Sir Garfield Sobers first entered my life through his autobiography, King Cricket, which I read many times as a boy growing up in the 1960s and 70s. In that era of no internet and no YouTube, cricket heroes existed only in newspapers, radio commentary, and grainy television replays. Sir Garry and Sir Everton Weekes were, to me, mythical figures. Meeting either of them in person was something I never imagined possible.

In 2003, while serving as CFO of the ICC during the Cricket World Cup in South Africa, my colleague Warren Deutrom spotted both Sir Garry and Sir Everton across the terminal at Durban Airport. What followed was breakfast together before the flight, a short trip to Johannesburg where I spent most of the flight turned around on my knees chatting with them about cricket and life, a police escort through Johannesburg, and several more conversations over the days surrounding the World Cup final. I also asked Sir Garry one question that had burned in my mind since childhood. His answer is a story for another time.

What stays with me most from those few days is not the records or the trophies, though his greatness as cricket's finest all-rounder is beyond question. It is the warmth, the humility, and the complete absence of arrogance in a man who had every right to carry some. Sir Garry passed away carrying the same kindness he showed a cricket-loving boy who once read his book over and over and never expected to shake his hand.

Published on Subwave

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