The Caribbean has produced several of
the greatest batsmen of all time. However, many of these players
seem to rail against faceless figures of authority. Currently,
talisman Chris Gayle swats boundaries at whim – more often for
lucrative T20 sides than for the West Indies. The chain which leads
back through the likes of Brian
Lara and Sir Vivian Richards – who was rather partisanly
profiled in the acclaimed documentary Fire in Babylon
– to George Headley.
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The second (or third, or fourth
depending on how you look at it) of these superstars was Sir
Clyde Walcott, a forerunner of devastating West Indian batsmanry
and later president of the International Cricket Council. His
autobiography, Sixty years on the back foot,
was published at the conclusion of his ICC tenure in 1997.
His
memoir is lightweight – entire tours are glossed over, especially
those in which the West Indies struggled – and Walcott writes
with the style of a man who finishes lengthy believable anecdotes
with “Can you believe it?”. However, the parallels between West
Indian cricket in 1952 and in 2012 are too plain to ignore.
Along with Sir Everton Weeks and Sir
Frank Worrell, Walcott was one of the famed “Three
Ws”, three Bajan players raised within a mile of each other and
who helped West Indian cricket attain relevance in the 1950s. The
significance of the three friends and their relationship is
underscored throughout Walcott's writings as he attempts to
characterise Caribbean cricket through their free-hitting exploits.
He does this for a simple reason:
Walcott unquestionably thought that West Indian cricket, when played
hard but for fun, is superior to any other. (Ed: he may be right)
Time and again, his tacit disdain the orthodoxy inherent in
1950s English cricket is obvious; simultaneously he rejoices in the
laid-back joie de vivre that formerly typified West Indian
cricket.
Although Fire in Babylon
incorrectly suggested that calypso cricket was provided only a team
of loveable freewheelers (ie. losers), you can't escape the feeling
while Walcott revelled in victories, he wouldn't countenance
sacrificing style to achieve more success. His transition from
money-chasing maverick pro to WICB ambassador adds another intriguing
dynamic. However, like most politicians, his autobiography is an
exercise in using many words to avoid saying much at all.
Although Walcott's memoir hearkens to
different times, where pacemen were named Esmond Kentish and Foffie
Edwards, there are still familiar cricket themes. Race relations,
though downplayed, provided undercurrents of discontent. The same
could be said for matters of money, as cricketers were still strictly
classified as “professional” or “amateur”. That Worrell,
Weekes and Walcott were forced to choose between making a living
playing English league cricket rather than representing the West
Indies provides a fifty-year prophecy of the WICB's
current struggles with player free-agency.
The same issues have plagued West
Indian cricket now for sixty years. The islands' success from 1975
to 1995 and more widespread cricketing professionalism only masked
the difficulties of West Indian players and administrators. That the
situation is unchanged over so long, coupled with difficult economic
factors leaves the reader feeling that this situation is now
intractable in West Indian cricket and the game is so much the
poorer.
However disappointing the state of West
Indian cricket, it's perhaps more disappointing that such an eminent
figure in the game stuck true to his political, rather than returning to his maverick roots and challenging the myriad failings in Caribbean cricket politics.
