MESSAGE FROM SCOTT HARLAND
Hello! Or shall I say "Ya mon"?
Sorry for the delay in writing, but a) my boss requires regukar reports to ensure that I haven't gone Caribbean, and b) rum is really cheap-which shouldn't affect me since I try to stay away from the devil drink, but beer is also really cheap and my bartender is usually too sloshed in the morning on rum to give me enough beer for me to get fired up to work. Everything slows down because of that damned cheap rum.
Week one. Scott meets the rugby crew-half locals that are not aware of the need to give back to the game or old boys tired of giving back without support. Common enough. Scott attends a couple of practices and recognizes aspects of sessions from home-25 years ago.
End of week one-after some painful running around an incessantly hot country, I buy a bicycle. Ride it 18 km home that afternoon to change into rugby gear. Ride it back 18km to the rugby park for an exhibition game vs Guy's Hospital (an old Prairie Invitational opponent of the Waspies). I show up to assess the local ref but they say they might need me to play. I tape up my ears and fingers for a grind in the forwards with a team full of fast, dodgy backs. They put me on the wing in the corner that's not yet lit by the rented overhead lights. First kick goes to? Damn.
Off at half time with some pros and cons to my performance, I Iook forward to a much deserved rest and cheap beer. Oops-no touch judge-I'll do it! Then comes the world's worst mouthguard bounce. Guy's hosp fullback whips his mouthguard at the ground following a B'dos try. The "gum shield" (local term-who said this wasn't an educational web site?) Still with me? The mouthguard rebounds 10 metres to nail the ref in the back of the head, who thinks the fullback threw a rock at him and stomps off the field in a rage. Everyone looks at the one ref still around-me. I wish I had adjusted that bike seat earlier, cuz now my butt hurts and I'm tired and want a drink. End of game I sit in front of the last car forcing him to take me and my bike home. Fortunately near my lodgings I can get rehydrated at Buffy's bar, the closest thing to the Cambridge if you take away a few walls, waitresses, running water and VLTs. Still missing the wife and family.
Two weeks and 12kgs of sweat later I am in Trinidad. Leslie Figaro, longstanding Waspie friend and magical dancer is president of the whole damned union. After a few coaching sessions I find myself at the Royallians' after session beer joint and end up singing a one-man version of the Stray Wasps Strut. They had no answer, so I called them names all night.
Guyana-drinking one night with the local rugby boys outside a bakery near a grass field. An 18 inch rat runs out of the grass and drags a Styrofoam plate back into the grass. All about four feet away from my sandaled toes. When I later ask where to release the beer tension I am directed toward the grass-no way I'm swinging bait in front of plague beasts! Well-one beer later I did, but I jumped around a lot.
Next trip St. Vincent. As usual, the participants for any coaching or refereeing workshop in the Caribbean show up over an hour late. NO ONE SHOWS UP IN THE FIRST HOUR. Except me. But St. Vincent
Did offer me a chance to trash a cricket ground on day one and terrorize a beach on day two. Yes-full contact men and women session in the beautiful blue Caribbean sea. And a live volcano nearby. COOL!!
Back in B'dos for a while before the next clinic or tournament takes me away (I have so far acted as Match Commissioner for 17 Int'l matches and refereed one). Our place in B'dos will be 32/33 Old Chancery Lane. Google earth us-we're just below the airport and above Chancery Swamp. Sounds worse than in is-I have to leave some mangoes at the top of our tree to appease the resident monkey, but the limes from the adjacent tree are all mine. Which is fine, because whoever heard of a mango margarita?
NEXT EDITION-cheap beer, expensive refrigeration- an insurmountable Catch 22 or a cheap Canuck?