I am at work, or I should be, but secretly, like every other Jamaican I have found myself glued to the television watching the Opening of this, the 30th Olympiad. Like every Jamaican, I will scoff at everybody else’s uniform, criticise the openining (except the “Queen’s” base jump atop James Bond) and scream UsafaYohanShellica, gold, nah lose, neva. I, dear friends, am a wagonist.
I am the proverbial jumper on, the knower of nothing, with the biggest mouth. I knoweth not anyone’s (well except Usain’s) record time or season’s best and I don’t care, for I am a wagonist: the bane of any legitimate sports fan’s existence. I am also Jamaican and killer and tief will stop to boom fist with policeman over sports, especially in celebration of what will be a medal crushing run at the Olympics.
We can’t agree on where the Ananda alert goes, nor on whom is the bigger parliamentary fish or gentleman but we will unite in the name of sport to decimate the opponent and no, we are not graceful winners. To that end, we are patriotic wagonists to a fault.
With all the Olympic hype, who can resist the bandoolu, vending and peddling. After all, a likkle money mus mek. From the officials bumming ride on plane to the mother country to do their duty of spectation to the higgler peddling flags on the streetside, wagonist patriotism is desperate to spend money and we are ready to sell.
If there is anytime Jamaica presents a unified front, the time is now. We simply will go haaaad and dun because we naaah lose
Back to the back of the wagon.