All good things must come to an end

By Din Duggan

THEY SAY all good things must come to an end. The Olympics is over. It ended too soon. Usain Bolt and Team Jamaica's riveting conquest - four gold, four silver, four bronze medals - and billions of awestruck eyes across the globe, a virtual Jamaican colonisation of London, was certainly a good thing; an amazing thing.

Before it's all gone, though, before the memories escape to some distant corner of my mind, I feel compelled to jot down a few thoughts about what unfolded. But I won't. There's nothing new to add. The feelings have all been masterfully conveyed by others; the experiences recapped and recounted.

I don't want to be redundant. Plus, I fear I may betray my jealousy of those - such as JustBet's Andrei Roper - fortunate enough to witness the greatest show on earth, live and in living colour, from London's Olympic Stadium.

Then again, Andrei et al weren't privileged - as we were - to experience the euphoria of being in Jamaica as we conquered the world. They didn't hear the drumbeat of a proud nation as we racked up medal after medal. They didn't stand in the home of a legend (Tracks & Records, not Sherwood Content) as a legend was born.

They missed the "overlation" in Half-Way Tree as throngs of black, green, and gold-clad, medal-maddened Jamaicans chanted "one, two, tree; one, two tree" (Carolyn Cooper must have been proud. We sent a message to the world, in "straight Patois, no English", and it came across as clear as if the Queen herself had been the utterer).

Andrei and the London party missed the Jamaican party. They missed Miss Mavis - possessed with pride - beating the hell out of two Dutch pot covers. Do they even have Dutch pots in London? Oh, they do? But do they have Miss Mavis in London? Didn't think so.

Really, though, I'm happy for all who witnessed the Jamaican invasion - from London, Kingston, or wherever else on God's black, gold, and green earth you happened to be. Our perspectives were different, yes, but our pride in victory was the same. And that's what truly matters. Ultimately, we're all in the same, brilliant, Jamaican snapshot together, just striking different poses.

'BAD MIND'

Of course, I'm not truly jealous - after all, that's not a trait becoming of a grown man; though no one told Carl Lewis. He had his time on the mountain top. In an era of rampant steroid abuse, he managed - somehow - to climb to the pinnacle of his sport. And then, like all things under the sun, his moment ended. As he descended the summit and walked through the valley of obscurity, en route to the place where forgotten heroes go, he witnessed a better man, against greater odds, conquering a higher mountain.

Instead of tipping his hat and cordially welcoming a rising legend into a club whose gates few mortals have entered, Lewis tried to rain on Usain Bolt's - and, by extension, Jamaica's - parade. And that's why I - and most Jamaicans (and many Americans) - share our legend's sentiments: we've "lost all respect for Carl Lewis".

Carl, next time you're granted a global platform, try to remind yourself: all good things must come to an end. Your time came. Your time went. Hand over the baton, graciously.

BACK TO TRAINING CAMP

In the early days of this column, I was eager to share my opinions, formed from 30 years observing Jamaica and the world. The instant a column was published, I enthusiastically worked on another. I couldn't wait to add my voice to the impassioned pleas for change.

Two years, 24 months, 101 weeks, nearly 100 columns later, things have changed. I find myself at the point at which I have nothing new to add to the public discourse. How many different ways can one decry injustice? How many ways can one denounce corruption or lambast our flawed system of governance and those who have constructed it?

So the time is ripe to step aside for a while - a few months, perhaps - to again observe Jamaica and the world, quietly and peacefully, free from the burden of finding inventive ways to bang the same, old pot covers together. I'll use this sabbatical to recalibrate my brain so that, when the time is right for me to rejoin you, I can be more edifying; more enlightening; more useful.

Before I go, though, I'd like to invite some of our politicians to join me. Come; walk away, graciously. Surely, some of you need the break. Not coming? I didn't think so. After all, it's only the good things that seem to end too soon.

Din Duggan is an attorney working as a consultant with a global legal search firm. Email him at columns@gleanerjm.com or dinduggan@gmail.com or view his past columns at facebook.com/dinduggan and twitter.com/YoungDuggan.