CARIBBEAN CELEBRITY
There's something a little pathetic about how we go on about nationals who reach world standard. When people from these islands get international attention, we lose our reason.
I remember in Jamaica, when Merlene Ottey finally struck gold at the world
championships, the Jamaican government (or, more pointedly, the ruling
party), gave her a diplomatic passport, and took her on a round of
appearances, namings and showings-off just like the one we see here in 2000.
Just like when Brian Lara got his promenade. Just like Don Quarry, the
Jamaican sprinter who won gold the same year as Crawford (they named a
school for him). Just like the festivities no doubt filling Barbados and the Bahamas now. Nothing wrong with celebrating our achievers, nothing at all. I just wonder if we haven't got it a bit out of proportion.
Whenever foreigners single out one of our own, we get a bit hysterical.
Politicians are the worst, but, professional politics being what is it, you
can hardly blame them. Young, attractive sports heroes, articulate and
sparkling in the national colours, must be irresistible to those bent on
convincing us they can save the nation, if only we win them the next
election.
But let's face it, the rest of us are pretty bad as well: businesspeople
fall over themselves to give praise in the media and at functions; so called
sports fans make all sorts of excuses; children scream so they can say they
made eye contact; advertisers clamour for the face and voice; lobbyists
simper and scramble to appropriate complicity with their causes; journalists get creative in introducing the hero into their own polemic ...
One day maybe we can discuss the possible effects this abject adulation
might be having on our stars. For now, let's consider what it says about us.
We are quick to forgive, for one thing. Ever since his record-breaking year, Lara has only shown glimpses of his excellence. Since Walcott's Nobel, all we've really seen is a dumb and unpopular Broadway show about a serial killer. Since Minshall's conquest of Disney and the Olympics, all he's given us has been ugly outfits and a set of hifalutin twaddle. And all we seem able to remember are their exploits of long ago, which we use to blind us to their present failures. We are truly forgiving. All too forgiving, if you ask me.
All respect to Ato Boldon. There are probably fewer than fifty people among
the six billion of us who can do what he does. He's worked hard, and seems
like quite a likeable fellow. But, excuse me, he didn't just cure cancer. He didn't even win a finals. Have we forgotten (or just forgiven) his brash
promises of 24 carats and a world record? Are we, perhaps, in denial because we believed him? Is it that his current appearances were planned before he even got to Sydney? Or are we just desperate for heroes?
We must not allow political and journalistic overstatements fool us. We
should not be bamboozled by advertising hype. We have here a Santa Cruz boy
who can race with the world's best. Well done Ato. Now get back to practise.
You've got a career, and a life. Hopefully you've learned to be a little
more moderate in future predictions (you and Yesina Gonzales!). Now, get
back to work.
It's hard not to compare today's Laras, Boldons and Yorkes to the sports
heroes of long ago ... McDonald Bailey ... Learie Constantine ... patriarchs who played their games - to world standard - with the humility and dedication of the amateurs they were. The fact that they were emotionally driven ensured their long-term success.
No doubt anybody prepared to make a career in sport or the arts needs not
only ability, but conviction. No doubt a fire in the belly drives almost
anybody willing and able to reach the height of their craft. But what's
behind it? The nameless yearning of a sports lover to do his/her best at all times?
Fat chance. It's the money. That's why they're called professionals.
Professionals strive for high standards of performance in order to achieve
higher standards of payment. It's that simple. This realization may
dishearten us, but we should not grudge them. Personally, if I got a chance
to write a Hollywood movie or a Broadway show, I would do it. For the money.
In an instant. And if I did, and my people praised me, I would be thankful.
I would only hope, one the one hand, that my people did not imagine I could
be their saviour, and on the other hand, that I did not allow myself to be
fooled into thinking they were right.
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