Finding flags to fly

Nothing like a big sporting event to ignite emotions typically associated with the flying of one’s own national flag and tearfully rendering the national anthem.

For some, like my nephew “B” and people I am sure you know, the latter exercise includes notes not reflected in the official music score. That is probably because the anthem was written with phenoms like Ella Andall in mind! Lesser mortals change keys when we reach “here every creed and race.”

But it does not always require authentic credentials to stimulate this level of sentimentality when it comes to sport. I remember for instance, back in 1989, almost being ejected from Radio 610 when people thought the “red” shirt I wore on the day of the decisive (and losing) T&T vs USA World Cup Football qualifier had not been red enough.

I simply had not found time to procure a cheap T–shirt on Frederick Street and I rather liked the one I had – which I did not stop wearing until only a few years ago.

There were on-air colleagues claiming the occasion was the most significant in the country’s history! A public holiday was declared even before a single boot touched a ball. Flags and red cloth sold and sold and sold. I was, apparently, the only person on the face of the portion of earth occupied by T&T that did not have a shirt the correct shade of red.

Wayne Brown wrote that the whole affair closely aligned with what we recognise as ultra-nationalist “fascism” of the type that in later years led to serious calls for the flying of national flags at all homes. A whole government minister was given the brief to pursue the “patriotism” agenda.

Wayne and I tried discussing what was happening over lunch one day. But it was a silent affair with lots of head shaking, grunts, and groans. Two people known for talking your head off … beaten into disgruntled silence.

In more recent times, with no Wayne Brown in sight, came the CPL and the fake names and brands. I warned right here in this space that inciting nationalist fervour over pickup sides from everywhere would take us nowhere. I rooted for the “T&T Amazon Warriors” on purpose to make the point.

Yet, a real T&T flag was trampled in Guyana, and we realised there would come a time when the sentiment would harden and threaten a sense of fraternity between close communities. Oil eventually came and tore the masks off … and took some flesh in the process.

Then you realise that the Manchester United folks of Diego Martin were doing the same to the Gunners of St Joseph. Black eyes among friends. A few broken teeth. Flags and buntings waved in scorn at each other. What, then, becomes of red, black, and white? Who of the TKR has not cheered for the KKR? Where, by the way, is this “Trinbago” of which they speak?

The indomitable Fazeer Mohammed also advised last weekend about the power of money in professional sport. How international sport has integrated genuine feelings of loyalty to spin vast financial surpluses through contrived scheduling. The composing of tournaments in such a manner as to attract eyeballs and advertising dollars.

Nothing wrong with any of this, of course. It has always been that allegiance based on nationality has had the potential to convert competitions into wars with illusory stakes that imperil pride.

It must eventually be that the Man United crest will be as recognisable as a KKR gold and purple Viking helmet or as the birds of T&T’s Coat of Arms.

Then comes the West Indies. Not the one with the blue background with four horizontal stripes of black, white, and gold of 1958 when the West Indian Federation was born. Not even the one with the yellow stars and coconut tree adjoining a grey mass along a green ocean of the pre-1999 WICB generation. But the one with the yellow sun, three cricket stumps and leaning coconut tree registered by CWI Inc.

Yes, that one. The one with the anthem (a genius offering from David Rudder) that precious few in Haiti, Belize, The Bahamas, or Suriname know or understand. I can imagine the Caricom meetings at which cricketing nostalgia reigns and the puzzled and bemused looks around some corners of the table.

Yet, there are passions to match the hurts and triumphs of the EPL, the IPL, and even the CPL. Flags to fly over the ICC and FIFA. Anthems to be sung. Money to be made. This evening at the game I wear my own shade of maroon.