trippy or had a few so imagine my delight. I have followed his advice ever since.

These days I am wearing a lot more clothes but that does not mean that I don't like dressing down a bit now and then. Of course now I live in the United States and the tri-state area tends to get a bit cold in the winter time. Oh heck what am I talking about, it’s usually freezing. Which is why I have those wonderful pictures to remind me of the days when clothes were optional.

And so I dedicate this to all the folks out there who, after a hard days work just like to breathe a little. To all of you who are scared to show a bit of skin or have been hiding a slight gut for a few months now. It is to the man who is scared of being true to himself and the young woman afraid that someone will judge harshly. I say screw the critics yes! How about you do this one for yourself. After all, it does feel good to defy silly expectations.

So go bare and don't care...well feel free to leave a little to the imagination actually. Never hurts. And to my big brother who's all grown up now...ha ha. I get to create posts like these and remember the days of opression. Just so you know. Eat my shorts Anderson Stoute!

Who said I hated clothes anyway? I just don't like much.