As Ricky Ponting says goodbye to cricket, which other
sporting farewells stick in the mind?
If any sports people have a
more finely-tuned sense of their place in history than Australia’s cricketers,
I’d love to meet them. Ricky Ponting called time on his career
in Perth last week, declaring his innings closed on 168 Test appearances. Exactly the same number as that other Aussie
middle-order warrior and captain, Steve Waugh.
In drawing level with – but refusing to pass – Waugh’s record, Ponting
echoed Mark Taylor’s declaration when he was on 334 not out, thus equalling Don
Bradman’s then Australian record Test score and declining the opportunity to overtake
the great man.
It’s a decision that some
feel Ponting shouldn’t have been allowed to make. By his own admission, his form has been some
way short of his best and Australian cricket isn’t renowned for its
sentimentality. However, it’s fitting
that this wonderful servant to his country should be granted the right to exit
the stage on his own terms. His reaction
to the spontaneous guard of honour formed by the South Africans as he walked in
to bat for the final time was typical of the man.
“I was a little bit embarrassed and wish it didn’t happen that way, but
it was an amazing gesture by Graeme [Smith] and the South African team,”
Ponting said, before promising to buy Smith a beer by way of thanks.
Earlier in his career,
Ponting was renowned for neither his humility nor his judicious use of
alcohol. He was a fully paid-up a member
of the talented group of larrikins – Shane Warne and Mark Waugh being two
others – who were the heartbeat of arguably the greatest Test side in
history. They were good but, by God,
they knew it. Winning with swagger,
swigging with vigour and chirping at inferior opponents in the manner of
playground bullies. Ponting’s love of a
good bet on his beloved greyhounds – and his inevitable nickname, Punter –
simply underscored the cricketing public’s view (alright, my view) of him as a
brilliant but unlovable tearaway.
It was only in 2005 that my
personal opinion of him changed. Being
on the wrong end of the finest series ever to have been played (fact) must have
been nigh-on impossible to take.
Especially as it was at the hands of the Poms. But the way Ponting conducted himself, his
honest appraisal of his own side’s shortcomings, and his genuine
congratulations to Michael Vaughan’s men marked him out as a man of the highest
calibre. When he retained his stoical
and sanguine demeanour through two further Ashes losses as captain, often in
the face of hostile recriminations from the Australian media, Ponting became my
most respected sporting opponent. An
accolade I’m sure he’ll be ‘stoked’ about.
So, as Ricky sails off over
the horizon, who else has made a memorable exit?
--
Frankel – 20 October 2012
The life of a racehorse is
often planned with military precision.
So the sport’s followers knew this date would signal the end of the
career of the most celebrated animal ever to grace the turf. And they flocked, all 32,000 of them, to a
chilly and damp Ascot to catch one final glimpse of their hero.
He won again, superfluous to
report. Ridiculous that we should take
his victory for granted. Trailing in his
wake was officially the second-best horse on the planet, Cirrus Des Aigles from
France. The ground was far softer than
Frankel would have wanted (and would’ve suited the French raider much better)
but, still, Frankel breezed by his rival in trademark effortless fashion to win
by a comfortable length-and-three-quarters.
After the race, jockey Tom
Queally took Frankel on an impromptu parade in front of the stands. Queally, who was in the saddle for every one
of the unbeaten colt’s fourteen career victories, admitted he deliberately rode
further than necessary, “so I could sit on him just a little longer.” It was a fitting tribute to a mighty equine
hero. We may see Frankel’s like again,
such is the idiosyncratic nature of sport, but it’s unlikely.
Meanwhile, I fear for Ascot’s
Champions’ Day in 2013. Without Frankel
topping the bill, how can it hope to attract such numbers in the middle of
autumn?
--
Ayrton Senna – 1 May 1994
Unlike Frankel’s, Ayrton
Senna’s exit came as a monumental and tragic shock. And yet, in some ways, the Brazilian had been
saying goodbye for quite some time.
Students of Senna, and particularly those with an interest in conspiracy
theories, will be able to point to a number of seemingly prophetic quotes about
his own demise.
“If I ever happen to have an accident that eventually costs my life,” he
said, “I hope it happens in one instant.”
Mercifully for him, his death at Imola, San Marino, was just as
instantaneous as he’d half-predicted.
One of the great paradoxes of
the man was this: on the one hand, a sensational, sublimely talented driver
whose style and approach bordered on the reckless; on the other, a shop steward
of a figure, at the forefront of lobbying F1’s authorities for greater driver
safety. One of the many fantastic scenes
in the should-have-won-an-Oscar documentary of his life shows Senna in heated
debate with race officials. He’s
basically saying: “This is a dangerous sport, you know. Someone could get killed.”
After Roland Ratzenberger had
lost his own life in qualifying for San Marino, Senna phoned his
girlfriend. He reportedly told her he
didn’t want to race but felt obliged to do so because it was his job. Through the lens of history, this call has a
certain valedictory quality about it.
As with many who die young,
Senna’s status as a legend was cemented the moment he perished. And just a small part of his legacy is a
safer Formula One.
--
Alex Higgins – 14 April 1990
Ronnie O’Sullivan’s always
threatening to retire from professional snooker. In fact, he’s currently taking a year-long
sabbatical, from which he may or may not return. One word, Ronnie. Boooring.
Retire, don’t retire, go for a run, do whatever, just piss or get off
the pot.
If Ronnie, or anyone else,
wants a lesson in how to do it, look no further than the granddaddy of all
snooker lunatics, Mr Alexander Gordon Higgins.
After losing to Steve James in the 1990 World Championship, Higgins sat
in his chair for an eternity, a pathetic figure in the middle of The Crucible,
sipping what appeared to be orange juice (but was almost certainly half
vodka). Having had time to collect his
thoughts, he delivered one of the most extraordinary, rambling diatribes ever
heard at a press conference. Among the
stream-of-consciousness that included accusations of corruption, calls on
politicians to investigate the game and an inexplicable “Rock on, Tommy”, Higgins
announced his retirement.
“You can shove your snooker
up your jacksy,” he slurred. “I’m not
playing no more.”
Yes, it was a sad sight, the
very epitome of the tortured genius imploding in an unforgiving media
glare. And I know we shouldn’t delight in
the public humiliation of a man battling health problems and psychological
demons. But, on the other hand, what
entertainment! Way to go, Alex.
Now that, Ronnie, is what I
call a farewell.
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