Roger Sawh

I bowled to them, look where they are now

Ever get the feeling you're sharing in the success of a top-level cricketer you may have played with or against growing up?

Roger Sawh
25-Dec-2014
Leon Johnson made his way into the West Indies Test side helped by the author's generous bowling  •  WICB

Leon Johnson made his way into the West Indies Test side helped by the author's generous bowling  •  WICB

Dr Stephen Hawking, world-renowned theoretical physicist, suggested that there may be an infinite number of parallel universes in existence. That would mean that there might be a universe in which I am a better batsman than Brian Lara. And another where I can bowl 100mph yorkers at the toes of helpless batsmen.
The universe from which I compile this piece is neither of those.
Like the overwhelming majority of fans, I am destined to merely watch top-flight cricket over the course of my life and fantasise about the glory of earning an international cap (unless cross-parallel universe travel is mastered soon). I cling to small glories of triumphant runs and wickets among friends or for school or club in my distinctly amateur playing career. Don't get me wrong: there is warmth in such memories, and I enjoy adding to them as time passes. But I cannot help but wonder what it must be like to play at the highest level.
One's cricket career inevitably involves competing with a range of players. There will be those who you are better than (or at least think you are), just as there will be those who are a cut above the rest. The more talented will continually ascend, mingling with higher competition and testing the limits of their skill and discipline. Through that ascent, many will be parsed away, falling a few rungs short of potentially first-class or even international standing. The very cream of the crop will make it to the upper echelon.
The rarity of reaching the summit gives great satisfaction to those who get there. Then there are those who will merely cross paths with players who reach the top. In a strange way, though, those who do not scale the highest peaks are touched by the successes of those who do - it is as if, in having mingled with one of the few who "makes it", a part of you has "made it" too.
I am currently enjoying this state of vicarious accomplishment through two acquaintances who I briefly played with a number of years ago. Both have reached significant heights, which has made my simple and innocuous interactions with them sources of personal pride.
Their runs, in a minor way, are ours. Their victories, despite participatory dissonance, are ours. Their successes, though vicarious association, are ours
In the current Caribbean first-class season, Guyana's interim captain Vishaul Singh recently struck a stylish hundred to ensure victory over Trinidad and Tobago. Many years earlier, as a teenager at a summer cricket camp I attended, I played with Vishaul - not quite a Guyana captain yet, but a three-years-my-junior, pocket-sized cricketer who already had technique, discipline and style in abundance. He was one of the best players at the camp, and was destined for stiffer challenges than my often overpitched legbreaks presented. While our interactions merely lasted the summer, and our acquaintanceship is limited to Facebook friendship, such talented players do not leave one's mind easily. There was a distinct feeling that he could be quite special.
Another standout at that camp was a left-hand batsman a year my junior. He was aggressive but technically sound, and took a liking to the pies I tossed at him, once clattering me for four consecutive sixes after I had got a ball to spit out of some rough and threaten his helmet. Today he, Leon Johnson, is with the West Indies team in South Africa, forging a career on the international stage after climbing the ranks on the regional and West Indies A circuits. There was an exceptional aura about him that complemented his obvious natural talents - a look of class, a true boom off his bat, and a confidence against all challengers.
Like with Vishaul, onlookers and fellow cricketers were excited to know a player of such calibre before he had fulfilled his awesome potential. As they say of special talents, you just "knew" he would be good.
I find myself now watching these batsmen and feeling quite content because, in a strange way, I feel connected to their success. I played no role in their rise to excellence; we are as closely linked as anyone who has ever lobbed a ball in their direction. I ought not to take much from our brief time as cricketing colleagues, or from our casual social association. Yet bizarrely I feel vicariously linked to the "highest level".
Though I find it odd to think that I puttered among eventual international players, every success story has to start somewhere. The site may have been a proper cricket ground or an open village field, down a busy alleyway or in some other remotely acceptable space with a semi-decent strip. The game may have been for club, or school, or region, or dare I suggest, simple "fun". Every single one of us had to get the spark of the sport and graduate, little by little, from a starting point.
Does anyone who crossed paths with an exceptional cricketer have a right to derive at least a pinch of joy from their successes? Maybe. Not everyone can combine natural gifts and requisite dedication to become a first-class or international player; those who do, represent an achievement that every sports fan dreams of. There are a few - just a special few - who get to live the dream. It is through our links with them that we can taste our own small slice of success.
Their runs, in a minor way, are ours. Their victories, despite participatory dissonance, are ours. Their successes, through vicarious association, are ours. The cricket fraternity is a wonderfully networked universe. How are you connected?

Roger Sawh is a law student in Canada. He writes at www.sawhoncricket.com. @sawhoncricket