The experiences of a spectator at the Cricket World Cup 2007
I had not intended to go to the Caribbean to attend the 2007 World Cup cricket matches; I had visions of kicking my heels up on my sofa, sipping a few pleasing brews, and letting a live digital feed channel in the excitement. But that changed when my brother-in-law in California suggested in late 2005 that I join him and two of his buddies (whom I knew well) on a trip to experience the excitement and hoopla in person.
Ah, but what about our spouses? Fortunately, the California contingent had wives who had day jobs and families and, even if they were all keen on the cricket, which they were not, their responsibilities allowed little flex. My wife, born and bred in Canada and Scottish to boot, but brainwashed into being a firm Sri Lanka Cricket supporter, toyed briefly with participation but then sportily backed out saying, “I don’t want to be in the way of you guys having some fun”. Ladies and gents, isn’t that nice?
Game on! But what games should we attend of the dozens on offer? Sri Lanka’s participation was mandatory, of course, but, with the matches being played in a dozen venues and in a dozen nations strung across the sun drenched arc of the Antilles (and Guyana), the logistics of choosing the right country was a challenge. We finally settled on Grenada where, we were confident, Sri Lanka would play two games at the Super Eights stage.
That decision immediately triggered the need to order tickets online and to book accommodations. I was to order four tickets for one of the games, which I did. I then looked right away for accommodations. An internet search revealed several choices; based on some delectable pictures on its website, I picked the Palace Hotel on Grande Anse Beach. Sent them an email, got a quote, and paid a 40% deposit. I was very keen to pick a decent and convenient place to stay because I knew that, very soon, demand would easily outstrip available rooms on the tiny island.
I was right. We later heard that some Sri Lankans had had to hire yachts and boats in order to stay in Grenada, all hotel rooms being taken. Indeed, a large Aussie contingent arrived by cruise ship and the liner stayed in Grenada until the Australia games were over. My early booking was even more fortuitous because the Palace Hotel management soon realized the incoming bounty and tripled their price! Proprietor/manager Lennie, a really nice man, said that our price would not change. Yessssss! We still paid just as much as you’d pay for a 5-star in Colombo, so heaven knows what our fellow guests from Oz and Blighty coughed up.
All this and we were still taking a chance. Were Sri Lanka to crash out during the preliminary round robin we’d be left to watch Ireland and Bangladesh compete or Pakistan versus New Zealand (or whatever). Not exactly exciting for us but what to do? This is what happened to those poor sods, the sons and daughters of India and Pakistan, all of whom were stranded by their teams’ premature (and unexpected) exits. Many cancelled. Some travelled to the destinations, partied hard, and went home without attending a match.
I was in Los Angeles for the early matches and I knew the excitement in store as Sri Lankans gathered in droves in front of big screen TVs at home to roar their support for the team, dance every time our bowlers skittled the stumps, shout encouragement as Sanath’s fours and sixes neared the boundary, and explode in outrage as some incompetent ump lifted his finger when the result was clearly NOT OUT from thousands of miles away, Hawkeye or no Hawkeye. And who could forget Malinga’s four in four? We were all wobbly at our knees with shock and delight.
Fast forward to April 12th, 2007 and I was approaching St.George’s Airport on a LIAT turboprop. Not many on the plane. There was a woman from Toronto going home to Carriacou, a dot in the ocean further up the line. A few white tourists came but they had American accents and did not appear to be cricket tragics by any measure. So where were the fans? Looking out, I was surprised at how mountainous the terrain was in Grenada, the slopes all clad in verdure, the peaks wreathed in cloud, the beaches narrow strips of whitish powder outlining scalloped bays. The Caribbean was a greenish blue and placid. Nice indeed, especially coming from still-frozen Toronto.
The fans appeared as my taxi negotiated its way to the top end of Grande Anse Beach. Aussie T-shirts, black Kiwi insignia, a South African flag or two were in evidence. This is a very scenic island with volcanic slopes that tumble into the sea. Whitewashed houses cling to the hillsides buttressed by ‘legs’ that have been planted onto the sloping grade. ‘Takarang’ roofs or their asbestos or plastic equivalents give shelter. These structures are cheap to build and are charming but are no match against the fury of the hurricanes which barrel into Grenada every few years. The takarang in the roofs become lethal slicing razors when hit by 250 kph winds.
I was not thinking such thoughts when I booked into the Palace. We were at the top end of the magnificent sweep that is Grande Anse Beach. The sea was absolutely calm. Little rills of limpid water hurried harmlessly onto shore, more the result of passing boats than the efforts of Mother Nature. A two-masted catamaran bobbed a couple of hundred metres offshore, its pure white colour a blinding contrast to the blue green of the sea. A small Australian flag hung motionless on a mast. I took a chance on the Palace by looking at the photos on its website; I was not disappointed. Our rooms were great, the bathrooms were spotless, and a full Grenadian breakfast was included in the tariff.
Our first match, South Africa vs. New Zealand, was on April 14th so on our spare day the 13th we decided to hire a taxi for a tour of the island. At about 350 sq. km. we are talking small; in 6 hours we had done a circuit of most of the south of the island, including the coastal road that gave us terrific views of beaches and surf, little hamlets with cricket matches filling every ‘ground’ (some of them hillsides!), the water-choked caldera of a crater that evoked the volcanic origins of Grenada, spice gardens (different spices from those on display in Sri Lanka) and --- who would have thought of it? --- a rum distillery where we imbibed the 90-proof firewater with the gusto that only the terminally thirsty can summon.
Match day! We had been told that we could avoid the traffic chaos and the crowds going to the cricket grounds if we took a water taxi. Sounded like fun, so we set off on foot towards the jetty. It was not long before a minibus spotted us as we trudged up the lane; it even reversed in order to ensure our walking was at a minimum. We could not let such enthusiasm go unrewarded so we ditched our earlier plan and joined the sweaty (already!) antipodeans and South Africans in our vehicle. Some Aussies were on board as well, here for the game two days hence against Sri Lanka, and it was they who got the third degree from the Grenadian crowd.
I do not know what it is, but Aussie machismo and Caribbean ladies simply do not rub along. Woe betide the unfortunates who cross the sensibilities of the Grenadian market ladies. Not only were they genetically disposed towards the cut and thrust of argument and rapier-like insult, these ladies were expert in the demolition of the male ego. And so it was that minibuses became arenas for hilarious confrontations. The McGrath-Sarwan duel and other assorted racially-tinged events had left a lot of sourness in the West Indies and the beneficiaries were Sri Lankans. We had immense support amongst the Caribbean crowds; even inside the minibuses we were the toasts of the town much to the chagrin of the Australians. The men from Down Under, to their credit, took it all in stride and in good humour.
The New Zealanders were favoured over the South Africans but, after seeing how the latter team out pointed Sri Lanka in Guyana a fortnight earlier, I was not so sure. We had some great seats and we were surrounded by greens, golds, tans, and Black Caps cheering lustily. A cool breeze blew through the beautiful stadium, purpose built in just months by the Chinese. The atmosphere was friendly. Too bad the ICC had stupidly banned musical instruments. Even neutrals like us would have grooved to a blend of Caribbean soca and South African township jive. As it happened, the Kiwis beat the South Africans quite handily. The Proteas choked --- again. Remember World Cup 2003 and their match against Sri Lanka? But I felt for them and their fervent fan base.
The next day, a free day, we took a bus to the cruise ship terminal, the big shopping destination for tourists. There, in amongst the curio shops, music booths, bookshops, jewellery stores, and colourful clothing stores we found half the Sri Lankan team, the younger half, that is. Sadly, our cricketers were reluctant to talk to us fans, the exception being Chamara Silva. Chamara was extremely charming; a great ambassador for Sri Lanka Cricket. While he spoke to us his colleague, another youngster, ostentatiously looked the other way. A certain fast bowler with a bouffant hair-do was a sensation with the local sales girls. One thing that impressed me about the players was their self-belief.
We had heard from some Sri Lankans that the seniors were pretty friendly when they met them at the bar of the team’s hotel. Indeed, I was very impressed by the likes of Jayawardene, Jayasuriya, and Muralitharan who made it a point to reach out to fans at the cricket ground after the game against Ireland. But team management needs to impress upon the up and coming lads that you ignore your fans at your peril. Sri Lanka fans came to the World Cup in the Caribbean at considerable expense of time and money to cheer on their team. The least the cricketers can do is to show some kindness in return.
That night we went to The Carenage, the area of St. George’s around the harbour. The place was jumpin’. We had heard of a mini-Carnival especially set-up for the World Cup in Grenada and we wanted to be in on the action. We had earlier serendipitously met up with a local chap, Dwayne, a vet student at the university and he was our guide. Soca pulsed out of massive speakers, the insistent bass shimmying our bodies voluntarily or not. The best soca exponents were grooving and the street was a heaving mass. To complicate matters, menacing JabJab revellers careened around, seemingly having taken full advantage of the generosity of a local rum distillery. The JabJabbers were covered from head to toe with creosote and molasses and they love to touch you to transfer their ‘power’. Not good if you have clean clothing! One had to be very careful not to topple into the harbour because the only ‘open’ path past all this action was inches from the edge of the water and the crush of the crowd was immense. We saw Andrew Symonds trailing the revellers…
The Australia vs. Sri Lanka matchup was hyped as a precursor of the finals. With India and Pakistan already gone and Sri Lanka performing brilliantly this was the match to see. But it was a great disappointment to us fans. Malinga, who we had looked forward to seeing, did not play and neither did Murali. Malinga was supposed to have a bit of a strain in one of his ankles but was walking fine at the shopping centre when we saw him. Chaminda Vaas, too, was missing from the lineup. There was no doubt some psychological game going on against the world champs but we, having come so far to see the game, felt cheated. There were some Sri Lankans who had travelled all the way from Colombo; imagine how they felt. The Sri Lanka team appeared to be going through the motions and, unsurprisingly, were walloped despite some beautiful batting by captain Mahela and Chamara Silva. We were struck as spectators by how physically massive the likes of Hayden were compared to our guys. And how inconsequential that was!
We went back by boat, a bouncy ride past the cruise ships and the headland to the Grand Anse wharf. That evening we tried a restaurant up the beach, a kind of trendy place chock full of tourists, the kind of place I usually avoid. We had tried a Chinese restaurant close to our hotel for dinner the night prior, so wanted something different. The beach cafe proved surprisingly decent and, even more surprisingly, affordable despite the pretensions and popularity. But it was not West Indian food they served. Good local fare is hard to find. For that, we asked our hotel to serve us dinner. Saltfish, rice, a chicken curry, and a nice salad were the staples and they were quite tasty. Having heard about our penchant for parippu, lo and behold the chef even prepared that for us! But when all is said and done, Caribbean cuisine is a poor cousin to Indian cookery --- with some African flair thrown in.
The next match was Sri Lanka vs. Ireland. Despite the presence of green goblins galore and of liquored-up leprechauns amongst the spectators the result was foreordained; the contest was over before lunch. Again, a bit disappointing for fans but at least Sri Lanka won. Never having seen Murali bowl ‘live’, I was delighted to see him in action. I was surprised at how fast he bowled, my image of a spinner being that of a guy who flighted the ball and near-suspended it in midair. The Irishmen were completely mesmerized. Maharoof was also on fire. I was pleased to see that the Irish took their defeat and elimination lightly; they were astounded to be here in the first place. We had foreseen a Pakistan-Sri Lanka donnybrook on this day but the luck of the Irish propelled them to the Super 8s. All the Irish players were amazingly friendly with their fan base but, then again, many of the Irish fans were probably kith and kin, Ireland not being known to harbour a great many cricket enthusiasts.
We left on the 20th morning. The cricket was a bit of a letdown in that the only competitive game we saw did not involve Sri Lanka but the atmosphere inside and outside Grenada’s National Cricket Stadium was wonderful throughout. We managed to shout ourselves hoarse and get our 2 seconds of fame on international TV. The people of Grenada were so welcoming and warm --- ‘Hello’, ‘How are you?’, ‘Welcome to Granada’ were common greetings --- we still correspond with our friend Dwayne. Sri Lanka received major support from Grenadians for which we should all be grateful. A bottle of grenadine liqueur sits in my cabinet, a colourful metal reef-fish from the market decorates my kitchen, and wonderful memories persist. I will take my wife to The Palace Hotel on Grande Anse Beach one day.
The Sri Lanka team went on to Jamaica for their semi-finals match against the Kiwis, which they won easily. Tharanga did well, finally, and Mahela scored an extremely polished 115, probably the finest example of batsmanship in the entire tournament. Murali was at his mysterious best and Malinga’s figures do not reflect how he completely flummoxed the New Zealand top order. The Australians won their semi-final against the Proteas, which set the scene for the final in Bridgetown, Barbados, Sri Lanka vs. Australia. Although Gilchrist’s onslaught most likely took the game away from Sri Lanka, I contend that we were still in with a chance had it not been for the weather and appalling officiating. On to World Cup 2011!
Goto serendibinc.com Sri Lanka Pages - Gallery, for a pictorial view of our experience at the World Cup 2007
A.C (Chuli) Yapa