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In one of his final interviews, at the end of the tour of England in 1963, Frank Worrell laid out his plans for the future to Ian Wooldridge. I quoted some of it in my biography, Son of Grace, where he refers to the background of hostility he had faced.
“You may be surprised to know that there were plenty of people back home who were praying that we would fail. Even now there are some just waiting for me to bow out.
Photo: Fox Photos/ Getty Images
“Well, I’m going. But things will never go back to where they were.”
He defined what he felt was the real victory in the series wins over the past three years.
“It is simply that these chaps can go home as socially acceptable, first-class citizens. For me, there is nothing left to fight against. When I go home, I shall go into the background and stay there.”
On the basis of this alone: the beauty of his cricket, his sportsmanship; his impact on the global game, and his abiding concern for the development of humankind, on and off the field, we can say that this is a man worthy of emulation and praise.
But there were other sides to him, for he was a complex human being, as I daresay most of us are. It was not hard to discern that he was a creature of extremes.
He was fastidious about his appearance—debonair under every circumstance. It helped that he was tall and handsome and clothes hung on his frame as if they were privileged to be so close.
It helped that he had a ready wit, and was never one to express crude humour in public. He was finessed on and off the field. In short, he was a downright charmer.
Naturally, women flocked to him as they did to the popular cricketers—and they probably still do. He did not shy away from dalliances, though he was discreet; and his inner circle would provide whatever coverage he needed to maintain his secrets.
(via Skynews)
It was not unusual behaviour. We would be remarkably naïve not to know that this is a typical aspect of fame. Worrell was also a heavy drinker, with a taste for alcohol that was recognised as greater than his mates. Although alcohol was regularly consumed across the board, he was more extreme.
Was it a celebratory indulgence, or a way to manage the multiple demands on him, or even a way of coping with the inequities of the social environment he inhabited? Should we sit in judgement of these traits?
I did not. And because I didn’t, it seemed only fair that these aspects of his life be told.
Even if there are those who think it diminishes the character and memory of the man, it is to my mind, evidence that he was as human as we are. If we continue to relegate our heroes to invulnerable pedestals, then we waste the opportunity to really understand the core of their contributions.
Worrell spent his life nurturing those who had come from difficult backgrounds. He gave many people second chances to redeem themselves.
In the realm of cricket alone, do we grasp the fact that many of our cricketers today have come from environments that were hard and unforgiving, and often, soul-destroying? Do they not deserve to have the kind of mentoring that Worrell provided?
In our anger at poor performances, we invoke the memory of the formidable teams during the eras of Clive Lloyd and Viv Richards. But we invoke them as whips on the backs of the contemporary players.
It is what I call casual cruelty; the kind that is common in the way we raise our children. We take those teams from the glory days and we make them out to be perfection incarnate.
We ignore anything that may seem to be a blot on their pristine performances. What do we achieve by that? We create figures that are as remote as gods, and so they become impossible role models for our youth to emulate.
Photo: Getty Images
Rather than being inspired by the great ones who have gone before, they now feel that they are being humiliated publicly when comparisons are made.
It brings me to a couple of points. Because we do not put much stock in documenting and preserving our records, much of our history is lost. It took me years of research and a fair amount of doggedness to unearth material.
While I was writing, I contacted regional publishing houses, but they were not interested. And were it not for the enthusiasm of my publisher, Fairfield Books in the UK, I don’t know that this biography, Son of Grace, would have seen the light.
(via Son of Grace)
I raise this to say that we do ourselves an enormous disservice when we let others tell our stories. We have to take control of our own narratives or our truths are lost.
When we persuade ourselves that we have to sanitize the lives of our heroes, we are actually saying we are ashamed of them, that we have to clean them up to make them respectable. It is a dishonest and revisionist way of recording our histories, unworthy of our heritage.
Frank Worrell brought joy and pride on and off the field—not just to the Caribbean but to the global community, and I believe he is a true hero in that regard.
Photo: Getty Images
Editor’s Note: Click HERE for Part One on Sir Frank Worrell by Vaneisa Baksh.
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Vaneisa Baksh is a columnist with the Trinidad Express, an editor and a cricket historian. She is the author of a biography of Sir Frank Worrell.
. . . Biographies are what they are. . .stories of one’s life amalgamated into a script. Biographies wrotten about Sporting Heroes are peculiar things. All the world is yet to come to terms with the horribly imbalanced expectations that masses place on individual as is commin place in sport. For the Athlete, can become the harshest of all “occupations” because of the propensity for the practice of idolatory in its most sophisticated form that passes as Sport – the player/team and its fans & the economies built upon it. Sir Frank Worrel was knighted and is recognised by the masses and the scores of individuals, outside of his closest circle who interacted with him, for his life and phenomenal accomplishments as a Sportsman and Statesman. It is so unfortunate the manufactiring of demi-god status upon anyone, find in turn by its supposed own “authors”, the necessity to premise the “story” of an individual on his/her “humanness” !!!, (aka Weaknesses). How Boring.
. . . as the so-called Anthem goes – dat dat dat Dat, DAT is de root of yout Trouble !!!!