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Kevin O'Brien Chang, Contributor

ALL SPORTS serve up the occasional storybook surprise. But watching the West Indies is becoming a surreal experience. Regularly plumbing the gloomiest depths and then abruptly soaring to ecstatic highs, Windies cricket increasingly resembles a weird theatre of the absurd. They say losing hurts worse than wining feels good. Yet the agony of constant defeat seems to make our rare triumphant moments even more exhilarating. A pitch black canvas punctuated by brilliant bursts of colour - such is the current picture of Caribbean cricket.

Wins or losses in the toy section of life generally matter little. Who cares about last year's Super Bowl or Premier League champions? Even patriotic events like World Cup football or the Olympics are quickly forgotten. Yes, I was disappointed when the Reggae Boyz didn't make it to Japan and Asafa Powell lost in Athens. But there's always a next time.

Windies cricket, however, is not only inextricably intertwined with West Indian identity, it often seems on the verge of dying. A ball game may be a slender thing on which to base regional unity, but it's all we have. So every humiliating defeat feels like another nail in the coffin of both the sport and the idea of West Indianness.

EMOTIONAL SEESAW

The emotional seesaw began in 1999. After a five-nil massacre in South Africa, in the first Test against Australia the West Indies lost their last six first innings wickets for 11 runs and then made 51 all out in the second innings. Newspaper reports spoke of grown men sitting and crying in the Queen's Park Oval stands afterwards, weeping not for a mere game but at the thought of a way of life being lost forever.

When the West Indies arrived at Norman Manley airport the papers ran a striking picture of a fan with pleading eyes grasping Brian Lara's arm as if to say 'Please save us!' That photo came to mind on the Saturday evening when after bowling Australia out for 256 the West Indies closed at a panic-stricken 37 for 4. Commentators mourned our clear inability to compete any longer on the international stage. All that remained were for the funeral rites to be read the next day. As I turned off the radio, the thought occurred that on the morrow I would have the exceptional ­ though sad ­ experience of actually watching a sport and culture die in real time.

ASTOUNDING

Well, there have been many astounding turnarounds in sport. But few can have matched, and surely none have surpassed what took place on March 14, 1999 at Sabina Park. Having lost their last 20 wickets for less than 100 runs, the West Indies scored 340 in one day without losing a wicket.

The emotions of that unforgettable day beggared description. Nervous despair slowly gave way to uneasy hope, and Brian Lara and Jimmy Adams went in to lunch at 106-4 to a standing ovation. But almost upon resumption Lara was dropped at 44, and a chill of horror returned. The batsmen stood firm, however, and the crowd became more animated with each run. Then Lara went for a close single on 99 and the stumps were hit. The crowd invaded the field, the third umpire deliberated, and after a seemingly endless 10 minutes the green light went on to frenzied celebrations around the ground. It was pure, authentic, unscripted theatre.

The runs kept coming, and the music got louder, and the cheering grew more exuberant. Four straight fours took Lara close to 200 and sent the crowd into ecstasy. And when the batsmen walked off to deafening applause at 377 for four, all was once again right with the West Indian world. Some of us shook our heads in wonder. Were we dreaming or awake? Could such an astounding transformation from absolute nadir to glorious apotheosis have actually taken place before our very eyes? The remaining West Indian wickets fell cheaply the next day, but Australia were reduced to 157 for eight and Windies victory assured. So 14 wickets fell on the first day, 14 on the third, and yet none on the second ­ twilight zone stuff.

Unbelievably another miracle unfolded in the next Test at Kensington. In an atmosphere of indescribable tension and joy, Lara played an innings Clive Lloyd called 'the stuff of dreams' to guide the Windies home by one wicket. I blinked in astonishment. One real life Hollywood style ending was amazing enough. But two in a row?

Well, we Windies fans have been rubbing our eyes regularly since then. The record fourth innings winning score of 418 for seven. An even more dismal nadir of 47 all out. Lara's record 400 not out resurrection. The ultimate humiliation of a whitewash by the former English colonial masters.

CONSTANTLY CRUSHED

Then on Saturday, September 25, West Indies cricket came back from the dead again. The team which had been constantly crushed all year had suddenly won three straight to reach the ICC final. But when Chanderpaul went at 148 for eight it looked all over. Yet, once more another living fairy tale unfolded before our eyes. Browne and Bradshaw put on 20, then 30, then 50. Suddenly it was 12 runs off 12 balls needed. And then in the gathering dark Bradshaw was on one knee driving in true Calypso style for victory. I watched the ecstatic flag-waving West Indies celebrations in stunned disbelief. After the whitewash even a respectable showing seemed a lot to ask for. But a record 9th wicket stand in the evening dusk to win our first major ODI championship in 25 years?

'A breathless hush in the Close tonight.' Glorious uncertainty. Grace under pressure. Till the fat lady sings. From the jaws of defeat. Our only unifying force.

For once the clichés seemed not over the top but inadequate to describe reality. And what comes next in this incredible Windies drama?