The Guyanese are a talkative lot. Whether the subject is politics, religion or the weather, it's easy to spend hours shooting the breeze with the locals. For the last few days in Georgetown, however, there's only been one topic on the agenda: cricket. Mention that word and you're in for a lengthy chat. But mention the name Lara, and the conversation becomes personal.
The West Indian selectors may have opted for Lara as captain, but according to those at this particular coalface, that decision makes booking a deckchair on the Titanic look like a brilliant move. After all, here in Guyana, Carl Hooper comes as close to superhero status as you can get. And on the first day of the Test series against Australia, the Georgetown-ians were not amused.
From the market stallholders to the car-washers, from the bread-carriers to the shop assistants, opinion was strong and undivided. King Carl's removal was bad for cricket, and a disaster for Guyana. "It's an insult to our country," said Jonesy the minivan-driver, who's been operating his business in the bustling streets here for ten years. "To take the captaincy away from Hooper on his home soil is just stupid. That's all I can say."
Of course, in the fine tradition of cricket tragics worldwide, that wasn't all he could say, by quite a distance. Jonesy was just getting started. "The cricket board deserves nothing," he pronounced, as he manoeuvred his passengers through the traffic more adroitly than Michael Schumacher at Hockenheim. "The best result would be for no-one to go to the match. Then the board would realise how important the fans are. We should all protest against this ridiculous decision."
Everyone aboard his van, which was appropriately called "Naughty Boy", seemed to agree with the sentiments. Despite Lara's calls for team unity, and advertisements on Guyanese television asking fans to disregard inter-island rivalries and rally round the West Indies, those heading for the Bourda ground for the start of play weren't convinced. In fact, many were calling for blood.
"I hope Lara goes out for a duck," said Charlie, a bank employee who'd taken the day off work for the occasion. "I've told the office I'm in an important meeting," he said, walking up the rickety steps of the Lance Gibbs Stand. "Of course I want the team to do well, but believe me, Lara will be hissed all the way to the crease."
And he was. As the batsman presently known as The Prince walked to the centre, the fans went wild. They jeered from the benches in the Kenny Wishart Stand. They catcalled from the lower level of the Rohan Kanhai Stand. Even the kids with prime vantage points on the branches of the Flamboyant trees (poincianas, to the botanically challenged) got in on the act.
By the time Lara was in position, the sound of "Hoop, Hoop, Hoop," was circling the ground. "He's not disciplined enough to be captain," said Florence, who'd brought her two children, an aunt and a brother-in-law along to enjoy the show. "He's easily distracted. The sight of one pretty girl and he'll lose concentration. Of course, if he bats well, he'll be forgiven." And he was. After Lara's third boundary, the Georgetown worm had turned. They cheered, whistled and forgot to maintain the rage. Until he was out, anyway.
But as Lara made the long walk back to the dressing-room, the worm reverted to its original position. And so did the fans. The jeers were louder than before, the hisses were sharper, and the "Hoop, Hoop, Hoops" echoed like a fast-approaching freight train until The Prince was out of sight.
In the second tier of the Gibbs Stand, a guy called Majid performed a series of pelvic thrusts in honour of the wicket. "Good riddance," he yelled, blocking everyone's view with his wide hip-swirls and intricate nether-region gymnastics. "Go back to Trinidad if that's the best you can do." Florence, meanwhile, was in heated discussions with the relatives. "I knew it," she said, pointing her finger at no-one in particular. "As captain his batting will suffer. He hasn't got enough concentration for both jobs."
For the locals, however, the fun was just starting. As Guyana's other favourite son, Shivnarine Chanderpaul, carved his way towards a sensational hundred, Majid's pace and rhythm arced up a notch. "We love Shivnarine," he shrieked, beer in one hand and national flag in the other. "He is playing for the glory of Guyana." As Chanderpaul reached the ton, raised his bat, then knelt to kiss the turf, the noise was deafening. "What a gesture," yelled Florence above the din of tooting horns. "I hope everyone in the Caribbean is watching." And they probably were. (Extracted from Caribbeancricket.com)