Between the Lines

Listen, I know the result of the TT/Paraguay game wasn’t what we wanted or expected and I’m no football expert, so I can’t firmly opine that coach Leo Beenhakker should have played Russell Latapy more, but what I do believe is that we’ve had a fairly wonderful World Cup.

The poison-pen English sport writers and commentators can disparage our team all they want, ad nauseam call them “minnows.” We are only too aware that the English media, still principally staffed by arrogant male Oxbridge types, are backing England and we can thus, by and large, dismiss their commentary. Of more significance is that the rest of the world will recall the Soca Warriors holding Sweden to a goalless draw and that the same “small fry” kept the “mighty” English Lions at bay for 83 minutes until a lanky imp of a striker, one Peter Crouch, opted to climb the back of TT defender Brent Sancho and drag him down by his locks to score a goal.

Until that Crouch foul, it seemed as if the Soca Warriors could and would make it to the second round of the final, an incredible prospect given that when the team left for Germany, so many — at home and abroad — had expected so little of the players. We never conceived of Sweden having to wrestle its way into the second round, thanks to Trinidad and Tobago, or that our Warriors would walk away from that game with a point. And until that Crouch foul, June 15 looked even more unbelievable because it seemed as if it might well be the day that the “underdogs” tamed the Lions. Indeed, hadn’t we been amused and amazed when the English coach sent on “big boy” striker Wayne Rooney who he had warming up and warming up and warming up again in what one assumes was English football psychological warfare in Nuremberg?

“They bringing on Rooney for us?” we in Port-of-Spain had asked incredulous. “We so good? Or the English are so bad?”

And truly, didn’t England look frustrated and second rate and the Soca Warriors calm and first class until the Crouch “by hook and crook”?

England may have won the match, but in our eyes, the true victory was Trinidad and Tobago’s and we were proud of our Warriors and of the good-natured, colourful TT fans who had so cheered them on in the Franken Stadion. Compared to the English supporters, we looked classy.

Coincidentally, the people of Nuremberg were probably quite grateful that England won. Can you imagine what thousands of drunk, disappointed Englishmen would have done to Nuremberg if England had drawn or lost? They woulda mash up de place as we say. They woulda mash up our fans.

Yes, we’ve had a good World Cup indeed. The Soca Warriors have restored national pride. Ever since the game against Sweden in Dortmund, we’ve walked in our red, white and black, our heads up. The national flag has adorned our house and store windows; one of every five cars has a flag affixed to it.

Some cars bear several flags. Thanks to the Soca Warriors, it feels terrific again to be a Trinbagonian. Trinidad and Tobago stands not for crime and corruption, but for courage under fire. We’ve always been patriots; now we are patriots who aren’t ashamed to celebrate and to show our other colours.

And those colours are red, white and black, not African or Indian or Syrian or Chinese or criminal or money-launderer or dishonest politician, or best Caribbean trickster.

And ironically enough, it also took a band of Warriors to bring peace for a short while. As soon as the Warriors landed in Germany, crime dropped. The day before the TT/England game, crime reporters were out of sorts: there was no bloodshed to report. When Crouch scored, gunshots reportedly rang out in gang neighbourhoods. The next day there was a murder. And the next, a murder/suicide. And the next day there were two killings. And the next. Now, the crime reporters are back on the beat.

While the Warriors were playing, the teen who we previously regarded as suspicious if not a dangerous delinquent, now became a potential national football player and we treated him with interest and respect. We wanted to talk football with him. We wanted to talk football with everyone. While the Soca Warriors were kicking ball in Germany, our politicos and their race talk were silenced, side-lined. While the Warriors were playing so called big teams in places with names as impressive as Dortmund and Nuremberg and in Kaiserslautern, we were buoyant and pleasant and courteous and we smiled in our towns and villages with designations as notable as Arima, Castara and Fyzabad. There was hope for us all and we believed that we were a nation of great people with a great future.

On everyone’s mind today must be the questions, “Where to Trinidad and Tobago and What now?” The answer to these questions depends not on the Soca Warriors, but on us. They’ve already done us proud. Trite it may sound, but it’s now our turn to carry the ball.

As for that odd-looking English striker, the dreadlocks-grabbing Peter Crouch, he needs to remember that here in the land of the Soca Warriors we have a saying: Jah doh sleep.

smills@trini.com