Four and zero
Sabina Park - influence can arrive in many forms.
I’d just made a forgettable first-class debut against Jamaica at Sabina Park, the then cathedral of Jamaican cricket. It was 1987, a pre-season tour for Lancashire. I was a long way down the batting depth chart. However, several injuries meant I was selected for the marquee game of the tour against the hosts, captained by Michael Holding. We were well beaten, rolled for 90-odd in the first innings—Jamaica won by nine wickets. My contribution was four and zero. Yes, pretty unremarkable.
The experience, though, was amazing. Sabina Park had a villainous reputation due to the extreme pace of its wicket. The ground sits in the southern suburbs of Kingston on South Camp Road, approximately 2.4km directly east of Bob Marley's Trench Town.
The main pavilion to the left of the dressing rooms was a grand, rambling structure that ebbed and flowed with thirsty patrons throughout the game. The opposite end housed what seemed to be the locals who didn't qualify for a position in the pavilion. To the right, a sparsely populated stand — and behind it, across the street, the local gun court. Prison.
Every morning, the bus from our New Kingston hotel would stop on South Camp Road before turning into the ground. There was no prison wall—just an open wire fence. People lined the perimeter, shouting messages toward the concrete blocks, some jovial, others more stern. It was like the sky-high balcony that draws you ever closer. I wanted to get out and see for myself— not the best idea, at that time, Kingston was one of the most dangerous cities in the world. Instead, I nicked one to slip, and kicked a full, straight ball.
It’s nearly forty years hence, and I still see that line of people like it was yesterday. I often wonder how life worked out for them.
Nick
