Hartley Neita, ContributorThere are few games Jamaicans do not play or watch. Archery, maybe; figure skating, perhaps. In almost every other sport, however, Jamaicans have competed at the international level, and done extremely well.
It is therefore not surprising that during the past two months, politics and the economy have been trifling diversions and sports, in the form of cricket, football, boxing, golf, athletics and lawn tennis, have been the subjects of greatest national attention.
During the recent World Cup fever, most of my friends suffered from yawns and red eyes. The Reggae Boyz were not there, but that did not matter. Brazil, whose teams have been Jamaican favourites ever since the years of Pele, were, and despite what sports writers and commentators elsewhere in the world said, as far as Jamaicans were concerned the boys from Samba land would and did conquer the world.
At the same time, our own Lennox Lewis battered Mike Tyson, putting an end to the voodoo belief that the man was invincible and ending the career of one who had changed boxing from a sport of style to one-round displays of blood and gory.
Up to two weeks ago, too, we were beginning to believe that we were on the escalator carrying us back to the days of glory in cricket, only to fall to New Zealand, a never-say-die team, more disciplined and more professional in approach.
Some of us, too, have developed a "love affair" with golf, because of the seemingly impossible skill of Tiger Woods. Watching the game, as I do from time to time, his ability to hit and drop the ball where he wants it is astonishing.
We rooted for young Russell in the recent Jamaica Futures, and remembered his father Richard, along with Lance Lumsden taking Jamaica's name to Australia, England, Europe and the USA during their glory years, remembering too the brilliant skill of Donald and Bertie Leahong, Lester Kirkcaldy, Betty Pratt, Sue Leydon, Ivy Cover-Ramsay, knowing they were ahead of their times.
So now our attention is on Wimbledon, with our fingers crossed for Serena and Venus Williams, not caring which of them will win the trophy as we see them as the heirs of the stars of yesterday, Boris Becker, Jimmy Connors, John McEnroe, Chris Evert, Pete Sampras, and the many others.
In a couple weeks, the National Stadium will see a crowd of athletes from all over the world, competing with our new athletic stars, remembering too, that this will be the third time we have hosted athletic games of this magnitude.
My generation were distant observers of events like those which have been seen in "living colour" on our television screens. As a child, we heard the boxing bouts between Joe Louis and Max Schmeling, the great mile relay won by Arthur Wint, George Rhoden, Herb McKenley and Les Laing at the London and Helsinki games in 1948 and 1952, and the centuries scored by George Headley, Frank Worrell, Everton Weekes, Clyde Walcott and Collie Smith via short wave on our Telefunken radios. The reception was bad. We imagined more than what we heard. Thank God, however, for commentators such as John Arlott whose descriptions were poetic images.
And we packed the moving picture theatres three weeks later to see 10-minute long films of these events flickering in black and white on the screens.
Today, except for when these sports spectaculars are played in Jamaica, we can see them, live and direct, in our living rooms.
It's a glory time to be alive!
