Runner Up... that's ME!

Just found out that I came runner up (2nd place) in a short story competition hosted by Caribbean Intelligence. I submitted "Cricket in the Streets" and I am very proud of this achievement.

To check out the story go to Caribbean Intelligence and to read the story

To read the winning submission, Box, please go here as well.

Pleasant reading.

Nesta

First place

boys playing cricket in the streets

Remember this time last year I posted about coming  second in the Independence short story competition in Dominica with my piece "Hair On My Chest" well guess what? This year I came first with another chapter from my soon to be released book "David and I." 

This time I entered "Cricket in the Streets" a short story that I had already published on my blog... but i changed the ending to suit the criteria of the competition.

I am so elated to win this competition. The prize giving ceremony will be held soon, hopefully I can get some photos or even a video to post in here as well...

I also submitted a poem "Walking Away" for the poetry segment but didn't win, still I am not disappointed and will continue submitting my poetry until I do win... I will continue to write as long as i have the strength and inspiration to do so... I love writing... 

I'm currently working on so many different stories all at the same time, hoping to complete all so very soon...

Here is a status report for those who follow my blog:

David and I - novel (70% complete)

Untitled Children's book (50% complete)

Moods and Attitudes - book of poetry (90% complete) to be released during Easter 2013

The Escape - short story (40% complete) to be released in the summer of 2013

Keep checking my blog for updates and short clips from the books...

Chapter 1: Cricket in the Streets

Cricket in the streets

by

Delroy Nesta Williams

One of my most vivid memories as a young boy growing up in Gros Michel was playing on The Oval. The Oval was what we referred to a small, paved section of Lime Street where we all gathered to play games. We named it the Oval after hearing of cricket stadiums in Trinidad and Barbados called the Oval too. Dominica didn’t have its own stadium so we decided to create our own in Gros Michel; our own “Lime Street Oval.”

Whether football or cricket, the competition was always intense and even more so if we happened to be blessed by the unexpected but welcomed rain shower. A downpour always seemed to take away all thoughts of tiredness and rejuvenate us. We could go on for hours at a time, as long as we were soaked (drenched) by the blessings of the sky.

I remember getting up very early on Saturday mornings, eating breakfast and then rushing out the door to join my friends to play a game of football or cricket. Another blessing about being a boy at that time, chores were tasks for the girls and we were left to roam freely, just as long as no one reported us for fighting or stealing. These were two cardinal sins at my home.

That Saturday was no different; we had been playing for hours. It started out as a game of football then changed suddenly to an intense game of cricket. Out came the “kaka” rubber balls, bats made from the coconut branches, cardboard sheets as makeshift pads and glory cider branches for stumps.

I always enjoyed batting, never liked to be in the fielding team. Today my batting was on point, I hit cricket stroke after cricket stroke, and the ball seemed to like my bat. I was driving the ball like Sir Gary Sobers, with the occasional exquisite cut and sweep. I felt good and none of the bowlers came close to getting me out. I had only made one bad shot, I lofted a ball towards mid off but Maggie was fielding there, he couldn’t catch a cold even if it was flu season. The ball hit the palm of his hand and scooped out; he almost grabbed it a second time. He really had butter fingers. I could see the disappointment on the faces of his teammates.

I had lost count of my personal score but I was sure I was somewhere in the forties. 50 runs was a significant score for us, the team would have had to buy me sticky tablet from Ma Boyd’s shop for a whole week. I could already imagine licking off the black caramel from my finger tips. Ma Boyd sold everything from alcohol to sweets and we always went there for sticky tablet after the game. It was that or coconut cheese.

“Stop, Stop, I wanna play,” someone screamed from behind me.

“I knew that voice,” I thought as I turned around.

It was Shane. He was the best bowler in the village. He was so tall and strong; he could throw that ball from a mile away and still bowl you out. He was a sure pick for the national team in a few years. I often overheard the old men saying he could make the West Indies team. No one from the small islands was on the team, something about the selectors always favouring the big island boys. But everybody in our village was sure Shane would be the first to wear maroon. He would make us all proud; Gros Michel’s finest.

“I want to play,” Shane shouted as he sprinted towards the wicket area.

“No, no,” I responded. “We done start wi.”

“Why?”

“Because we done start to play and you cyah join.”

“Just throw a coin, heads or tails and I go join any of de teams.’

“No, we start already and dat not not fair.”

“Anybody have a coin?” he asked, with total disregard for me. We never agreed on anything, he always got his way though; he would bully everyone if he didn’t.

“I doh want you on my team!”

“Okay, I will jus play for de other team ner,” he responded as he grabbed the ball from the bowler’s hand.

“You cyah bowl, you just come wii,”

“So? I want to bowl you cause I know you fraid me.”

“I fraid you? Boy doh make me laff,”

“Well let me bowl den if you not fraid,”

“Okay bowl den!” I responded. He had a way of getting us to do exactly as he pleased.

Now Shane walked back to the bowling mark. He stormed in to bowl but I had a plan. As soon as he approached the crease I walked away from the wicket.

“Bat, boy bat! you fraid man?” Dwight, the wicketkeeper, screamed out from behind the wicket.

“Fraid who? Fraid Shane? Joke dat ner boy, a fly was in my eye.” The truth is I was shaking all over; I couldn’t even grip the bat properly because my palms were so sweaty. I didn’t know what to expect from him. He went back to his bowling mark, only to storm back towards me again. This time I could see the anger in his eyes, he looked like he wanted to just rip my stumps from the ground and break them in half.

I could see a river of sweat flowing down his face, right between his cock eyes. I was always troubled by them, I never knew in which direction he was watching and that made him even more difficult to read as a bowler. Cockeyed and bowlegged, he wasn’t the prettiest of sites as he ran in to bowl but he scared the hell out of me. For some reason he hated me and I guess I would have hated me too if I was always mocking my walk, talk and eyes. I could tell that he really wanted to “chikayay” my wicket. Again as he approached the bowling crease, I walked away from the wicket.

“If you doh bat, I will throw a beamer at you,” he screamed at me. I could see the frustration building up in him. He was panting heavily now, as he put a lot of effort into his delivery strides. I was tiring him, my plan was working, I hoped. I was still nervous though, my palms still sweaty and now Junie was watching the game.

She was my childhood crush, the love of my life, back then. The prettiest girl in the neighbourhood and she liked me, well I thought she liked me. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself, I couldn’t and I would never forgive myself for that. I had to bat and I had to be brave too.

I would stay in the wicket this time and play a stroke. As soon as I turned my attention back to cricket, I remembered that I was facing Shane, but it was too late now, he was already delivering the ball. I couldn’t evade the bouncer, no time to dock or no room to leave the crease. Before I had a moment to blink, the ball had already struck my left shoulder.

“Ahhhhh!” I shouted out, “I wasn’t ready boy.”

“Your bat was down, you was ready.”

“Something was on my mind.”

“Something, someone or Junie?” Dwight shouted from behind the stumps.

“Shut up ner boy,” I sprayed as I rubbed my wound, it was already swollen.

“Just bat!”

“Just bowl when I’m ready.”

“Okay, you ready now?”

“Yes, now I ready for you wii” I said nervously, knowing that my big mouth had gotten me in more trouble, as always.

“I’m gonna york you, right on your toes, look out eh,” Shane grinned at me.

“I need my toes,” I thought.

Now I was the one who was perspiring with a river of sweat overflowing down my forehead, even into my eyes. Shane looked a blur as he approached me; I was having trouble breathing, concentrating on his delivery. I don’t even know what happened next, all I remember was the laughter of everyone and picking my bat from off the ground.

“Boy, play a stroke ner!”

“Bat boy, bat!”

The bat had been knocked from my grip. So powerful was the delivery that the ball found itself passed the boundary mark; the make belief boundary mark. I didn’t even have any time to realize what was going on but I wished that it would have been a single because I still had to face Shane. I decided the next ball would be do or die, I would swing with all my might.

Now I was ready, I wiped the sweat from my forehead, dried my palms and made sure that my grip was firm. My bat would not be knocked from my hands, not this time. Shane would not get the better of me, not this time, I was sure of it. It was my moment and I would not be deterred. I would not be intimidated, not by Shane.

“Let’s go, I ready now wii,” I shouted at him, “give me your best ball.”

He just grinned at me, as he stampeded towards the wicket. There was a glimmer in his eyes but I hoped that he had also seen the determination in mine too. He sprung into action, leaped into the air and I saw that bright red rubber ball heading straight towards me. It looked even bigger than the full moon of last week, there was no way I would miss it. I was about to hit him for six runs. I smiled, tightened my grip of the bat and swung as forcefully as I could. It was my best stroke; well that was what I had thought. I heard a crashing noise but nothing like I had expected. I heard shouts of jubilation, I saw Shane jumping in the air. I turned to watch my wicket, or what was left of it; broken pieces of wood, only one half-stump still in the dirt road. The others seemed to have disappeared, turned to dust. Something else was wrong, my hands were empty.

“Where de bat ner?” I asked, looking lost and bewildered.

“In Mad Lazare yard,” Shane shouted as he pointed in the direction of the broken down shack.

“How it end up dere ner?” I asked in disbelief.

“How you mean how it end up dere ner?”

“You doh know what you do den?”

“Awa, what happen?”

“De bat fly from your hand and end up in de man yard, you better get de bat eh,”

“Me, why me? Is not my bat ner!”

“You dat batting wii,”

“So?”

The debate was pointless; I had to retrieve the bat. That was one of our unwritten rules; whoever lost anything, ball or bat, had to retrieve it. It pained me when I realized what had happened, a blind stroke cost me my dignity that day. Broken wicket, lost bat was too much for my ego and now I had to venture into the unknown.

Bangladesh turns the table

I am a sore loser, why should I like losing anyways, it's not like I get anything from it, well except the lessons learnt but it's not like I want to learn anything from a loss. But somehow, it seems like the Caribbean cricket team, the West Indies behaves in the opposite and have become so used to losing matches that it has become an artform to the present generation of players.

I've always heard about the glory days, when the team were World Champs and could do no wrong, now it seems like they can do no right. I don't know much about the politics of sports but i'm sure that those involved in the regional management needs to be fired, just let go the entire board, the players, coaches and let everybody re-apply for the positions. Then through a careful selection process you choose those who you feel can do that job or to hell with everybody, you just hire new people and build from the ground up with a new crop of young players who haven't yet been influenced by the greedy and power hungry.

The players are as much to blame as the West Indies Cricket Board. Hey, I would even blame the legends of the game, the commentators and some fans. In fact, everybody who has somehow contributed to the state of the current game needs to go. I am of the mindset now, after seeing them under-perform in two one-day internationals that the bunch of overpaid employees should all be axed. It is not just the losing, its the manner in which they lose, they showed no enthusiasm, no real determination to fight it out until the end, I hate to see the state of the game.

But as usual, nothing is going to get done about it, we are just too laissez-faire and have come to accept mediocrity within all aspects of our island-life. Lord help the Caribbean game, once a source of pride and power, now a sight of shame and promise without purpose. Shame on them.

In the meantime, I did enjoy the environment at the Windsor Park Sports Stadium; with the moko jumbies, lapo kabwit, digicel girls and carnivalesque atmosphere. I would love another national event soon, but maybe football next time around. Another defeat at the Windsor Park for the West Indies might just send me to the grave, the supporters grave that is, never to return again. We only had one real thing to cheer about (the century by Dowlin), but the crowd cheered on everything because moments like these are meant to be cherised. So now the history books have to be written, Bangladesh first series win in a One-Day International came against the West Indies team in beautiful Dominica. My country has to bear the shame of the shameless team. Ah mag way sah

Nesta

Cricket and more cricket

This time I am talking about the sport and not the insect. I haven't posted on my blog since last weekend and that's because I was a little busy and just didn't have the time to seat down and type. I think I needed the week off as well.

But i'm back and although I dont have any poems to post (building up my collection to have in my new book), I do have a electric experience to rant and rave about. Yesterday I was at the Windsor Park Sports Stadium in downtown Roseau, well actually I was next door since I live in Roseau to witness the first International One Day Match between the West Indies and Bangladesh in Dominica at the brand new (open to debate) venue.

I had a first hand view, because as an usher I had access to more facilitaties than the average fan and I did take advantage of that. I didn't get any autographs, the Head Usher frowned upon that type of interaction with the players, but I did manage to talk to a few of them and even found myself in the party stand (no free food or drinks though).

What I most enjoyed about being there was the crowd's energy and how supportive they were of both teams during the game. The thousands didn't bother which team was performing well, every run, four or six was cheered (for those who don't understand the sport this can be very complicating). Off course, I didn't have much time to really watch the early hours of the game as I had to be ushering the fans to their respective seats but I was able to witness the demise of the makeshift West Indies team at the hands of the superior Bangladesh team.

It was almost like waiting on the obvious after the first hour of West Indies batting innings, all that was debatable was the number of runs that the team would achieve and the margin of defeat. I was disappointed in the team's overall effort but there were still moments of brilliance and times when the whole environment made me observe in awe at everything going on.

I will surely do it again and very soon since I am up for volunteer duty again on Tuesday for the Second International One Day match, let's hope the Windies can square up the series. I got my fingers and toes crossed, Wish us luck...

Nesta

For official information and statistics on the match: http://www.windiescricket.com/ or http://www.cricinfo.com/