The following is in memory of Deon Robinson – September 28, 1968 – June 22, 2022.

Nobody could bat like Lawrence Rowe.

If you are at all sceptical of that claim then you could not have seen him bat. Anyone blessed with the good fortune of witnessing him at his best could not do other than come away thinking that here was batting at its most compelling, beautiful best.

Michael Holding, not one to dole out excessive praise, said his fellow Jamaican was the best batsman he’d ever seen — emphasis, he said, on the word seen. “I could not imagine anyone ever batting better or being able to,” the fast bowling legend wrote in his first memoir, Whispering Death. “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.”

Vivian Richards, perhaps the most intimidating batsman the world has known, worshipped the Jamaican so much that he had “YAGGA” painted on his fence – Yagga was Rowe’s nickname.

Cricket writers rhapsodised about his stately stroke play, and the fans could never get enough. Say you saw him play during any conversation on batting and your standing will immediately be elevated within the group.

His most famous innings was his triple hundred against England in Barbados in 1974. It is still talked about there today, especially the unbeaten 48 he scored before stumps on the second day. Amongst his best shots that evening was a hooked six off Bob Willis, which, according to legend, travelled no higher than head height, yet Geoffrey Boycott, who was stationed mere yards from where the ball cleared the boundary, hardly managed to move.

The next day a huge, unruly crowd turned up in anticipation of a batting master class to come. According to cricket commentator, the late Tony Cozier, “Gates were broken, walls were scaled, and even high-tension electric cables were used by people to get in.” It was so chaotic that the teams had to be escorted in. They were not disappointed. Treated to 302 of what many in Barbados will say are the most handsome runs ever scored.

For a long time I worked in a commercial bank in Jamaica, and for a period of about a year or so there was a security guard there who regularly regaled us 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, he went up against Rowe. Wanting to impress, Walsh ran in and bowled with all his might. Rowe tapped his bat, waited, and barely seemed to move (he’d use a folded newspaper to mimic Rowe’s action), and yet the ball sped to the boundary as if shot from a gun. He’d end the story shaking his head, still lost in the wonder of Rowe’s artistry.

Rowe’s test record — 2047 runs in 30 tests at an average of 43.55 — is not to be scoffed at, but, considering his vast talent, it’s not outstanding either. He started brilliantly. His 214 and 100 not out on debut against New Zealand in 1972 still stands as a record, and after a dozen tests his average was over 70. But injury, illness, misfortune, and what former Jamaican Prime Minister Michael Manley in his book A History Of West Indies Cricket called “a flaw at the centre of his character” took a toll on his career.

And then there was the South Africa excursions in 1982 and 1983. The anti-apartheid struggle was dear to the hearts of West Indians. Realising that such a path would only bring dishonour and disgrace, the authorities pleaded with Rowe to change his mind. He didn’t. And while some fans were sympathetic because of the significant financial rewards, most saw the visit as an act of betrayal.

Rowe said that he refused the offer at first. He was, he reminded, one of Jamaica’s most popular sportsmen at the time. Furthermore, he was not in financial straits, was captain of the Jamaica team, and though he had not represented the West Indies since 1980 in New Zealand, felt he could still have made Clive Lloyd’s team.

But the organisers badly wanted him to go as they felt there were not enough star players making the trip, and his refusal to go would’ve put the tour in jeopardy. That placed him, he said, in something of a predicament. He mentioned Everton Mattis, recently dropped from the West Indies team. The Jamaican middle-order batsman came from deprived circumstances and would’ve found the substantial remuneration useful.

The “Rebels” lost the 50-overs games 2-4 that first 1982-83 season, while the two five-day games were shared 1-1. The next season was better for Rowe and his team as they won the limited overs games 4-2 and the four-game Test series 2-1.

Rowe was certain the tour achieved something. “Black and white kids were seen playing together at the grounds,” Rowe recalled. “White kids ran out to greet us.”

Barbados and Nottinghampshire all-rounder Franklyn Stephenson, who was on the tour, related this incident from the opening game of the tour. “…a little white kid ran on to the ground and offered me a Coke. I refused. He came back at the end of the next over and I thought, OK, let me try. I took the bottle, had a little sip, and gave it back to him. You should have seen the sight at the end of the next over. There must have been about 15 kids around me, offering me drinks. It was so touching.”

Years later, Rowe took solace in words uttered by Nelson Mandela on the power of sports. He thought them a reflection of his own sentiments. “Sports has the power to change the world. It has the power to inspire. It has the power to unite people in a way that little else does; it speaks to youths in a language they understand. Sports can create hope where there was only despair. It is more powerful than Government in breaking down racial barriers. It laughs in the face of all types of discrimination.”

All this, of course, could be Rowe seeking justification after the fact.

To this day, the rebel tour elicits strong feelings as evidenced by the uproar in certain quarters that followed the Jamaica Cricket Association’s (JCA) decision to rename the player’s pavilion at Sabina Park in his honour. The genuineness of the apology offered by Rowe at the ceremony during the 2011 India Test was questioned when he made statements in the media that weren’t very artful. Under serious pressure, the JCA rescinded the honour.

Many of us were highly disappointed that the rebels didn’t — as Holding, Richards, and others had done — tell chief tour organiser, Ali Bacher, and the South African Cricket Union where to stick their blood money. The life ban was what they deserved.

But 40 years is a long time to hold on to those feelings of resentment. Over that period, we ought to have grown more aware of the intricacies of human motivations and , therefore, more understanding of human behaviour and human failures. Very few offences warrant such absolute punishment. It was time to forgive.

It has been ages since Rowe was the main act at Sabina Park. Yet many still recall the majesty of his stroke play. Once he was down to appear nobody could wrest away his top billing. In those days it was Yagga who was the brightest batting star in the Galaxy.

Garfield Robinson is a Jamaican living in the US who writes on cricket for a few Indian and English publications. Send comments to the Jamaica Observer or garfield.v.robinson@gmail.com.