Brown dawg

Guyana gyal

April 04, 2007 Brown Dawg again! Guyana-Gyal

Yesterday morning, in the middle of chaos...me impersonating Madonna, vacuum cleaner impersonating microphone and guitar...the phone ring. Switch off vacuum cleaner, turn down radio.
“Girl, we had so much fun at cricket on Sunday,” Annie say on the other end of phone.
“But we lose bad. Sri Lanka cream we. I know we woulda lose, but not so bad.”
“Never mind that. We had Fun. Was one big, happy crowd, my brother supporting Sri Lanka, the crowd booing he, and in the end, everybody cheering Sri Lanka. We didn’t care who win or who lose. Was a great day!”
Was a sacred day. Windies playing World Cup cricket at we brand new stadium at Providence! All who did never pray before, bend and kneel on Sunday. Some pray for a miracle - for West Indies to win. Some pray that Sri Lanka don’t beat we too bad. Some pray that rain don’t fall. Some pray that rain fall and save we Windies team from disgrace.
Sold out, the newspaper headline holler. If you ain’t got a ticket don’t bother to go. I didn’t get a ticket.
“Rain gon pour,” I tell my mother. “Ow, I proper feel sorry for them spectators. The whole flippin’ year they been looking forward to this day.” I decide not to wash clothes. Every time I wash clothes, rain does fall. This is true. I wasn’t looking for excuse to be lazy.

I switch on the tee vee to ketch the match. Pfft. Blackout. I run to the charge-up radio that my second big brother did send from Merica after we bad flood. Emergency radio, he did say. I crank and crank and crank, sweat pour from me like rain, the radio charge up.
Power come back on. I switch on the tee vee. Me jaw drop.
The hind part of Brown Dawg been disappearing through a gate at we brand new stadium, somebody shooshing Brown Dawg out. “That dawg,” the commentator announce, “has somehow managed to make it into every match...” Me and my mother laugh ‘til we weep. Brown Dawg did it again. The last time I did see Brown Dawg was at we old cricket stadium, Bourda, in the ‘90’s.

I ask Annie about Brown Dawg. “Yes, I think he do a wee or a poo on the field,” she say. “You shoulda hear the crowd!”
I heart you, Brown Dawg.

Dear Readers, Brown Dawg want to tell you he story in he own words, he ask me if he can blog it here. Ow, I begging you, give Brown Dawg a chance, nah?

Guyana-Gyal

Brown Dawg's day (Part 1)

Ever since I Brown Dawg get abandoned, I does hang around Bourda Cricket Ground when they get a match. I does stand outside like a common beggar with them other dawgs, sniffing and salivating. We discuss the Food non-stop...curry beef and roti, rice and peas with cokenut milk falling from spectators’ spoons. Fry chicken. Bones. Woyyy!

And we does talk about how to get in. Once upon a time any lucky dawg coulda sneak in. Once, I Brown Dawg was that lucky dawg!

Was a heck of a day, that day, March 1, 1998. No rain. Imagine. The sky been crisp, clear, as if it been rinsed in Reckitt and Colman laundry blue. Clouds been fat and soft, you coulda just “loll off” as we does say, and gnaw your beef bone.

That day, them trees north of the ground had more non-paying spectators than they coulda ever hold. One tree limb break as I trot by. Boys fall like over-ripe fruits, if you see colours, red shirt, orange, blue, green, purple. Not a soul get hurt though, them boys had more bounce than any ball. They scurry up the tree again. Them vendors send up food and drinks tied up with string, them boys send down cash. Business as usual.

Anyway, guess what! I break away from the pack and! I find a gate into the ground that them other dawgs ain’t see. I skulk, skulk, hide between ankles and baskets. Somebody say, “Boy, a big-time, international rock ‘n’ roll singer is here to watch cricket.”

Suddenly, hoiy, hoiy, hoiy, the crowd inside roar, whistle whistle blow, more roaring and drums going brrraadada. “Four, four,” people everywhere shouting and stamping.

Nobody watching me. I slip inside more silent than a piece of stew chicken plopsing to the ground. Another terrible roar. Whistle roar brrraadadada. I nearly jump outta my skin and bolt in fright. But ohhhh boy, that curry, fry chicken, chowmein, cookup smell was overpowering; I been so hungry my back been asking my belly questions. No way I would leave!

Brown Dawg's day (Part 2)

It was everything I used to imagine and more. All kinda delights under them stands. Bones. Pieces o’ meat. Rice. When they say every dawg must have his day...let me tell you...I Brown Dawg had my Day!

To be honest, I didn’t go in there that day to make world news cricket. But the excitement been too much for me. And instead of keeping a low profile I run on to the field. A giant, green toilet!

The next thing I know, I was getting chased this way, that way, around the boundary. Why I didn’t just leave with dignity instead of getting my tail chased I just don’t know.

“Cricket’s funniest moment,” them British commentators holler on radios. The crowd scream, laugh.

Shame, how I shame! As I run this side, that side, I glimpse a cricketer, a Windies fella, sitting on the field, he had a look of utmost disgust on he face. More shame!

In the end, them grounds men corner me, shoo me to the exit. I turn for one last look. A grounds man been running on to the field with a spade. Somebody shout something about “pooper scooper.” The grounds man with the spade grin. The crowd clap and cheer.

Now, every cricket season, them other dawgs does cuss me. “No other dawg can have his day,” they does grumble. “All because of you, security tight, tight.”

Shame does creep from me heart and spread all over me face. I does hang me head and woof softly to them, “Man look, we can’t give up. We got to keep on trying.”