Viv Richards - Hitting Across the Line: An Autobiography

HITTING ACROSS THE LINE

VIV RICHARDS

HITTING ACROSS THE LINE

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

MACMILLAN

AUSTRALIA

RETRO CLASSICS

is a collection of facsimile reproductions

of popular bestsellers from the 1980s and 1990s

Hitting Across the Line was first published in hardback in 1991

by Lennard Books

in association with Maxi/Hudson Street Cinema Presentations.

Re-issued in 2016 as a Retro Classic

by G2 Entertainment

in association with Lennard Publishing

Windmill Cottage

Mackerye End

Harpenden

Hertfordshire

AL5 5DR

Copyright Vivian Richards 1991

The right of Vivian Richards to be indentified as the author of the work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Practices Act 1988.

ISBN 978-1-78281-732-1

Cover design by Pocknell & Co

The publishers are grateful to Don Charles for his help in tracing photographs and to the following sources for other illustrations used in this book: Allsport Photographic, Rex Features, Alain Lockyer, Syndication International, David Munden, Patrick Eagar, Eric Coombes of the Somerset County Gazette, The Cricketer

Statistics provided by Richard Lockwood

This book is a facsimile reproduction of the hardback edition of Hitting Across the Line which was originally a bestseller in 1991.

No attempt has been made to alter any of the wording with the benefit of hindsight, or to update the book in any way.

My thanks to Mick Middles who helped to record my thoughts and memories, adding his own observations along the way.

Many of the chapters are introduced with his descriptions of the settings within which this book was created.

6th March 1991 Sabina Park, Jamaica

Although a day lost to rain has ruined any chance of a result in this first Test against Australia, the West Indian early-order batsmen have made amends for a disappointing first innings. After an opening stand of 114 between Gordon Greenidge and Desmond Haynes, Richie Richardson continues to restore West Indies pride. On the departure of Carl Hooper, he is joined by his captain, Viv Richards, who has earlier queried the wisdom of continuing a dead game on a dangerous pitch.

The match may be dead but the crowd is alive with excitement at the prospect of witnessing an historic moment in West Indian cricket history. Viv Richards needs 32 runs to pass Gary Soberss record aggregate in Test cricket. Reluctant to be out there at all Viv starts cautiously with little regard for record-breaking. As he nears the required total, Clive Lloyd, in the commentary box, prepares the crowd for the great moment. Almost without seeming to be aware that he is making history Viv Richards passes the record.

The noise around the ground then reminds him of the landmark that he has reached and somewhat as an afterthought he raises his bat in acknowledgement. To Viv the real satisfaction is not as much in becoming the new record-holder as in having provided a reward for those who have stayed to watch the match draw to its inevitable conclusion.

Viv Richards, master batsman, record-breaker and cricketing entertainer, has once again given the crowd their moneys worth and sent them home happy, with a tale to tell.

November 1990. Darcys Bar, St Johns, Antigua. Feet embedded in large white trainers, torso proudly sporting a black Bob Marley T-shirt, the young Rastafarian swaggers along the shop-lined street. To naive tourists, who trickle continuously, if nervously, through the bustle of mid-day St Johns, the Rastafarian might seem rather intimidating. But this is an illusion, be it intentional or otherwise. The Rastafarian is quite blind to tourism, immersed as he is, in the complexities of local society. The tourists, equally, seem rather blind to this web of life. True enough, they like to feel as though they are tasting the culture of the Caribbean, but more often than not they prefer to drift idly about the gift shops and caf bars.

As they sit, drinking Red Stripe lager or ostentatious cocktails, Antiguan daylife pulsates all around them. But it is not within their vision, it is in the supermarket next door, or the dilapidated chemists shop on the corner, or down in the market. However, although this divide seems, at all times, massive and unbridgable, it is a far from unhappy separation. On the contrary, both sides of the divide co-exist quite harmoniously. Whatever problems, financial, social or political, Antigua may face, the prevailing atmosphere is one of contentment. And if the tourists really do wish to step out of themed Antigua to sample genuine local life they are welcomed with open arms.

This crossover is particularly successful if the tourist is prepared to spend endless hours chatting about sport. For sport is the lifeblood of Antigua, especially among the young or young at heart. It permeates everywhere on street corners, in bars, in taxis. Sporting gossip can bring traffic to a standstill; it can make the participants very late for important meetings; it can cause shop tills to cease ringing. Sport is all important. It crashes through the barriers of race, religion, class and age. Amongst the locals, of course, sporting chat is delivered at great speed and they seem happy for it to remain completely unfathomable to the casual listener from foreign parts. However, this mysterious dialect can be dispensed with instantly if an outsider is to be welcomed into the conversation.

The Rastafarian wanders past the faded pinkness of Darcys Bar. The bar is a silent oasis in the centre of this ever lively city. It is patrolled by lizards and seems to attract only those who are in the most desperate throes of thirst. But today this silence is savagely ripped apart by the sudden shriek of a transistor radio. An excitable, disembodied voice snaps through the atmosphere. The bar man shakes his head sadly, as the news from Pakistan begins to register. The West Indies cricket team, on tour in that most difficult of lands, seems to be in all kinds of trouble. Things will improve over the coming weeks but, for the moment, the sports crazy people of the Caribbean are united in thought with the despondent commentator:

...and, as the Windies seem to be at their lowest ebb for a decade, it must be said that Viv Richards, who is at home in Antigua recovering from an operation, is more than a little conspicuous by his absence.

Across the dusty street a Range Rover pulls to a careful halt. From inside, the face of Antiguas most famous sporting legend, Viv Richards, can be seen casting a reflective glance towards the bar. Man, when I used to work in there, that place was kickin, he states, and his concentration is only broken by the constant car horns and demands for attention which punctuate his every public moment on the island. On noticing this scene, the Rastafarian spins around in delight. His hand rises in acknowledgement, and for once his profound dialect needs no decoding. HEEY MAASTER BLAASTER!

Viv Richards is in his natural habitat, happy to be away from the spotlight, if only for a month or so. After which he will reunite with a remarkable career path, heading, hopefully, towards a climactic final three years. But despite being, so many times, at the epicentre of a raging controversy, he has never really taken time out to explain his side of the story. Viv Richards has much to say.

Icould not possibly begin this book without immediately talking about my parents. Today I can feel really proud in the knowledge that I had the kind of parents who had the foresight necessary to shape me and prepare me for what turned out to be an extremely unusual kind of lifestyle. They provided me with a very pure upbringing, which may not be all that fashionable today, but I now realise that they made it possible for me to build upon that family base. I owe everything to them.