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A million ways to get dropped.

I don't know what dismal thoughts might have been running through Leon Romero's head this weekend. But in between carrying the drinks and watching Richard Smith and Lincoln Roberts make merry in Anguilla, there was lots of time to think.

A million ways to get dropped, raising ``ducks'', a damaged hand, breaking curfew, not sticking up for the captain (you can get banished for that one), speaking out of turn....

The problem for this twenty-something-year-old was that he just did not qualify on any of those counts. Yet, he was keeping the dressing room warm for somebody.

``It ain't fair!''

He must have mumbled that a million times, the words sliding out between teeth trying to fake a good-natured smile.

After all, hundreds before him, some in his own side, had come to learn that bitter lesson in times past.

``Yes,'' he concedes to himself, ``but ...

Checking his hole card, he looks at the stats.

``Three matches: 6 innings, 0 not outs, 131 runs, highest score 48, average 21.83.''

Not too much to go by there except ...

The voice of Mr Stats again.

Stay in place of who? New West Indies find Daren Ganga? Nah!

Dennis Rampersad who had scored 297 runs (before Leewards), at an average of 42.42? Forget it!

Who then, West Indies ``A'' Richard Smith whose figures before the Leewards game were 102 runs, ave.25.50? Lincoln Roberts, 108 runs, average 36? Get serious!

He could hardly hear himself over snickering Mr Stats. Except...

Except damn lies love statistics.

Except character should count for something.

Three-and-a-half months of South African hell showed how deep is the crisis sweeping through the region. Captain, cook and CEO are all floating in the messy mix.

The youth, they say, must save us. And young Leon wants to be a hero.

Bright as a bulb, he wants to light up the cricket fields just like the classroom.

So far away in the East and on the obscure fields of Merry England, a youthman is knocking leather, hour after hour trying to refine an ugly duckling game into something swan-like.

And the keen watcher who saw Romero spending hours at the crease in the early stages of the season, playing a tight, disciplined, unpretentious game, witnessed character slowly but surely conquering. Watching the Moosai Sports vice-captain see the shine off the new ball, spending a cool hour-and-a-half, two hours at the crease while supporting the more dashing efforts of Rampersad in two century partnerships for the third wicket, the watcher was reassured. West Indies cricket had not gone completely mad.

But three small scores and he's carrying drinks.

``Tough luck,'' says Stats. ``You have to pay your dues, son.''

Except that while Romero pays his dues, T&T and West Indies cricket remains stuck in a rut.

Already the region is paying the price for years of indecision with its cricket team. Years when fear of failure and fear of men stifled progress.

What is not needed now is more strangulation.

Ask Roberts. A victim not only of indifferent form but some curious selectoral decisions, the Tobagonian has struggled through three seasons, unsure, it seemed, of his place in the T&T set-up.

But finally perhaps, with innings of 75 (out of 141 versus Barbados) and 151 (against the Leewards), he will be liberated enough to let his clean-hitting talent blossom.

From Kensington to Queen's Park, the quality and character of tomorrow's stars must be prized above the hazy, sometimes dubious past deeds of today's veterans...and a few cheap medals. The murky future is at stake.

So maybe, if Brian Lara plays in this weekend's semi-final against Guyana, the decision-makers will look beyond the boundary and Rampersad will not be counting another million ways.