Every time the Caribbean, and particularly T&T, faces a downturn in football or cricket—whether it’s a string of losses, underwhelming tournament performances, or an overall lack of competitiveness—the same old narrative re-emerges like clockwork: “We’re not investing enough in grassroots.”
It’s become our most convenient fall-back. A kind of verbal security blanket that leaders, fans, and former players alike cling to when they can’t quite explain why our elite athletes and teams fall short. But we must ask ourselves: Is it really a lack of grassroots development? Or is that just an easy excuse masking deeper, more uncomfortable truths?
The grassroots mantra: rhetoric or reality?
From Prime Ministers to pundits, from technical directors to taxi drivers, the mantra of “focus on grassroots” has become a sacred gospel. It’s frequently used to argue that resources should be pulled from the senior level—less investment in national teams, less travel, fewer competitions—and redirected toward youth development.
But here’s the twist: we’ve been doing that. Or at least, we’ve been saying we are.
Over the past two decades, dozens of grassroots programmes have been rolled out across T&T and the wider Caribbean. Some were spearheaded by national federations, others by private academies, regional sporting bodies, corporate sponsors, even former athletes turned development advocates.
Yes, some of these programmes were poorly managed. Some were disbanded due to funding issues, lack of oversight, or shifts in administrative priorities. But not all. Many did, in fact, contribute positively. The question is: have we ever stopped to assess their actual impact?
What metrics did we track? What players emerged? What systems stayed in place beyond the photoshoots and ribbon-cutting ceremonies? Without these answers, we’re stuck in a circular blame game.
Where did our stars come from?
Let’s take two of our most promising exports: Levi Garcia and Tyrese Spicer. Did they just fall from the sky and land in Greece and Toronto FC, respectively? Of course not. These young men—like so many others—emerged from some form of developmental ecosystem. Whether it was a zonal programme, a school league structure, a private academy, a community coach who cared, or a national youth initiative that sparked their journey. There was a foundation. Something did exist.
To suggest that there is no grassroots development in place is to disrespect the work done by those who have been toiling quietly for years—those who coached in muddy fields, coordinated sessions without equipment, mentored kids without expecting glory.
So perhaps the real issue isn’t absence of grassroots, but rather mismanagement of grassroots efforts, and an inability to translate development into long-term, elite-level results.
Misdiagnosis and misdirection
There’s an even bigger risk in blindly repeating this narrative: it shifts accountability away from those managing current-day operations.
When our national senior teams are underperforming, the first instinct shouldn’t be to tear down the senior structure and point fingers at what wasn’t done ten years ago. What about what’s being done now?
Are our current squads being properly prepared?
Are our national coaches equipped with the resources they need?
Are our administrators focused, aligned, and transparent?
Are we making strategic decisions or just reacting emotionally?
It’s easy to scapegoat the past. Much harder to fix the present.
A dangerous suggestion, a risky strategy
Just two years ago, a regional football official seriously suggested to me that T&T should withdraw from the 2026 World Cup Qualifiers altogether. Instead of lobbying the government or private sector for funding to compete, he advised that the country should “put everything”—and he meant everything—into an Under-17 and U-15 programme.
Let that sink in.
Scrap the senior team. Ignore the current generation. Bet the entire house on teenagers. So what happens between now and 2030 while we wait for these kids to grow up? Do we disappear from the global stage? Is this what development means—abandonment of the present for a hypothetical future?
And what happens if in 2030, that generation still doesn’t qualify for a World Cup? Then what? Push everything to 2038?
It’s eerily similar to the argument often made in the fight against crime in our country: “We can’t solve crime now until we address the root causes. We need to fix the families, schools, parenting, early childhood trauma.”
That’s all true, but what happens to the criminals currently operating? Are we saying we just let things spiral for the next decade while we wait for better-behaved citizens to emerge?
Whether it’s crime or sport, you cannot neglect the now while planning for the future.
The need for honest review
If we truly care about development, then we need to review—honestly and transparently—what grassroots and youth programmes have existed over the years. We must identify:
Which ones worked? Which ones failed?
Which produced players who went on to higher levels? When Kevin Molino went to two back-to-back Youth World Cups in 2007 and ‘09, what was he doing at age 14? Training on his own in Carenage? No! He was part of a national set-up between 2004-2005, coordinated by the TTFF (T&T Football Federation) and then head coach Anton Corneal and Hutson Charles.
What were the success factors? How can we institutionalise the wins and learn from the failures?
This requires data. It requires humility. It requires breaking the cycle of rebranding old ideas as new solutions.
Conclusion: We can’t keep blaming the seed
The next time a team underperforms, resist the urge to chant the easy chorus of “We need to focus on grassroots.” Yes, grassroots development is essential. No one denies that but that alone doesn’t explain our stagnation at the top.
Because at some point, we have to stop blaming the seed—and start questioning the farmers, the tools, and the decisions made at harvest time.
