Continuing our encounters series, our cricket-mad writer recalls the night she was invited to play – and party – at a club in Port of Spain
It has long been reported that cricket, once the Caribbean’s favourite sport, is dying there: that American pastimes such as basketball and baseball have stolen the younger generation’s affection. And yet watching the West Indies play at home remains the holy grail for many a cricket fan, particularly an English one who grew up in awe of Brian Lara and Viv Richards, and the passionate, expressive style in which they played.
Six years ago, I finally made my pilgrimage. England were due to play a Test match in Antigua, and I had decided to spend the week before the game in Trinidad, a place I had often heard described on the radio when listening to matches. On my second day on the island, I was in the capital, Port of Spain, and walking past a high wall covered in advertising hoardings, I heard a noise from the other side I was sure I recognised. Thwock. There aren’t many things that sound as distinctive as a cricket ball being hit. Continue reading...
