“Citius, altius, fortius - faster, higher, stronger.”

I’ve never liked the Olympic motto. For man’s glory is his mind, not his body. We will never run faster than cheetahs, jump higher than kangaroos, or lift heavier weights than elephants. Which is why the athletes who impress me are not those who dominate by sheer physical superiority but those who triumph through mental strength.

We who earn our bread by words or numbers often secretly disdain those that live by their bodies. Even amidst our cheering hero worship there lurks the thought that these magnificent physiques are controlled by childlike brains. Perhaps this condescension is tinged with envy. If George Orwell is right that sports is war minus the shooting, then athletes are warriors without guns. And in Shakespeare’s words, “Never a knave or coward but Ajax is his fool”.

But sometimes an athlete demonstrates such bravery and determination that even deskbound pansies cannot but marvel in unbridled admiration. Take Mohamed Ali’s victory over George Foreman in Kinshasha. Faced with a younger foe of fearsome power, Ali outthought and outgutted Foreman. Ali later admitted that Foreman’s heavy punches left him groggy as he ‘rope-a-doped’. But as he inimitably put it, “A champion’s gotta be able to see in the dark”.

Now ‘the greatest’ was sui generis and no other sport has boxing’s primeval authenticity. But in his ability to show grace under pressure Brian Lara ranks with any athlete who ever lived. His back-to-the-wall 213 at Sabina in 1999 was widely hailed as having saved West Indies cricket and the London Times called it ‘arguably the most significant innings in the history of the game’. His 153 at Kensington in the next test was the greatest chasing knock ever - ‘the stuff of legend’ said Clive Lloyd. Now the BBC has dubbed his 400 at Antigua ‘the greatest Test innings of all time’.

For Lara not only reclaimed his world record but yet again brought West Indies cricket virtually back from the dead. It’s the first time in a year I’ve watched cricket with pleasure and not fear and dread. Had Darrel Hair raised his finger to England’s loud first ball appeal I - and millions of others worn down by constant humiliation - might have switched off the game forever.

That the difference between a first ball duck and 400 not out came down to an umpire’s judgement and maybe a 100^th of an inch – well it’s hard not believe in destiny. Especially when Michael Vaughn was given out in almost identical circumstances. Truly the Gods have their favourites.

The mental toughness that enabled Lara to bat for 13 hours and face 582 balls without making a serious mistake awes me. When he was on 374 a friend nervously shouted “Just take singles!” at the TV. Lara promptly danced down the pitch and hoisted Batty for six, bringing the phrase ‘nerves of steel’ to mind. Before this match I frankly thought Lara was burnt out by nearly 10 years of almost single handedly keeping alight the flame of West Indies cricket. But maybe West Indies would have won or drawn this series if he hadn’t broken his finger in the first test. It’s still not fully healed, meaning the man made 400 with nine fingers.

Cricket is hardly the only sport central to its people’s cultural identity. Ice hockey may be the only distinctively Canadian thing about Canada. Basketball is almost a symbol of black malehood in inner city America. And a football world cup loss causes suicide or murder in many countries.

Still, cricket is the only thing that unites the English speaking Caribbean. Of course both cricket and West Indianness may be fated to wither away, with our culture becoming a minor branch of African-Americanness in the same way that dancehall may become a sub-genre of hip-hop. Perhaps Brian Lara is a modern West Indian equivalent of the legendary King Arthur who doggedly defended doomed Celtic Britain against the relentless Anglo-Saxon encroachment.

He is by far the most discussed man in the region, and our love-hate relationship with him is fascinating to observe. Recently I talked with two men who claim to be close to the West Indies team. One adamantly claimed that Lara was not on social speaking terms with any of the other players and that his demotivating presence was the primary cause of the dismal 47 at Sabina. The other assured me that the other players hero worshipped Lara and wholeheartedly supported  his fight against the West Indies Cricket Board’s incompetence.

Many comments suggest that sudden fame and fortune at 24 went to his head and he alienated many around him. Some say he has matured and mellowed, but others maintain a leopard can’t change his spots. He doesn’t strike me as a great captain on or off the field. But there have been few of those, probably only Frank Worrell and Clive Lloyd here. Gary Sobers was no great captain. Lara’s record is no worse than Jimmy Adams’ or Courtney Walsh’s or Carl Hooper’s. And he is nowhere as arrogant as Viv Richards.

A cricket captain is like a horse racing jockey. A good jockey can make a good horse run better, and a bad jockey can cause a good horse to run badly, but even the best jockey cannot make a bad horse win. It’s not Lara’s fault that Chris Gayle and Dwayne Smith and Ricardo Powell got out to stupid shots. Or that Shiv Chanderpaul gets sick every other test match. Or that Sandford and Collymore can’t bowl out Geoff Boycott’s mum. Or that Sarwan dropped Butcher at Sabina and Chanderpaul dropped him at Queen’s Park Oval – both times when England were about 50 for 3.

In any event I’m staying tuned for the next episode in the Brian Lara saga. There will surely be more plot twists and turns before this gripping story ends. changkob@hotmail.com