The jabberwocky air jockeys were unusually full of it over the weekend, so no surprise it was particularly difficult to discover a channel not clogged-up with their psychic exhaust.
I was especially amused by the number whose faith (the kind that allows adherents to see, hear and understand what no one else can see, hear and understand!) allows them to visualize the arrival of a local Bolt between now and Rio, “if only the government would source the available funds from another Caribbean country that shares our faith in the sons and daughters of Saint Lucia—and that is oil-rich to boot.”
Some have actually argued about the special magic in its yams that had provided Jamaica with a sack of Olympic gold. Little do they know Usain’s digestive system could turn sawdust into rocket-boosting fuel.
Then of course there are the tough-love apostles, frothing-at- the-mouth fans of MSNBC’s Going Straight—who’d rather part with a vital organ (preferably their neighbor’s) than spare the rod. As far as these tough-lovers (better to say child abusers) are concerned, our own grinning Olympian threesome had brought their fellow countrymen to the edge of their seats as they held aloft our national trident and then, with the whole world looking on, dropped us all in dog doo-doo.
“They couldn’t even replicate their training performances,” said an alleged former high-jump champion who now jumps only when he’s high. I couldn’t resist reminding him that if Dani, Darvin and Lavern had come away with bronze or silver their feats would’ve been representative of a sports-loving nation, a proud people educated enough to appreciate its young citizens; a nation that believes in something other than obeah.
Like, say, Jamaica. Or Trinidad. Or Grenada. Or the Bahamas! Before you start spitting at the sky, my dear affronted reader, look around for the contrary evidence. In the first place, let us remind ourselves that we’ve never fielded an Olympic team that any of us believed stood the remotest chance of getting into the semi-finals, let along medaling. Most of us have never seen them do their stuff, neither in the water nor on land.
First we went to Canada, just to be there. Ditto to Beijing and London. On each occasion a ministerial entourage went along at public expense, knowing full well what awaited at the qualifying rounds. But what did it matter, if it afforded the folks at home a chance to see their prime ministers at the Olympics? All they had to do to earn the people’s adulation was, yes, “be there.” Like the neglected and unsupported athletes representing us. If only they handed out gold medals for just being there!
A once-upon-a-time friend used to tell me whenever he felt cornered in an argument: “Move on, man, let’s move on.” So move on I will. But only after I’ve reminded readers that in all the world there is but one Usain Bolt. As one of his American challengers observed at the weekend, “This guy inhabits his own planet.” By which he possibly meant Bolt walks among us mortals but when it comes to taking flight he’s Superman. No one at this time even imagines himself close to catching up with “the legend.”
Does it serve anyone’s ego to imagine someone in Saint Lucia with what it takes to be Usain Bolt? Is there among us a guy who stands six-feet-five yet does not carry a rum factory around his waist? So, how about setting our sights on something realistic, like developing, say, Laverne to her full potential?
Then again we have to be honest. Is it just possible the poor girl has already shot her bolt? How many times has she “been there” for us at the Olympics? What have we done to help her improve over the years? Oh, yeah, I remember, we gave her a house plot. She’s probably dog-tired. Why have we not yet come up with someone with the potential to beat Laverne’s best jumps? Perhaps we have. I certainly don’t pretend to know it all. Especially since, whoever the potentially better than Laverne prospect might be, her name remains as secret as the real Grynberg story.
Did you hear Teddy Francis interviewing Darvin in London? Did he say anything to give us good reason to look forward to Rio? He talked with clarity about the great disconnect between his mind and body and the negative effect on his jumping. Déjà vu. Even LUCELEC knows it serves to be properly wired. So again I ask: is someone waiting in the wings to take Darvin’s place, you know, just in case when Rio arrives our champ can’t “be there?”
And now you’re asking the usual question, whether discussing sports or politics or the nowhere economy: “So what you want, Rick? We should just sit there and feel sorry for ourselves?” As if already we weren’t doing that. But then I am reminded that some of us receive weekly red letters.
But back to sports: Remember when you could count on three fingers the number of police and fire stations in Saint Lucia? Not anymore. They may lack reliable personnel and equipment but nowadays it seems there’s a cop house or fire engine at every corner. Besides, some say they didn’t cost taxpayers a penny, hard as that is to believe.
I’m further assured the ubiquitous stations were constructed under a Bolt arrangement. So right away I’m thinking, if it worked so well for our cops and firemen, then why not a similar arrangement for our athletes? I have no doubt Usain Bolt would enjoy another stay at Sandals.
Our prime minister might on this occasion take time from his busy schedule to say hello, now that Bolt has officially been declared “a legend!”
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