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“In our eras of greatness, when West Indies took the field, ghostly presences walked with the players, representing commitment to a higher cause, loyalty to the proudest of traditions and attachment to a long line of heroes—and the twelfth man in the team always answered to the name of courage.”
This was Ian McDonald in 2005, delivering the first of a Frank Worrell Lecture Series hosted by the Centre for Caribbean Studies at the London Metropolitan University.
Those words came streaming back to me as I thought about how Ian, who has written so insightfully about cricket, might write about that fateful Sunday at the Gabba in Brisbane.
I hope that he will be stirred to write about it, because although he will turn 91 in April, he has spent practically all of his lifetime watching cricket and recording its finest moments in his elegant prose. He has played much cricket himself, though he confessed that he was once given out for “ugly batting”.
That historic Test match between Australia and the West Indies this past week has reverberated around the cricket world as it rekindled dormant fires in West Indian bellies and reminded others of times gone by.
Moments like these make me yearn to hear Tony Cozier and to read Keith Smith—men who, like Ian, knew first-hand those times when our post-match celebrations were commonplace.
Copyright: Getty Images
Shamar Joseph, the little livewire who ignited those fires with his electrifying 7 for 68 in Brisbane, was not even born when the West Indies last beat Australia in a Test in 1997.
At 24, his life has just changed forever, and with his young family, he is about to embark on a journey that one hopes will result in the fairy tale ending everyone predicts.
Details of his life prior to this series have been circulating with such intensity that it is a little alarming, because we know the dark side of media frenzies.
For now, it is appropriate that West Indian supporters everywhere have the chance to savour the sweetness of this unexpected victory. Every now and then forces coalesce to provide extraordinary circumstances for extraordinary things to happen. This was one of those unpredictable occasions.
Photo: Cricket Australia/ Getty
I won’t go in to the chain of unforeseen events that led the Joseph boys, Shamar and Alzarri, to rock the Gabba for us. It’s all been said.
It seems important to locate this match in its historical context—its significance in West Indian history—because this Test was a major moment. The outcome of the ODIs and the T20Is is a whole different ball game.
I want to go back to what McDonald said 19 years ago about the culture surrounding the game “in our eras of greatness”. We have not had an era of greatness for lifetimes (look at the ages of the cricketers), and the relationships with the game have morphed into something fairly different from the ghostly presences Ian identified.
The ghosts that had wafted about would have emerged from another grand day at the Gabba in December 1960, the famous tied Test that is still one of the most significant encounters in the ocean of cricket.
What binds these Tests together—64 years apart, at the same venue, between the same opponents—is their impact on the game. It is no exaggeration to say they were both phenomenal and their outcomes were the result of a series of extraordinary events.
The outstanding cricket was supported by such sporting behaviour that the crowds were moved to celebrate the opponents. The outpouring of admiration by Australians for Frank Worrell and his team had never been seen and last week there was a fairly similar show of support for the young West Indians led by Kraigg Brathwaite.
When Shamar took the final wicket of Josh Hazlewood, Ian Smith of New Zealand went wild in the commentary box, bellowing with delight until he remembered himself and asked Brian Lara to speak.
Lara and Australian Adam Gilchrist were embracing, both looking teary-eyed. (I won’t go in to the criticisms of Gilchrist and other Australians for cheering the West Indies win; that is a reminder of a different behavioural epoch.)
Carl Hooper was trying hard to lock down his emotions in a dressing room. In Perth in 1997, Lara had scored 132, and Hooper, 57. In case you are curious, Curtly Ambrose took seven wickets and was man of the match.
It is not difficult to see what this victory evoked for these former West Indian players.
But back to Ian’s invocation of the spirits. The twelfth man was always courage. There was courage aplenty in 1960, the match needed constant reminders to steady the nerves.
Frank held it together; managing to get his fiery colt, Wes Hall, to bowl the final over (8-balls) with some modicum of focus. Wes just wanted that ball in his hands.
This young team (how many uncapped players!) showed courage and Shamar proved to be the headman of that pack. He just wanted that ball in his hands. Charging in with that injured toe, over after over, relentless and focused—he was more than the twelfth man, he was the epitome of all the characteristics we have longed to see for so long, that it was a redemption song.
A praise song for the spirit of the game that we knew so well, once upon a time.
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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.
