In the last few weeks, there has been a movement towards village unity. Normally the village is fractured and divided, not necessarily because there are lots of arguments and disagreements, although they do exist, but simply because no one can be bothered to do anything together. The tendency to act for oneself, without considering the effects on others, is a highly irritating and very strong trend in village life.

The cause that has united the village has been the start of the softball season. Each of the five communities in the valley has a team, and the league is intensely competitive, with games nightly over several months. Twice a week, the team from my village takes on the competition, and a very large part of the community goes to the pitch down the road to support and cheer them on. The pitch is floodlit, and so in order to prevent the violent protests that would occur if the game was suspended due to a power failure, the electricity company has ensuring a reliable supply. As a result, every family is relieved that for a few hours each evening, the electricity supply is predictably present.

The good atmosphere is provided by the variety of establishments selling fried plantains and grilled chicken that set themselves up around the perimeter, as well as the necessary supply of rum and cold beer. There is also a pair of pundits who provide a commentary on the proceedings, broadcast over a shaky and unpredictably PA system. They have certainly got a routine going, and it must be quite unnerving for the batsman to be facing a pitcher, with derogatory remarks being broadcast as your neighbours watch and listen in. One of their favourites regards is when a ball is hit high in the air, and the predictable comment comes without fail and without variation:
“oh, that has gone way way up in the air. The fielder waits, has a cup of coffee, and catches.”
Most nights they share a bottle of rum, and as the evening wears on and the bottle slowly drains itself, the comments get more slurred, inaccurate and entertaining.

Our team is called The Stallions, and the competition comes from The Bulls, The Dragons, The Rockets and The Family. I personally find the last one most amusing, not least because it invokes a somewhat less power-filled image than the other name, but because that team’s community of origin is rather inbred, so if the name isn’t as macho as the rest, it is certainly accurate.

The reason why the team is called The Stallions is because the president of the team, an extremely rich and famous businessman with a weekend home up here, is a keen horseman. Admittedly, if they play badly they get called The Mares or The Foals. As he paid for the uniforms, he can decide what team name goes on the front, and can put his company logo on the back. He likes to treat the team as a kind of hobby, with more than a little say in the selection process. If they are winning, he will buy everyone a beer and encourage them to cheer louder, and when the victory comes, he demands that they all go and get drunk with him. It is only a matter of time until he decides to sign some major league baseballer on a million dollar contract to come and play in our local league, just so we can defend our hard-won title from last season.

A bunch of lads from the village and I like to sit at the action end, as this presents some wonderful opportunities for cheering on the Stallions, and for hurling abuse at the opposition players. If our man comes up to bat, he is ordered to smack the ball out the back of the pitch and try and hit the grilled chicken shack, not just for the ensuing homerun, but also for the comedy value. At the same time, we will be denigrating the pathetic deliveries of the opposition pitcher, commenting on his beer belly and a thousand other attempts to put him off. Missed hits by opposition batsmen are met with jeers and insults, and when he is caught out, he has to pass us on his way back to sit on the team bench, which presents a fantastic opportunity to kick a man when he is down and out. Marvellous fun.

I have to go down to the pitch just now, I have some cheering and jeering to do.