"Yagga" Rowe

Quote:Who was the most popular sportsman in Jamaica in the 1970s? That was the question I posed to persons who I knew lived on the Island at the time and were of age to remember. Two names kept coming up. One was Donald Quarrie, the famous sprinter who claimed silver in the 100 metres and gold in the 200 metres at the 1976 Montreal Olympics. The other was Lawrence Rowe.
Rowe was worshipped in Jamaica. He had an insatiable appetite for runs in his early days, but it was the ease and poise of his strokeplay that enthralled those fortunate enough to see him in action. No batsman was more rapturously cheered as Rowe made his way to the Sabina Park square; and there was none whose dismissal triggered the kind of sudden stillness that his did. Ear-splitting roars accompanied every boundary stroke, while defensive ones attracted equally loud shouts of “NO!”
It was something that had to be seen. I doubt if there could have been many examples of this kind of idolatry in the game’s history. Sachin Tendulkar, for sure, held the Indian fans in the palm of his hand. Sir Don Bradman, too, was much revered in his time. Viv Richards was treated like the cricketing royalty he was all over the Caribbean. Yet not even he, nor Sobers, for that matter, could snatch the top billing away from Rowe in Jamaica.
Richards held Rowe in high esteem as well, going as far as to paint “Yagga” on the fence that enclosed his yard in Antigua. Yagga was Rowe’s nickname.
Legendary fast bowler, Michael Holding, regarded his Jamaican compatriot as the best batsman he had seen — emphasis, he said, on the word “seen.” This is what he had to say in Whispering Death, his first memoir. “I could not imagine anyone ever batting better or being able to. Like all Jamaicans, I was spellbound and, in that period, what struck me most was that he never, but never, played at a ball and missed. Everything hit the middle of the bat and whatever stroke he chose to play (and he had them all) would have the desired result. His technique was superb, his eyesight like a cat’s, and he had all the time in the world to play with captivating ease and elegance. I have not seen such perfection since.” Holding is not a man known for dishing out exaggerated praise.
For a long time, I worked in a commercial bank in Jamaica. For a period of about a year or so there was a security guard there who regularly regaled us, cricket fans, with a story. It was the same story every time. He never got tired of telling it and we never grew tired of listening.
It went as follows: Courtney Walsh was a teenaged fast bowler of great promise when, one day, in a friendly match, many were anxious to see how the then scrawny pacer would fare against Rowe. Wanting to impress, Walsh ran in and bowled with all his might. Rowe, tapping his bat, waiting, barely seemed to move (he’d use a folded newspaper to mimic the batsman’s action), and yet the ball was sent rocketing to the boundary. He’d end the story shaking his head, still lost in the wonder of Rowe’s artistry.