Bukka Rennie

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Noble Latas nobody's slave

May 21, 2001

They came drunk to the very last man, always nearly falling off the quite steep steps of the Centre of Excellence, singing a soppy, insipid song: "Don't take our Russell away!" to the melody of the old standard, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine".

The Hibernians, their managers and supporters had come all the way from Scotland to show us how much they loved Russell Latapy for his great magic in taking them, literally single-handedly, to hear them describe it, from near oblivion to the top of the Scottish Premiere Football League.

But in all the gush of overwhelming love and appreciation, there was always this sting in their tails; we should not demand that Russell return to T&T to represent his nation too often or for too long a time to allow him to get acclimatised to the national team he must lead in the World Cup qualifiers.

In other words, we must commit hara-kiri, we must "cut off our nose to spoil our face", all in the interest of Hibernian. And, of course, because they are paying "Latas" top dollar for his services for which we should be eternally grateful.

Professional footballers are not "slaves"; they are free human beings who enter into contracts to sell their stock in trade within certain clear-cut parameters. Nothing about such contractual relationship should be patronising in this modern age.

Yet we were being seduced to disregard the FIFA rules and regulations relative to the release of contracted professional players for national duty despite the fact that these said rules and regulations underscore the very lifeblood and spirit of FIFA. The passion of football is derived mainly from the call to duty to community, and moreso, to nation, without which FIFA is nothing.

The tens of billions of dollars that roll into the coffers of football administrators internationally roll in only because of the passion generated when the "colours" are unfurled and the engagement that follows is pure "blood and sand" and "cat piss and pepper". This is serious business. And when the World Cup bell rings, the demand is only for the best, the most prepared and the excellent to play and display.

Yet, they had the audacity to come here to sing: "Don't take 'their Russell', 'our captain', away!" In the course of that day of drunken singing, their sober players took to the field with a mind-set to exhibit their football craft before the eyes of the little island natives. What we saw that day was colourless, dull and unimaginative. "Latas" could not help but be "king" in such a club.

Now, in no way are we condoning Russell Latapy's recent lack of fitness, his failure to comply with club regulations in regard to training and other discretions. But we understand his frustrations.

He had pinned his hopes to Hibernian. He knows that being in his early 30s, there are only a few years left to his football career. Mentally, he had settled in Scotland and having done everything in his power to take Hibernian to the top and into Europe (UEFA) next year, he really expected, as any professional would, to be handsomely rewarded with a new contract commensurate with his work. But this was not to be.

The moment he decided that he would seek one more contract elsewhere, the relationship with the Hibs' manager and captain rapidly deteriorated. Latas found himself being left, ignored on the bench for the greater part of many crucial matches, and so his frustrations mounted and his game-fitness declined rapidly.

Now the very people who are most responsible for Latapy's present frame of mind are the very ones berating him for lack of fitness and for letting them down.

Professional players changing clubs in pursuit of better contracts is an everyday affair, yet when it involves black Caribbean players there is always this intense hostility. How dare you? We brought you from nowhere and made you somebody! Who are you and how dare you reject our offer?

That seems to be the general sentiment. Aston Villa's Gregory even had the gall to tell the world that if he had a gun he would have shot Dwight Yorke for wanting to go to Manchester United. He was so enraged by what was obviously a basic intelligent career move! Seems as though only the white boys and football heroes from big countries are entitled to upward mobility.

Also, we have watched time and time again, club managers, such as Alex Ferguson and McLeish, play mind games with our players in order to intensify their psychological insecurities when World Cup qualifiers are on and we are in need of our football stars. Their actions then are nothing short of outright "blackmail" simply because they hold the pay packets.

The aim is to get the likes of stars such as Yorke and Latapy to choose to be unavailable for national engagement. If, however, our stars choose to be available, they are then forced to return to their respective clubs immediately after the last whistle is blown or face fines and the unrelenting rampage of incensed managers.

Out of sheer spite, some of these manager/coaches have been known to keep our internationals on the reserve benches, literally punishing them, on the pretext that they, the coaches, have not had the "pleasure" to see our players perform sufficiently enough to assess them because of the fact that are away too often on national duty. Rougier, Andrews, Ince, Hislop, etc, have all suffered from such intimidatory action on the part of managers and coaches.

Such relationships are indicative of how our African Caribbean football stars are viewed by metropolitan managers. We are nothing in their eyes. It is not Latapy's indiscretions that matter, it is that who he is should never be what he is. The powers that be in this nation of T&T should let all of Scotland, and the Hibernian Club in particular, know that we are indeed incensed by the overall treatment of our star footballer and captain, Russell Latapy, that, although we do not condone breaches of professional regulations, we understand fully what has brought on these indiscretions, and that if need be we would promptly send a fuelled airplane to bring our star son of the soil home.


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