Published: Mar 08, 2012, 09:23 AM (IST)
Edited: Sep 15, 2014, 05:16 PM (IST)
Viv Richards, for many was the greatest batsmen since Sir Don Bradman, celebrates his 60th birthday on March 7, in the Caribbean. Rohan Kallicharan, son of Alvin Kallicharran and King Viv’s teammate in Clive Lloyd’s all-conquering West Indies side, pays a tribute to his hero and godfather on his birthday.
There are a handful of people in life who transcend the boundaries by which the mere mortals of us are measured, those who go beyond sporting greatness and encroach into popular culture. It is perhaps not the most scientific gauge, but an effective one nevertheless, that such legendary figures are often known solely by a nickname, a first name or initials.
As examples, there is a generation of Americans who still ‘wanna be like Mike’, whilst the name Tiger rarely needs the surname of Woods. There are, of course, numerous other examples through sporting history – I certainly do not think that it would be necessary to give too many clues as to the identity of ‘The Greatest’, ‘Pistol Pete’ or ‘Beefy’.
There was certainly no shortage of iconic figures within the game of cricket during the 1970s and 1980s. However, there was one that stood head and shoulders above the rest, a truly global icon, one whose legend exceeded even that of comic book heroes. His name, Isaac Vivian Alexander Richards – known universally as “Viv”, “King Viv” or “Master Blaster”. He is of course known these days as “Sir Viv”.
He was everything that every young man would aspire to be. He was big, macho, muscular and brooding. He had power of which no other man could dream. In fact, there was nothing, you felt that he could not do. When he entered the arena with that gladiatorial swagger, it sent shivers down the spine of opposing supporters, so one can only imagine what it did to opposing bowlers.
I was fortunate that this was only ever the case for me when he was playing for Somerset against my dad’s county, Warwickshire. And to be honest, I was never too upset if he scored runs. After all, he was my hero, my godfather, and he was electric.
If there is a measure of his absolute greatness, it is that he stood out even in a team of greats, and I do not use that word lightly. With all due respect to their peers, it was easier for the likes of an Imran Khan, Sunil Gavaskar, Ian Botham or Richard Hadlee to stand-out in that era, because they really were superior to the cast around them. However, that West Indian side was full of men who will emerge from cricketing history amongst the legends of the sport, yet one man stood out like no other.
Beneath the veneer of self-belief, pride and confidence, is a humble, polite and extremely likeable man. Amongst the most precious memories of my life are the times that I spent as a young child around that West Indies unit, one which was essentially my family. As I progressed into my teens, I grew to know a man who always made time for me when he was playing at Edgbaston for Somerset or Glamorgan, one who as well as wanting to know if I was scoring runs in youth cricket wanted to know about the type of young man into whom I was developing.
If there was a highlight for me, it was being invited by him to join the 1991 touring squad as a net bowler and general helper for the latter stages of that tour to England. What I saw was someone who led by example and quietly, but determinedly, went about his business, despite his legendary status. Even more recently, I have been privileged to spend evenings and car journeys talking life and cricket with him, particularly whilst involved with Lashings Cricket Club.
It would be easy to paint the picture of a rose garden; there were of course controversies, just ask James Lawton. But it is not those moments for which he is remembered.
Whilst I have admittedly been ridiculously fortunate to have a personal relationship with this great man, it is his cricketing exploits for which he will be remembered. It is swinging right arm as he strode to the crease, the unruffled and immaculate maroon cap, the red, green and gold of his wristband, and the increased pulse and excitement as he took guard, the crowd waiting in hushed expectancy for what was about to happen. He was a warrior and gladiator, and that bat of his was a sword with seemingly magical qualities.
There are too many performances to choose just one, although Old Trafford 1984 and the 1979 World Cup final obviously stand out. Many believe that his 140 at Brisbane in 1979-80 was as good as it got, and this is before we even consider the summer of 1976 when he broke pretty much every batting record known.
Sometimes, numbers are no barometer of class, and it is certainly true in his case. Others measure up statistically, but few, if any, did so in such an electrifying manner. Moreover, in the modern game, his legacy is unsurpassed.
Cricket has undergone a renaissance of sorts in recent years, particularly in the United Kingdom with England going through a successful period. New stars and heroes have been born, and the achievements of Brian Lara and Sachin Tendulkar in the modern era are those of which legends are made. However, I am yet to see a pretender to the throne of King Viv. He was box office, and he would have graced any generation.
(Rohan Kallicharan, son of the legendary batsman Alvin Kallicharan, is a West Indian cricket enthusiast based in the UK who played at under-19 level. He is now a Recruitment Professional who writes about the game in his free time. He is a columnist for All Out Cricket Magazine. He also has own sports’ blog http://hetoreahamstring.co.uk)
