The masters of cool arrive

Curtly Elconn Lynwall Ambrose is striding towards the crease. Bending his back like a sapling in a light breeze, he catapults forwards and in one seamless movement the white ball becomes supercharged and streaks towards Henderson Ricardo Bryan. Bryan, right-hand bat, belts the ball over the wall at the Malahide Cricket Club and into the public park behind. Now, that doesn't happen very often.

The West Indies. All diamond ear studs and wrap-around shades have arrived like a herd of long-striding giants amongst the local Liliputians, who have graciously offered up some of their youth as fielders. Andrew Smith and Peter Saville, two teenagers from Malahide CC, are having a day to remember.

An impressive collaboration of grace and power, the West Indians, twice winners of the World Cup, are lolling around in the hazy sun trying to shake the short hop from England out of their systems. Shivnarine Chanderpaul, with a child-like physique, but with timing to die for, sits engulfed between the towering figures of Courtney Walsh, right-arm fast, and manager Clive Lloyd. Chanderpaul hit 77 against Pakistan in their first Group B match of the competition, one they lost by 27 runs.

Only Lloyd bears any outward anxiety about his side's game against Bangladesh at Castle Avenue tomorrow. It is the first and only time Ireland have hosted a World Cup match, having failed to qualify for the competition and the West Indies must win it to have any hope of progressing to the final stages of the competition.

At the crease Ambrose gives Bryon out. But he doesn't want to walk. "No way man. No way," protests the batsman, flapping his hands in the air. Ambrose simply points to the sight-screen where the players slumber, waiting their turn.

In recent days friction has been generated in the media between Lloyd and Gordon Greenidge, both former West Indian greats. Greenidge is currently coach of Bangladesh and, unabashed, has voiced his opinion that the West Indies are struggling.

The Bangladesh team bus pulls up by the pavilion and out steps Greenidge. He cooly marches over to a group of players and officials, trades jokes and wanders off to the boundary with his adopted team. He is last seen jogging around the public park in a green, yellow and red track-suit.

"It's not a needle match," says Lloyd. "He's (Greenidge) got a job to do and I have a job to do. It doesn't matter. Gordon is obviously one of our icons. He's a very respected person in our sport. He wants to win just like we want to win and that's how I look at it."

From one icon to another, the now portly Lloyd speaks from behind a flourishing dark moustache and impenetrable black sunglasses. "I think a number of the players have been to Ireland before. But I don't know what the wicket is like. We haven't been to Clontarf yet. I think we'll have to adjust to what maybe is a slower wicket than we're used to, but they have to adjust as well. That's what professional cricket is about."

Lloyd gathers his Irish fielders around him as the session winds down. "You'll be here tomorrow 12.30?" he inquires. "Yes," goes the chorus. "You got any tickets for the match?" "No," they reply. "We'll bring tickets tomorrow," he says. Even getting the locals on-side is made to seem effortless by the West Indians.