I want to thank you, Viv, for promoting cricket as a gentleman’s game.
If memory serves me correctly, I was in London when the West Indies were playing against the English team. I switched on the tube and saw Viv Richards for the first time.
Viv exuded machismo, and he was out of sight. Viv mauled those English bowlers like lambs devoured in the Lion’s den. In fact, Viv treated pace and spin with equal contempt and disdain.
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Viv raised the bar in this game. Viv hammered boundaries and sixes at will. In fact, the spectators had to swallow a chill pill during high tea. Viv did not wear a helmet and relied on gut instinct.
Viv could be spotted with his trademark chewing gum and cap, as he swaggered to the crease with an effortless ease, batting at one down or number three. His commanding presence made the birds and bees fly away angrily.
Viv wielded a heavy bat like a toothpick and showed his rivals who the boss was. King Richards, the Vice Captain, dominated and won the match. Viv’s triumph was built from scratch. During his playing days,
Viv was the most destructive batsman I have ever seen, and Viv continues to visit me in my dreams. Indeed, it is true that Viv retired from this beautiful game of cricket decades ago, but, you know, even today Viv Richards is no Sloppy Joe.
And if you walk a mile to meet old timers today with old-school ideas, they will point to the sky and say: Viv hit the ball so hard that his best friend, Ian Botham, started to pray for a miracle.
The English team were in tears and tatters, felt cynical, and looked hysterical. I know you are a senior citizen now, Viv, seventy-plus, but for your entry in my life, why, I would have missed the bus.
Rest assured, Viv, you are loved all over the world for what you brought to this sport; your contributions and achievements are enshrined at the mecca of cricket, Lord’s. Ah, what a pleasant journey down this memory lane.
