“Too black to be whitewashed” read the hand-written placards in the party stand of St Johns Oval in Antigua throughout the fourth Test on the final five-day match of Australia’s tour of the Caribbean in 2003.
It was a series the visitors had dominated up until that point, taking a 3-0 lead into Antigua. But this dead rubber had everything.
Both sides managed 240 in their first innings, then Australia forged ahead for 417 off 104 overs in their second attempt, thanks largely to centuries to Justin Langer and Matthew Hayden, who had enjoyed a 242-run opening stand.
After three fascinating, ganja-scented days, the Test was set to be remembered for Hayden’s continued emergence as a world force (he moved to No.2 on the Test batting rankings after the match) and Jermaine Lawson’s 7-78 wrecking the Aussies’ first innings, before he was reported for a suspect action.
The West Indies started the fourth day on 0-47, but with Chris Gayle, Devon Smith and Darren Ganga all back in the shed with the score at 74, things appeared dire for the home side. Brian Lara’s departure after lunch for 60, with the score at 4-165 and still more than 250 needed for victory, must have given the locals thoughts of tearing up their humourous banners.
But with the game on the line, Shivnarine Chanderpaul – widely chided for his inability to turn fifties into hundreds and often accused of hypochondria – produced arguably his most memorable innings.
The unassuming left-hander from Guyana was unfashionable yet effective. His awkward, crab-like and side-on stance elicited howls of derision from certain quarters, including his own – some Windies’ fans joked that he’d end his career as a right-hander if he continued to open up that stance as the years went on.
Nevertheless, Chanderpaul was at his majestic best on Day 4 against Glenn McGrath, Jason Gillespie, Brett Lee, Andy Bichel and Stuart MacGill, peeling off boundaries at will, particularly behind square on his favoured offside.
Against a bouncer barrage from the visitors, Chanderpaul – who found a willing ally in fellow centurion Ramnaresh Sarwan – swung the momentum of the match through dogged determination and willpower, no doubt learned through a domineering father who had pushed him hard as a kid in his native Unity Village.
The Antiguan crowd lapped up his shot making, and the atmosphere that afternoon at St Johns was electric as Chanderpaul and Sarwan frequently found the boundary.
Sarwan brought up his hundred first, before he chipped a return catch to Lee. When Ridley Jacobs was unluckily given out straight after, a fired-up Lee had two wickets in two balls to the disdain of the crowd and the delight of the right-arm quick.
But Chanderpaul held firm, putting both Gillespie and MacGill to the sword on his way to three figures. As he swept MacGill to the deep, with long shadows draped across the picturesque ground, Chanderpaul knelt down and kissed the ground in celebration.
With Omari Banks at the other end, Chanderpaul piloted the Windies to 6-371 at stumps, having plundered 143 runs in the final session, on a day that would also be remembered for McGrath’s furious altercation with Sarwan.
During the day, I’d been making friendly conversation with an Antiguan fan named Jimmy, thick-set and aged around 50, who was lapping up the action and regaling me with tales about local legends, ‘The Master Blaster’ Sir Isaac Vivian Alexander Richards and Curtly Ambrose. Then Jimmy asked me if I’d like to join him smoking some crack cocaine, as though this was perfectly normal for a day at the cricket. When I politely declined, Jimmy seemed to take it as personal affront to his warm Caribbean welcome. We were a long way from the SCG.
After beers and pizza that night at Richie Richardson’s beachside bar, Lashings, it was off to bed before what promised to be a cracking final day.
Our tour group of friends awoke early in anticipation, soaking up our hangovers with bacon and eggs, before heading to the ground in a minibus that was belting out Sean Paul and Mavado dancehall tunes. The reggae soundtrack continued upon arrival at the ground, with renowned local musician DJ Chickie pumping out the beats before play began. It was always a sight seeing the West Indian players grooving to Chickie’s tunes while they warmed up at 9am – ‘riddim’ running through the veins.
My anticipation was that the Windies could and should chase down the final 47 runs in the first session of that last morning, and therefore figured the party would be in full swing by lunchtime. Ordering rum and cokes at the bar, the friendly waitress poured around three times the standard amount of alcohol – clearly they hadn’t heard of RSA in the Caribbean.
Noticing a couple of local dudes toking on a funky cigarette just before play began, I was invited to partake. Surely it’d would’ve been rude not to.
I joined the lads in our seats and among the “Too black to be whitewashed” placards, the atmosphere was full of anticipation and nerves. The nerves were exacerbated when Chanderpaul went early to Lee, caught behind by Gilchrist. It had been a majestic knock of 104, including 17 boundaries and a six, and Chanderpaul received a massive ovation from the Antiguan crowd for his career-defining, man-of-the-match effort.
Nevertheless, the Windies batted on with intent, and chased down the record score in a bit over an hour through relatively unknown tail enders Omari Banks and Vasbert Drakes.
In the stand we downed a few more drinks and soaked up the moment (okay, I admit, perhaps I’d been double dipping on the drinks, as the excitement of watching history unfold and knowing the locals would go bananas as a result was too much to resist).
A few moments before the final runs were scored, I had an epiphany and realised I had to storm the field to enjoy the historic occasion. A few other geniuses seemed to have a similar idea, and ground security being what it was in that part of the world, we hopped the fence and started sprinting out to the wicket.
Well, actually in my case probably more like sauntered around in half a daze, with my floppy maroon Richie Richardson hat keeping the searing sun at bay. Around three quarters of the way to the middle we were stopped in our tracks by the police in their black, beige and red outfits, who sent us back towards the stand. I ambled back and soaked up the wild scenes of stands heaving with local revellers dancing up a storm.
While departing the field, I also noticed the sheer delight of Antiguan greats Richards and Andy Roberts, who embraced the likes of Sarwan, Chanderpaul and debutant ‘Banky’ Banks, and managed to exchange a few words with them on the way past.
By the time I was back at the party stand only a couple of the boys were left, and DJ Chickie had the party absolutely cranking. I noticed the West Indian players themselves joining the party, each taking the mic to perform an impromptu rap which detailed the events of the Test match. Some cricket freestylin’, if you will.
A crowd of hundreds gathered on the ground in front of the party stand, looking up at Chickie, the rapping players, and us fellow party goers, as though watching a concert. I also noticed we were being pushed by the heaving crowd ever closer to the mic.
Chris Gayle was the last player to rap: “De Australians – West Indies take ‘em down… Chanderpaul, the man to turn it ‘round.”
Gayle then passed the mic to me, with a sea of Antiguans looking on expectantly at what this white boy would come up with. No pressure!
Unfortunately, my freestyling skills are non-existent when sober, let alone in that state. Luckily Ziggy Marley’s 1991 album ‘Jah-Mek-Ya’ had been a staple for me since the age of 16, when the whole romance of the Caribbean had first kicked in while watching from afar as Haynes, Greenidge, Richardson, Richards, Hooper, Logie and Dujon wielded their bats, and Marshall, Patterson, Walsh and Ambrose terrorised with the ball to defeat Allan Border’s men 2-1. A young Brian Lara had been 12th man.
Anyway, I grabbed the mic from Gayle and impersonated Ziggy, letting rip with my best Jamaican patois. I saw the smiles and heard the laughter of a couple of thousand Antiguans at this unlikely turn of events.
I don’t think it’d be exaggerating to say the crowd went wild with applause, and we managed to get out of there with our reputations and national pride intact.
The peak of our day had been reached and it was 2pm. Running out of steam, we hailed a taxi back to our hotel and crashed for the afternoon before heading out to Lashings later that night.
It was probably the shortest day of Test cricket I’ve attended, and to this day still the sweetest. Something about cricket in the Caribbean takes you from spectator to participant in only a few short steps (or rums).
‘Too black to be whitewashed’ indeed – the Windies’ record 418-run chase remains intact to this day, thanks in no small part to that memorable century from the now-retired Chanderpaul.
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