What a tragedy! What a pity! What great regrets! I am a great fan and admirer of the great West Indian batsmen of the past, such as Sobers, Headley, Weekes, Walcott, Worrell, Walcott, Richards, Kanhai, Lara, and others. I also recognize the talent and greatness of many international batsmen. But the batsman I would most rather pay good money to watch bat is Carl Hooper. I would rather pay to watch Hooper make just 100 runs than to watch almost any other batsman make 300 runs (with the slightly possible exceptions of Sobers and Richards). The exquisitely sweet timing of Hooper's shots, the sheer aesthetic artistry of his strokes, the ease and the disdain with which he sometimes dispatched both fast bowlers and sinners alike, the way in which he made it all look so simple and easy is a pure joy and delight to behold. Hooper's strokes should be used as illustrations for any cricket manual on batting. A pity he left us feeling unfulfilled.
Carl Hooper was the greatest creator of high anxiety in WI cricket. He could hit any ball from any bowler for an effortless six, no matter how great that bowler or ball might be. But he could just as easily get out to any ball from to any bowler, no matter how innocuous that bowler or ball might be. He was sublime; he was ridiculous; he was unforgettable. At his best he was good enough to destroy a world-class Pakistan attack hitting 178* against Akram, Younis and Quadir in their prime; at his worst he was bad enough to hand Cork a hat-trick on a platter with a nonchalant 'bat-behind-pad' shuffle across his stumps. Rare though his moments of beauty were I would not have missed them for the world. Definitely, there was a rare 'wow' factor in his shot-making; he could play shots that would make me pause and say "how the heck did he do that?". All in all, his exquisite highs gave me enough joy to compensate for his abysmal lows.
Every time Carl Hooper walked to the wicket, he filled me with the hope that makes all West Indians go on, even as our little economies grind to a halt. Because I could see in Carl his beauty, because he had shown it to me himself, so often, over so many games, in a century in his second Test, in yet another impossible catch in the covers, in awe-inspiring sixes; in his grace, I saw our own hope.