Dear Editor,
Greenidge has been opening a lot more recently. The problem is that he has to carry the rest of the side on his back. It is enough to sink any solid stand for want of determined, dedicated comrades.
Our man Greenidge has to have looked around in the forlorn hope of locating a partner, a sheet anchor, or someone with whom to scorch the gritty parliamentary greens. A Desmond would be a welcomed presence, whether Hoyte or Haynes. But there is no such comfort to be found. He must be yearning for the arrival of new young bloods a la Rowe and Kallicharran; but instead of bloods he must settle for crypts peopled by names such as James, Joseph, and David. There is a roughhewn scriptural pathos about this, leaving one to wonder: David, where is thy slingshot? Come on, leave the sheep behind. As for Basil, he is proving to be less of a Butcher, and more of a Leonard Baichan: sharp singles here, sharpies there. Like his counterpart across the aisle, he is better suited to the Theatre Guild, than the guild of advocates.
Now that he is a virtual one man stand, nobody feels like The Mighty Chalkdust -nobody ‘afraid Carl’. His opponents strategize on how to approach, bounce, and unravel the rest of the side. The results are depressing. All around, Greenidge has to feel and hear the team crumbling:
Out! (of serious calculation); Run out! (self-inflicted deliberately); Retired hurt (supporting medical available); Stumped! (mentally, of course); and caught! (in flagrante….). This opposition team is sorrier than those sorry West Indies teams of the last two decades, and for the same reasons: lack of effort, lack of application, lack of spirit, and lack of pride. Just show members the money, and the duty-free concessions, of course, and the score becomes strewn with the predictable….
So Greenidge bats on. Another mammoth score compiled during another marathon innings.
The writing is all in the papers, along with the crafting, the grafting, and the solid stoic delivery.
I have always wondered how it felt to bat with ten other twelfth men. Carl should know real well by now, he does so most of the time. Pad up, time to bat again in the follow-on. Let this one be for country. Stick around, show foes a broad bat, and a broader spirit.
Sure, the wicket is sticky, and the other side possesses hostility and guile by the container. It is the same hostility and guile that is so concerning within; yes, within one’s own side. Watch out for those succumbing to the bright lights of night cricket. Lots of business transacted past deep extra cover, the cover of darkness and secrecy. Where are the seasoned troopers? There is the once great Alexander now securely cocooned in the distance of academic retreat. It could be a matter of fitness, and mental preparation for another campaign. Also, there is no longer the comfort of four speedy Horsemen of the Apocalypse raining thunderbolts. These days there are only spinners for comrades, full of guile and seeking to deceive through physical and verbal flight.
It has to be hard for Greenidge who opens the order, buttresses the middle 8(it is verysoft), and carries the longest of long tails. It is an empty tale lacking in sting and grit. Daily, the man runs out of partners when the going gets tough; but were they real partners in the true senseof the word?
Yeah, nobody ‘afraid Carl’not even Chalkdust, if he still had a say. And that is the state of the opposition.
Ours faithfully,
GHK Lall
