The reason I personally started watching cricket on a regular basis in the early 90s wasn’t because of the Indian cricket team, or because of a young firebrand called Sachin Tendulkar or even Vinod Kambli. It wasn’t because of Shane Warne’s Ball of the Century, or even Sri Lanka’s explosion onto the world scene overnight. Nope – not Jonty Rhodes, not Javed Miandad, Sahara Cups and not even the Waugh brothers.
I loved – and have always loved – the West Indies cricket team. Something about watching them early on in my life has forever remained etched in my mind. It’s not only the raw brand of cricket – a far cry from the textbook coaching manuals preached and taught in cricket fields all over India or England, it’s the way they take the field, and the way they treat cricket for what it is – a game between two teams. It’s never a matter of life and death, as most commentators would like to have us believe – the boys from the Caribbean, even during their drastic downturn after 1995, have always brought smiles to the faces of the discerning viewer.