Basil Jarrett | In defence of old boys – even those from KC

AFTER WATCHING the two most spectacular individual performances in Champs history last week, I was very disheartened to hear not one, but two of our major evening drive-time news radio stations focus instead on the ugly scenes created by young Nicardo Clarke who took extreme umbrage to being tripped up and denied a medal in the Class 2 100m final. Of all the amazing feats last week, this is what dominates the talk shows?

While I don’t want to wade into the argument over what led to his surprising reinstatement after being initially banned by ISSA, I will say that I disagree with anyone who believes disqualification for the remainder of the games would have been excessive. If this was the Manning Cup and a player had retaliated like that to a bad foul, the laws of the game and the viewing public would have deemed the punishment quite fitting. Why should this incident be any different?

EVEN THOSE FROM NORTH STREET

But let me get back to Champs’ first sub-11 and sub-10 timings. It was truly amazing to behold. I’m happy to be alive to see two kids run so fast. Now, despite my obvious joy at seeing these record-setting runs, my love/hate relationship with Champs is still very much alive. I love Champs for the colour and the energy and the passion and the spirit and the talent and the emotion … but I hate to see how disproportionate our support for track and field is, when compared to the academic fortunes of our youngsters. I want to make it clear, however, that by no means is my criticism of how we treat high school sports a criticism of the school spirit demonstrated by our old boys and past students – even those from North Street.

Whenever I’m asked why we remain so loyal to our alma mater even years after we’ve left, I think I speak for all the boys’ schools when I say “If you didn’t go, then you wouldn’t know”. This is why so many people struggle to understand why at this time of year, all of North Street is painted in purple, a blue mist descends from top side Liguanea, and green and black are the national colours on every square inch of Red Hills Road. Even the Maroon Machine of Heroes Circle shows its head occasionally between its hundred years Champs winning intervals. It’s not a cult. It’s not fanaticism. And it’s not men being boys. There is a deeper meaning to the passion and commitment that old boys show for their alma mater, and it lies heavily, I believe, in the challenges and struggles faced by young men growing up in this country.

TOUGH TIMES MAKE STRONG MEN

I grew up in the turbulent ‘90s when getting to school often meant literally fighting your way on to a packed minibus. Bus drivers and conductors did not want to take anything in a blue shirt and this often exploded into violent confrontation as young men, brimming with ego and testosterone, would push back, oftentimes literally, against that familiar refrain of “no schoolers”. There is strength in numbers and so we would bond together as a collective against this common threat. That unity naturally extended to other shared menaces such as rival schools, rival classmates, and even rival social issues in our homes and communities. When we didn’t have lunch money, it was the collective that shared a patty or a cocoa bread and a sky juice. When we didn’t have bus fare, it was the collective that walked in unison to Half-Way Tree. And when the fights broke out, it was the collective that stood in front of, beside and behind you. For many of us, school was a release, a way out from our dire circumstances at home.

This was where we got respect, recognition and, very importantly, acceptance. High school made us feel as if we were a part of something bigger than ourselves and gave us a space in a society that treated men as an endangered species. And as the family unit eroded and other societal structures broke down, we sought and found refuge in our peers and school groups.

A GANG FOR GOOD

If this sounds similar to how gangs develop, evolve and recruit talent, then you’d be spot on correct. To an extent, high school was just like a gang, in that it appealed to youngsters who were looking for something that was missing from their lives. The major difference, however, is that this gang connectivity manifests itself in a very positive and material way. From infrastructure to nutrition to equipment and welfare, it’s the gang of old boys who make it happen.

So Champs is a reunion and a religion of sorts. A way to come back to church and to fellowship with each other each year. Just last week I saw an old schoolmate that I hadn’t seen in years, who had come down for the games. I didn’t know when I would see him again and so I thanked him for his friendship and for literally changing my life when I was a young, troubled and stupid teenager.

DEMANDING MORE IN THE CLASSROOM

So my problem has never been the support for high school sports by old boys and past students. After all, if all I could do in high school was run, jump and throw then it makes sense that when I left school, I would support the runners, the jumpers and the throwers. But where are the guys who did well in physics, accounting, and calculus? Why aren’t they as frustrated with our academic malaise? It may well be unrealistic to expect that the benefactors of high school sports teams will get up tomorrow and start to sponsor academic initiatives. What is perhaps more achievable is for those who have a stronger appreciation of the value of education to bring a similar demand and support for better bookwork. And don’t tell me it can’t happen. It happens at Campion. It happens at Glenmuir. It’s even happening at Manchester High whose alumni just announced a $100-million academic endowment trust fund last week. Bouwahjgie Nkrumie and Alana Reid lifted persons from their seats at Champs last week. Perhaps it’s now time for us to get off our butts for them.

I dedicate today’s column to my friend ‘Sir Charles’, who came down for Champs last week and told me that he’s in the fight of his life. The collective and I stand in front of, beside and behind you, my brother.

Major Basil Jarrett is a communications strategist and CEO of Artemis Consulting, a communications consulting firm specialising in crisis communications and reputation management. Send feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com