A phone conversation between Serena and Maria

One night Maria Sharapova gave Serena Williams a call. Serena was a bit surprised but was still willing to listen to what the Russian had to say and she responded appropriately.

SW: Hello, who’s this?

MS: It’s your greatest rival.

SW: You don’t sound like Venus to me.

MS: I’m not Venus you dummy.  I’m Maria.

SW: With all due respect Maria, a blonde whom I’ve beaten countless times should be the last person on earth to call me dummy.

MS: Why do you always have to give people this attitude? Geez. Enough already.

SW: So let me get this straight, you call my phone in the middle of the night, call me dummy when I can’t recognize your voice, as if I was even supposed to anyway, and then you have the audacity to tell me that I have an attitude?

MS: What does audacity mean?

SW: You’re blonde. You wouldn’t understand if I tell you.

MS: Excuse me? Do you have something against blondes?

SW: Do you have something against me?

MS: Why would you think that I would have something against you?

SW: Well let’s see, like I said before, I have beaten you countless times on the tennis court on all surfaces. I have more overall titles than you. Including Grand Slams and career prize money. I am ranked number one in the world and I am the current holder of all the Grand Slam titles.

MS: You think winning titles is everything in sports?

SW: Yes. That’s why I’ve been so successful for more than a decade.

MS: Well I’ve been fairly successful too. I have made millions of dollars…………..in endorsements.

SW: Precisely. Just like your compatriot Anna Kournikova.

MS: Anna who?

SW: Kournikova. Another Russian blonde with an American accent who my sister Venus and I beat regularly when she played. She’s retired now.

MS: I have never heard of her.

SW: Of course you wouldn’t. You’re so full of yourself.

MS: I beg your pardon?

SW: Any woman who can name a candy line Sugarpova as a variation of her surname has to be full of herself.

MS: Don’t you think that it’s important that I look at other avenues of earning money? I can’t play tennis forever you know.

SW: And you think that as a professional athlete, selling candy to little children is the best way to earn money outside of tennis?

MS: Listen, it was just a suggestion by my agent and I thought that I’d go along with it. Is it my fault that the venture would have been a success? Besides, both you and I know that I also have the ability to win on the court. Can’t you remember how I beat you at Wimbledon in 2004?

SW: And how many times have I beaten you since then?

MS:  Such statistics are irrelevant to me. In addition to which, I also won the US Open in 2006, the Australian Open in 2008 and the French Open in 2012 and 2014.

SW: The statistics of my beating you would obviously be irrelevant to you because it is too much losses for you to count. Besides, this year I am going for the calendar Grand Slam; having copped the first three Grand Slams of 2015 already. Do you think you can do that Ms. Sugarpova?

MS:  Look, I can see that this is going nowhere. I have had enough.

SW:  Enough of what? This conversation or my beating you?

Maria, in a rage, slammed the phone down on Serena. Still angry, she thought to herself: ‘I’ve had it up to here with this girl. Her domination of women’s tennis has to stop. It’s time that I come up with a sinister plan just like another blonde in another sport did to her great rival some years ago.’ Soon after Maria went online and sent a friend request to Tonya Harding on Facebook.

My provoking neighbour

                            

                          Where I live I always try to get along well with my neighbours. I am always of the belief that its always good to have friends. Whenever I am going out and I see them on the road, I always try to be mannerly and give them the utmost respect by telling them good morning or good evening as the case may be. There are even times like on weekends when I go to buy my newspapers that I would pass by some of them to see if they would want a newspaper too. So its safe to say that I have a good relationship with them. There is a particular elderly neighbour though who I have known since I was a child. Although I respect him a lot like I do all my other neighbours, lately he is getting on my nerves. You see my neighbor Mr. C belongs to a certain religious faith. The church I attend is just opposite his apartment. I have been attending that church for four years and I am quite happy to go there. But in recent times Mr. C has taken it upon himself to "teach me the truth." There was this incident back in August when, after I purchased a newspaper for Mr. C, he proceeded to ask me questions about where do good people go to when they die.

                             I knew exactly where he was coming from with this and felt the urge to tell him that I was not interested in having a religious discussion, still, I fell for the bait and answered, "Heaven." He then proceeded to tell me to read a particular verse from the bible when I go home which apparently debunks that belief.  I didn't take him on. "Why should I?" I said to myself. "Do I tell him or any of his family when and how to read the bible?" I went home with the belief that he would have probably forgotten about it and I left it as that. Boy was I wrong. For the next couple of weeks whenever he saw me on the road he would consistently ask me if I had read the verse. I would promptly reply, "No." What got me pissed off one day was when he told me that I was "playing with my salvation." I thought to myself to tell him off right there and then.

 

                             It then dawned on me, "Is this the way Christians should behave?" "Arguing over who can "better interpret" the Bible?" Although I really felt tempted to give him a good piece of my mind. But then again don't we ask God so often in the ever popular "Our Father" prayer to "lead us not into temptation?" There was another time when his tone towards me became quite aggressive. He saw me in the streets and began to shout at me in a loud, provoking tone if I had finally read the particular Bible verse. I kindly responded once more with a "No." He again responded with his sarcastic "play with my salvation" comment. "Okay," was my sarcastic response. Now a lot of you may be saying that my response wasn't all that appropriate either, but try walking the streets minding your own business and your neighbor who is much older than you and whom you would think is mature, keeps on harassing you. I have to admit that I was tempted to tell him that God was punishing him for being so provoking because he has severe problems with his knees and moves with the aid of a walking-stick.

                              Then when I thought about it, it would have really been futile. After all, doesn't the Bible say in Proverbs 15:1 that,"A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger?"So if I were to lower my standards to insult him, it really won't make me any better than him would it? It would be rather immature of me.  So I have made up my mind from now that I would just continue to keep my calm and respond appropriately to Mr. C according to what is said in Proverbs. Either that or I would just not respond at all. If he gets insulting and sarcastic, I'll just smile and walk away.  For although he is older than me and physically bigger, I can DEFINITELY be bigger than him when the time arises. What Mr. C fails to realize is that although he may be more biblically versed than I am, the God we both serve is bigger than us and we'll both have to answer to him one day. Like it or not.

                    

What to write about?

                           I have the funny feeling that I may be suffering from writer's block. For weeks now I haven't been able to produce any new work. I honestly don't know what on earth seems to be the problem. I read a lot of newspapers and books. I watch my fair share of TV. I surf the internet regularly. Yet somehow I don't know what's wrong. Is it that I am not cut out for writing? Do I lack inspiration or motivation? Am I too confined? I really don't know. To some people writing comes naturally. They can just sit by their PC and come up with an interesting story right off the bat. Be it fact or fiction. Not me though. I am not so fortunate. Or is it blessed? I need to take my time to put my thoughts together. I need to think about what to write. Lets face it, I'll never be John Grisham, Michael Crichton  or William Shakespeare. I can only be me. One of the problems that I seem to have is that I don't travel much. My life seems to be an endless cycle of going to work and coming home, going to church on Sundays and coming home. Do I need to travel abroad in order to get the relative experience in order to further enhance my writing?

                            Somehow I tend to get that impression. Even right now as I am typing this, the appropriate words seem to be hard to find. I know there is a saying that 'nothing in life comes easy' and that only hard work can bring success. But try telling that to the university student who studied hard for four years, sacrificing nights of precious sleep in some instances and still failed his final year exams. Would that be of any consolation? Not that I am saying that I am going to be a failure or anything. But the sad thing is that in life nothing is ever certain. Except death. Sure I'd love to be a successful writer one day. Sure I'd love to leave my current job and do something as relaxing as writing. I love to just sit back with my thoughts flowing like a busted water main in front my PC and just start writing like there is no tomorrow focusing on a wide range of topics. Should I write about current events? Like the war taking place in the Middle East right now or the dreaded Ebola epidemic? Should I write about sports? Or the latest movies now playing in the local theatres? Everything is all out there isn't it? Its just to find the right topic that sparks my interest.

                               I remember as a kid in school whenever my English teacher gave us imaginative essays to write I would always eager to get it done. To me it was a great joy to write those types of essays. You can always make up something. To me it came naturally. It didn't matter the topic. Now I have to find a topic and write on it. I have to hope that people actually read it and like it. No easy task is it? I have to be careful in selecting my words and know which one to use in which context. I have to make sure that my work makes sense and that there is a good flow to it. I have to ensure that it is of sufficient length so it doesn't appear as if I have a limited vocabulary or knowledge. The problem I have right now is that I don't travel much. In addition to which, I seemed to be bogged down by my current job which seems to be like a  life sentence. Now don't get me wrong, I am very much grateful for my job. Even though it may not be my dream job and I am not very fond of it. Still it pays the bills and puts food on the table. That said, it would still be wonderful to put pen to paper and come up with a brilliant story on a regular basis. It would be one which captivates the reader and brings a smile to their face.

                                 Is that so hard for me to do? Do I need someone to help me? Do I need divine intervention? I am at a loss right now. How is it that some people who are aspiring writers just seem to have a knack for coming up with brilliant work almost like nothing and there are others who just can't seem to get it right no matter how hard they try? Is that fair? What is it that establishes a great writer from a not-so-good -writer? Frankly speaking, not even I know the answer to that question. I guess I just need to keep on trying and trying to perfect the art of writing until someday, somehow, by divine intervention or otherwise, I finally become the writer that I am striving to be. It may be in the distant future or near future, but someday, I have the feeling, I'll finally reach my true potential. Fingers crossed.

                            

To School and Back

                      The new school term started this week. It also marks the beginning of the new school year. The first day of school is a day that some children love and most dread. Its a day when you start the long school term of roughly three months. I remember when I was a young boy growing up I always looked forward to the first day of school. It was a day when you would go to school and not do much work. You got to talk to your classmates about what you did during the long summer vacation. You got to show off what new pair of sneakers your mom bought for you and most importantly you got to find out who was going to be your teacher for the next school year. It would all be cool for the first few days of the week until you actually settled down to do the actual school work. Then the the real trouble began and you realized how much you missed the long summer vacation. There was one time though back in 1988 when every pupil's dream came true. The elementary school which I attended was not repaired on time during the summer vacation period. I was eight years old at the time and I had arrived in school with Barry my good neighbour and one of my best friends in school from the previous years. It was then that I noticed that there were a lot of school children and parents protesting outside the school compound.

                       I really didn't know what was going on at the time. I had never seen something like this before. It was then that the principal of the school, Mr. White came to address the gathering. We all waited in humble expectation  for what he possibly had to say. 'Good morning parents, pupils and teachers.' 'I regret to inform you that as of this time school will not continue until the relevant repairs are done.' 'The process will take approximately eight weeks.' Was I hearing right? Was school really going to be closed for an additional eight weeks? 'Wow!' I said in my mind as a smile appeared on my face. Not wanting to stick around too long in school, Barry and myself hurried home all excited to tell our parents the 'good news.' I arrived home very quickly. Naturally my mom was curious to know what was going on when she saw me. She decided to phone the school to confirm if my story was legitimate. I guess she was being a typical mother. Lo and behold it was in fact true. It was her worse nightmare. She would  have to endure my daily mischief for another two months. She then put me to sit down as she gave me a good long talk. 'Listen young man.' She said in a stern tone. 'You will be home for an additional two months now. That doesn't mean to say that you are on an extended vacation.' During the period I will be very strict with you and I will be teaching you from the new books that were bought for you for the school year.'

                     'I want you going back to school as sharp as ever.' 'You must not get the impression that you have an additional two months of vacation, okay young man?' 'Yes mom' was the reply as I thought about how the next eight weeks were going to be like. 'Was she going to be very strict with me?' 'Was I going to get the belt across my back often if I failed to study?' 'Would I be able to watch TV or play 'Police and Thief ' and more of my favorite childhood games with my best friend Barry?' During the next two months my mother delivered on her promise. Everyday she drilled me for at least two hours in my school work while my dad went to work. I naturally hated it but I knew that it was in my best interest. Sure, I had my period of fun and games and watching TV and playing 'Police and Thief' with Barry, but I still had to endure the arduous task of having to understand my lessons under the threat of the dreaded belt coming across my back. When school finally reopened in November, I wasn't disappointed at all. Surprisingly, I was ecstatic. After four long months I was finally going to get to wear my new uniform and sneakers and reunite with my classmates who I hadn't seen in ages. Yeah I know. It was only four months. For an eight-year-old though, it felt like eternity.

               

The English Language

                      I am no expert in the English Language. That said, one must admit that English has to be the most difficult language to understand. Even for those whose first language is in fact English. I was reading a newspaper headline the other day which read: 'Police shoot man with cutlass.' I thought to myself, 'how on earth can the police do that?' 'Is this cutlass a new weapon now being used by the police force?' Then there was this headline which was real funny, even if the alleged incident itself was not. It read: 'Impotent man freed of rape charge. Evidence couldn't stand up in court.' The more one studies the English Language the more and more bewildered one can become. One example of this is when it comes to plurals. I had always wondered why the plural of mouse is mice but the plural of house couldn't be hice. I'm sure many non-English speakers are wondering the same thing. If the plural of man is men, why can't the plural of pan be pen? It has always been quite confusing. Have you ever wondered what it feels like for a Spanish speaker who is learning English for the first time to understand that?  Another thing that can be quite bewildering too is the amount of words that mean almost the same thing. They are called synonyms. So one particular word can have multiple synonyms.

                     So the word 'big' can have numerous words that also mean big. Huge, enormous, gigantic, stupendous etc. Puzzling isn't it? One other observation about the English language is the amount of foreign words that get incorporated into the language that you just have to remember to pronounce the proper way. Like the word rendezvous. Well everyone knows that its a French word that is pronounced as 'run day voo' and of course it means to meet at an agreed time and place. So in other words I must also learn French in order to understand English too? Then there is the added confusion with words starting with 'F' and 'PH.' Why can't the word 'pharmacy' be spelled as FARMACY? After all, isn't the word farm spelt with an 'F'? Then we have this thing called homophones which are words that are pronounced the same way but are spelt differently and have entirely different meanings. Like 'there' and 'their.' Growing up as a young boy and doing English in school, I was always at pains deciphering when to use which 'there.' Or is it 'their?' You see the problem? Even native English speakers like myself are at pains to fully understand the concepts of the dreaded English language.

                   Apart from the above mentioned problems regarding the homophones, there is also the additional pain of which type of spelling to use for other words. Should I use the British spelling or the American spelling? The British spell fibre F I B R E whereas the Americans spell it as F I B E R. Even when I wrote the British spelling for this post, I was 'corrected' by the spell check for making an 'error.' So you see I really can't blame foreign speakers for having problems with the English language. It is certainly the most difficult language to understand. So the next time someone tells you something in plain English that you couldn't quite grasp the first time and they ask sarcastically if they were speaking Greek, a clever response would be, ' I'm sure the Greeks say something similar about English.'

                 

Hospital Stay

                                 Back in 2006 I got selected to start recruit training in the Trinidad & Tobago Fire Service having successfully applied. I was very excited about it because a few months before my younger cousin had also been selected and recently had his passing out parade. Everyone in my family was happy for him and were now looking forward to me getting in. A whole weight of expectations was now on my puny shoulders. On the morning of May 1st  I left home to start the recruit training. I was a bit of a sad occasion for my family, for I had never been away from home for more that two weeks and on that occasion it was by close relatives. This was different. I would be around a bunch of strangers who I don't know anything about but who I will have to accept as "family" for the next thirty days. I would also have to be engaged in tough training and take put up with difficult recruit trainers who wouldn't be afraid to give me the needed cuss word or relative physical punishment in the form of rigorous exercises if they thought I needed it. I was nervous as hell as I pondered what it will be like going through the tough training. I tried my best to remain calm as my driver, Roger tried to talk to me reassuringly and tried to take my mind about what the next four weeks will be like.

                                 I carried two bags with me. One contained personal items like clothes and basic toiletries. The other one contained my books for the theory work which I also had to do. Inside that particular bag also contained a pack of disposable contact lenses and the solution to go with it. I remember arriving a the training camp and a sense of fear came over me. There was a fire officer who greeted us and showed us to our respective dorms. He introduced himself to us as Officer Mc Intosh and he made all of us sign out names on a roll. he showed us how to fold our blankets and make up our beds the "proper way." On the first day of our say there, we didn't do much as regards to the actual training. We were just given our respective recruit trainee numbers and we were assigned to our respective squads. They was the M Squad, N Squad, O Squad and the P Squad. I was in the latter. We had to make friends quickly. As the days past though, we gradually started to get into our groove with regards the actual training. Being short sighted I wore my glasses. I hardly even used my contacts. One day though, an officer scolded my for wearing my glasses. I was in the mess hall having breakfast and he decided that he should give me some push ups to do because of it.

                              I then decided to use the glasses only when I had theory work. One fateful Friday evening though, an incident happened which would change my life forever. It was only the third week and we hadn't even started doing actual fire drills as yet because it was important that we master how to master the art of marching.  I wore the contacts the marching drill. The sun was extremely hot. I was just hoping for the session to end soon so that I can go back inside and have a good shower. Lo and behold I realized that my eyes were feeling irritated but I thought that it was important that I stick it out and finish the exercise. Big mistake. I so developed a severe eye infection. I didn't even know how serious it was at the time. I thought that it was pass soon. Unfortunately it got worse. My comrades in the dormitory alerted the senior officers of my plight and phoned home. A few minutes later my bother came to pick me up accompanied with my mother. My dad was at work at the time. I couldn't see a thing. All I saw was darkness. I was literally blind. I arrived at home and my brother helped me out the car as he guided me inside. He told my mother what was wrong and she was very worried indeed.  I have to admit that my brother couldn't seem to care less about my situation. My mother though, was most concerned. Naturally.

                            Both my mother and brother accompanied me to the hospital after, as I pondered my future. I told myself that I'll only spend a few days in the hospital and that I'll be back in training in no time at all. I couldn't be more wrong. I was taken to the doctor's office for him to examine me as my mom waited anxiously outside. My heart began to beat quickly as he inserted some sort of instrument in my eyes. He then shone a light in them as I struggled to open me eyes. The pain was excruciating. He then called the nurse and told her to bring the forceps. I started to pray in my mind. 'God please just let everything go all right and let me recover from this soon.' I was told to look up as he took the forceps and carefully pulled the contacts out of my eyes. All the time I was hoping for the moment to end soon. To me it felt like eternity. It was getting late so I had to be warded. My mom and brother had to leave. A sense of sadness, hopelessness and despair came over me. I had moved from a potential firefighter with a bright future to a helpless blind man at the mercy of other people. All at the ripe old age of 25. What was worse was that I didn't know  how long I would have been in the hospital or if I was ever going to resume my recruit training or even see for that matter.

                        I lay in my bed in ward 16 that night and cried. Sometime after though, in the middle of the night as I finally faced the reality of my seemingly hopeless situation, a young nurse came to tend to me. I could tell that she was young by her voice. She was very friendly. She told me that her name was Alana and that she was very sorry that such a young guy like me was in such a situation. She tried her best to cheer me up as she administered the drops to my infected eyes. I thanked her care and attention as she moved on to another patient. The days went by slowly. Thankfully though my mom, dad and aunt visited me every day of my stay. By about the third week of my stay I began to see slightly better. My mom had brought a small transistor radio for me so that can listen to some music. The World Cup Finals were coming up and I was very excited because Trinidad & Tobago had qualified and were we scheduled to feature in the fourth match of the tournament. I was allowed to into the nurses' station to watch the game because I was a well-behaved patient.

                      The younger nurses on the ward had taken a likeness to me because I was the only young male adult on the ward and I was around their age. I was also keen to answer any question on football on which they asked. The second day of the World Cup featured Trinidad & Tobago and Sweden in the second match of the day in a Group B encounter. I was so excited that day. It was the 10th June 2006. It was a very historic day in Trinidad & Tobago sporting history. Trinidad & Tobago was making its World Cup debut as the smallest country to play in the finals. I remember the pride I felt when I heard our National Anthem playing at a World Cup for the first time. I never gave us a ghost of a chance to get any result from that game with the Swedes. I said to myself that if we can keep the Swedes to under four goals it would be a great achievement indeed. Lo and behold Trinidad & Tobago were able to hold the mighty Swedes to a 0-0 draw. It was such a great feeling of excitement and satisfaction when the final whistle was blown and we had secured our first World Cup point in our very first match.

                       As the World Cup continued I began to feel less and less depressed. No longer was I thinking about how long and awful my stay was. I was gradually beginning to see better. The nurses were doing a fine job. Of course there were the nights that were very annoying. Like when the mosquitoes were feeling hungry and my blood was on their menu. Or when the grumpy doctor who tended to me at the hospital threatened to take me to the operating theatre for not 'opening my eyes' wide enough. The most devastating time of my hospital stay was when Mr. Gopaul, the head of the fire school came and told me that I couldn't resume training because I had missed too much and it would have been impossible to catch up with the rest of  the trainees. I was very upset but I took it in stride. 'Maybe its for the best.' I said to myself. After six weeks my ordeal was over. I will never forget that day. June 30th 2006. Although I still needed a few more months before the scarring on my eyes due to the infection fully healed, just hearing the doctor say, 'You are free to go' was one of the best moments of my life. I waited for my mom to pick me up. As we went home that day I couldn't wait to turn on the TV to see the World Cup quarterfinal between Germany & Argentina. After almost two months virtually away from home, I had finally returned. Sure, I wasn't going to be a firefighter again, but at least I was in the best place that I could possibly be  - Home sweet home.

                     

                             

Acting Engagements

                                       I had never really considered myself an actor. Somehow or the other though, people seem to think that way. Personally speaking, I never thought that I had the talent to play a character as realistically as possible. The first time that I acted in my first play was in 1990. It was a school play called Say No To Drugs about a young boy who goes to a party and his "friend" introduces him to marijuana. I get high on it and then become addicted and then face an uphill battle to come off it. After my performance I was given many kudos by my classmates and teacher. After that I never did much acting again until many years later as an adult. It was as recently as 2013. I received a call at home. Lo and behold it was the First Lady of the church which I attend. She informed me that they were having a play for Easter and that they were looking for a person to play Jesus. I paused for a moment as I thought about it. 'Did she say she wants me to play Jesus?' She then went on to say that I had the right look for the role seeing that I was the only guy in church who had a beard. 'How does she know that Jesus had beard?' I thought to myself. Then, without thinking, or perhaps not wanting to appear unwilling, I accepted the offer. She informed me of the day of the audition and at what time I was to come.

                                       'What on earth did you just do John?' I thought to myself. It was too late now. I had to go ahead with it. The name of the play we were doing was a very popular one. It was called Heaven's Gates Hell's Flames. For those of you who don't know what its about, its about Jesus' suffering and Crucifixion and rising from the dead and the consequences you face if you reject him as Lord and Saviour. In the first scene Jesus is carrying the cross down the aisle while Sandi Patty's Via Dolorosa plays in the background. He is then taken by the soldiers and crucified while Satan comes on stage and laughs as Jesus dies. Jesus of course, rises from the dead goes into hell (or to the hell box as it's called in the play) and comes back as the triumphant king. He has Satan crawl to him and he snatches the keys of hell from him, stomps on his back and then casts him back to hell.  Well not exactly. I just gently put my foot on the actor playing Satan's back. All this happens while He's Alive is playing . After Satan is defeated, Jesus ascends to heaven and then a series of short scenes involving people who make choices which either lead them to heaven or hell begins. The Friday before the play, all the 'actors' who were called to star in the production were requested to the church for a rehearsal and given their respective scripts to learn. As Jesus I had no lines but I still had to remember where to stand on stage and where to go to and when to go. It was  important that I gave a great performance because I didn't want to disappoint the church. Especially my Pastor and the First Lady.

                                   After the rehearsal, all the cast members felt satisfied with their respective performances. The big day was in two days time. Easter Sunday. The play was carded to start at six that evening and we were all very excited. I remember feeling nervous that day. Even through morning service all I could think about was the big play late in the evening. After service, Shawn, the stage director had a quick briefing with the cast members about what we had to do later on in the evening. We all left feeling confident that we were going to get everything right later on. After I had lunch and a quick nap that afternoon, I took a cold shower and headed to church to prepare for the play. I have to admit that I really enjoyed putting on my costume and having the 'wounds' painted on my hands and feet. Soon it was show time. I stood at the top of the church aisle as I spotlight shone on me while the rest of the church was in darkness. Then Via Dolorosa started playing. This was it. No room for error. My heart started beating fast as I felt a little nervous. I said a little prayer in my mind so that all fear and apprehensions would be removed from me. Then everything started to flow. I started to become confident. I graced the stage with poise and a sense of boldness overcame me. Soon everyone began acing their parts brilliantly as the audience grew more and more satisfied by what they were seeing and enjoyed every moment.

                                  At the end of the play the cast received a standing ovation from the audience. For some strange reason I received the biggest cheers. When we got out of our costumes, the church members began referring to me as 'Jesus.' I was congratulated by the Pastor and the First Lady for the job I had done. I tried to sound as modest as possible by stating that everyone involved in the production, including the electricians, sound engineers and musicians made it possible. And that was true. Unfortunately though, since the play I am now the 'Official Jesus' in the church and it has been stated that my services will be required in the future. In fact on Easter Sunday this year I had to play Jesus again in another production. Talk about deja vu.