FIRST PUBLISHED IN mailerreport.com
Recently, upon tuning in to the Caribbean Premier League (CPL) game between The Antiguan Hawksbills and The Amazon Warriors my eyes were drawn to a familiar figure in the Hawksbills’ dugout. Sir Vivian Richards was in attendance, and, naturally, his was the most massive presence there. But right next to him was someone who probably had as many words written and said about him as the great man, both in admiration, for his elegance as a stroke-player was second to none, and in exasperation, for he was often an enigmatic underachiever.
Former West Indies captain Carl Hooper, now a resident of Australia, was appointed assistant coach for Antigua’s team for the 2014 CPL season. I had not heard of nor thought of him often, but seeing him unlocked a floodgate of memories of the days when the Guyanese stylist doled out pleasure and heartache in equal measure.
Late one Saturday evening, sometime around the year 2000 perhaps, my wife asked if I would be accompanying her to church the following morning. But West Indies were playing a test somewhere and Hooper was at the crease, so I informed her that I would be happy to go, but only if Hooper got out early enough next morning. I only realized how little she appreciated my reply when I heard her recalling the incident to a friend. Being a cricket tragic himself, he totally understood.
It is the bane of the languid stroke-player that his failures are frequently attributed to a lack of effort or a lack of grit. David Gower was a high-class player with an excellent record who entertained many a gathering with the liquid ease of his batting. But he was often accused of getting out to the “lazy†shot, never mind that the same lazy shot would other times, speed to the boundary.
Maybe it is the impression that batting came easier to the likes of Gower, Hooper and others of their ilk than it came to others why their errors were less forgivable. If you are given much, then much will be expected of you; and so if you are more gifted than most then it is your duty to tend and nurture your gift till it blossoms and bears much fruit, and a dereliction of duty if you let it go to waste. It is the opinion of most Caribbean cricket fans that Hooper squandered his substantial talent.
It was said of Frank Worrell that it was worth the price of admission to see him walk to the wicket. Hooper displayed the same kind of gait, exuding class and competence wherever he was and whatever he did on a cricket field. He was among the best slip catchers in the game, and his off-spin was good enough to capture 114 test wickets, including four five-wicket hauls, even if Geoff Boycott thought Hooper’s was “lollipop†bowling that even his grandmother could play.
But it was the ease and elegance of his batting that took your breath away. Hooper was so relaxed at the crease, seemed to have so much time to play, that he appeared to be operating in slow-motion, even to the fastest bowlers, yet he was so quick on his feet that he could dominate even the best spinners. Every stroke he made was marked by the kind of economy of effort that we are told typifies only the best players.
It is wistfully accepted in most quarters that Hooper underachieved. For a man who looked like he was born to bat a test career average of 36.46 is inadequate. Others, it is argued, have achieved much more despite being given much less. His countryman, Shivnarine Chanderpaul, for example, will end his test career with an average over 50, having maximized every ounce of talent he was handed.
I remember reading an explanation of why Hooper has a less than stellar batting record by one of his colleagues at Kent. Hooper, he argued, had so much time to play that he ran through myriad options in his mind before deciding on which shot to choose. His demise was often due to indecision rather than ineptitude. Lesser batsmen, without the luxury of protracted time, were pressed into decisions earlier because their choices were much more limited.
Far-fetched perhaps, but who is to say? One thing I have observed is that players who are easy on the eye are frequently deemed more talented than others. Think about batsmen like, Hooper, Gower, Faoud Bacchus, Mark Waugh, Rohit Sharma, Marlon Samuels, Ian Bell; all were attractive players who, at some point in their careers, were thought to be underachievers. Now compare that list to Chanderpaul, Steve Waugh, Michael Hussey, Larry Gomes, Jonathan Trott; all generally considered less talented than those in the first group, but who, it is generally agreed, overachieved through hard work and dedication.
Perhaps the nexus between talent and the appearance of ease is tenuous at best, non-existent at worst. One explanation of Hooper’s appeal as a batsman that I have time for, came from an Australian journalist whose name now escapes me. What Hooper possessed, he argued, was simply a “gift of movement.†The elegance we all observed and treasured, rather than being any expression of talent or potential, was more about the way he was constructed to move.
We know the best batsmen are able to decipher variables such as pace, length and direction more quickly than others, and that obviously has much to do with the time they have available to play. Yet the allure of the stylish batsman goes beyond that, and while a few have it, most don’t. Hooper had it in spades.
Throughout the Guyanese right-hander’s career there was one undeniable fact: when he was good, he was very, very good. His 178 against the might of Wasim and Waqar at The Antigua Recreation Ground in 1993 was batting at its highest and most artistic, while his assault on Shane Warne during the One Day Internationals of their 1995 visit to the West Indies was spectacular and clinical. His batting frequently navigated the depths, but often enough to show how good he could be, it scaled the heights.
He grew somewhat more consistent in the later stages of his career, especially after he was handed the West Indies captaincy in 2001. But, for most, their final memory of Hooper will be of a player who could bat like a dream, but one who never made full use of the considerable gift that he had.
Garfield Robinson is originally from Jamaica and now lives in Louisiana.
