Every time I open my book of heroes, a gust of wind blows a leaf away. And swirling with it into the great blue beyond disappears another life well lived, another inspired moment, another story that tells you that mortal though you be, these winds will carry your story on their lips into eternity if only you have the courage to dare.... To care.....!
This week, i’m interrupting ‘The Dragon’s Den Diaries’ to pay my dues to an inspirational light that shall flicker no more. Join me if you care.....
I was born the year he retired and so for a long time he did not show up on the radar of my adolescence. Then I watched a prize fighter in cricket whites smash the bejesus out of Kapil Dev and co. Until then I had eyes and heart for only two cricketers. Fast bowlers both, from across the border, one a proud pathan named Imran Khan and the other his left armed protege, Wasim Akram.. I thought batsmen were wimps to hide behind helmets and chest pads while these long haired warriors unleashed thunderbolts and lightning like gods from the heavens. I had no time for willow wielders until one day I saw this powerfully built dark Hercules swat those thunderbolts off his nose and into the stands with the arrogance of lion at a dog show and I sat up and took notice. They called him Vivian Smokin’ Joe Richards. But why’d they call him Smokin’ Joe? I learnt they called him that after a heavyweight boxer called Joe Frazier, a man Richards admired and in him, more than any other cricketer, found his true inspiration . And why did they call him that? Well Joe Frazier was a relentless fighter who used to steam in at his opponent. But more importantly, the two smokin Joes had another thing in common. They were giant-slayers in a land of giants. Both of them were less than six feet tall, taking on opponents who were much bigger and taller and yet they had the power and the panache to remain standing even as they knocked the stuffing out of their rivals. While Richards took guard against big tall fast bowlers during his career and left them cowering in fear with his onslaught, Joe Frazier at 5’10” was rather small for a heavy weight boxer. And yet, he stood toe to toe with some of the most formidable men to ever step into a ring, and more oft en than not, emerged triumphant.
But there was one cowardly giant that Joe found impossible knock out. He fought till his breath lasted and he fought hard and true. But on the 7th of November, the once mighty Frazier was knocked out cold by a contender he couldn’t see. Liver cancer snuffed out Smokin Joe’s light and there would be no rematch this time.
Joe’s legacy, much like his personality, simmers under the surface. He didn’t fight for the black man’s pride the way Ali did. Nor did he have the wit and charm and focussed humanitarian spirit of a George Foreman. What Frazier did instead was inspire with his courage and passion. Born into near poverty in a racially charged environment, young Joe fought for dignity and pride long before he started fighting for money. And yes, he fought for the love of the game. For why else would he spend his afternoons at an abattoir where he once worked, practising his punches and pummelling butchered carcasses while his colleagues rested. And of course he fought for us, the little guys. No matter how big your opponent, watching Joe lashing out at the big guys helped us believe we were no less, even if the inches be so....
The Joe Frazier story, beyond the trilogy of Ali fights and the ‘Thrilla in Manila’ was one that revealed itself to me in patches, first as the icon for an icon and then in dogeared books and grainy black and white videos. But in every story I read, and in every picture I saw, I saw a man who seemed to fear no one and love every one. That’s an epitaph few would complain about....
Rest in peace Smokin Joe for your stories will forever be blowing in the wind.....
This week, i’m interrupting ‘The Dragon’s Den Diaries’ to pay my dues to an inspirational light that shall flicker no more. Join me if you care.....
I was born the year he retired and so for a long time he did not show up on the radar of my adolescence. Then I watched a prize fighter in cricket whites smash the bejesus out of Kapil Dev and co. Until then I had eyes and heart for only two cricketers. Fast bowlers both, from across the border, one a proud pathan named Imran Khan and the other his left armed protege, Wasim Akram.. I thought batsmen were wimps to hide behind helmets and chest pads while these long haired warriors unleashed thunderbolts and lightning like gods from the heavens. I had no time for willow wielders until one day I saw this powerfully built dark Hercules swat those thunderbolts off his nose and into the stands with the arrogance of lion at a dog show and I sat up and took notice. They called him Vivian Smokin’ Joe Richards. But why’d they call him Smokin’ Joe? I learnt they called him that after a heavyweight boxer called Joe Frazier, a man Richards admired and in him, more than any other cricketer, found his true inspiration . And why did they call him that? Well Joe Frazier was a relentless fighter who used to steam in at his opponent. But more importantly, the two smokin Joes had another thing in common. They were giant-slayers in a land of giants. Both of them were less than six feet tall, taking on opponents who were much bigger and taller and yet they had the power and the panache to remain standing even as they knocked the stuffing out of their rivals. While Richards took guard against big tall fast bowlers during his career and left them cowering in fear with his onslaught, Joe Frazier at 5’10” was rather small for a heavy weight boxer. And yet, he stood toe to toe with some of the most formidable men to ever step into a ring, and more oft en than not, emerged triumphant.
But there was one cowardly giant that Joe found impossible knock out. He fought till his breath lasted and he fought hard and true. But on the 7th of November, the once mighty Frazier was knocked out cold by a contender he couldn’t see. Liver cancer snuffed out Smokin Joe’s light and there would be no rematch this time.
Joe’s legacy, much like his personality, simmers under the surface. He didn’t fight for the black man’s pride the way Ali did. Nor did he have the wit and charm and focussed humanitarian spirit of a George Foreman. What Frazier did instead was inspire with his courage and passion. Born into near poverty in a racially charged environment, young Joe fought for dignity and pride long before he started fighting for money. And yes, he fought for the love of the game. For why else would he spend his afternoons at an abattoir where he once worked, practising his punches and pummelling butchered carcasses while his colleagues rested. And of course he fought for us, the little guys. No matter how big your opponent, watching Joe lashing out at the big guys helped us believe we were no less, even if the inches be so....
The Joe Frazier story, beyond the trilogy of Ali fights and the ‘Thrilla in Manila’ was one that revealed itself to me in patches, first as the icon for an icon and then in dogeared books and grainy black and white videos. But in every story I read, and in every picture I saw, I saw a man who seemed to fear no one and love every one. That’s an epitaph few would complain about....
Rest in peace Smokin Joe for your stories will forever be blowing in the wind.....
No comments:
Post a Comment