Tony Deyal

The day after the opening ceremony of the World Cup, I was stopped on the streets in Kingston by people who congratulated me on my speech and who were full of praise about what I had to say, the love I expressed for the Caribbean and for our cricket, and how much, and how wholeheartedly, they shared my sentiments. One man said I had made him cry. Another said that it was incredible coming from a South African. For a moment I was taken aback. My passion for cricket and my advocacy for Caribbean unity, familiar to those diehards who read my columns, might sometimes make me a Boer but a Mandela for all seasons I am not.

Worse, in spite of my well-known loquacity, and my inability to pass a soap box without standing on it (something like the powerlessness which grips Basdeo Panday whenever he confronts a dead horse and reaches instinctively for his belt), I had made no speech the day before. So, the next morning, in the dining room among the early risers with the mounting buzz of hope and speculation about whether the West Indies would beat Pakistan, I went up to Percy Sonn, the International Cricket Council president who was breakfasting with his wife, and told him that whatever he had said at the opening ceremony in Trelawny must have been potent stuff and advised that he continue along the same lines in future since I enjoyed being congratulated for his speeches.

I suppose that all short, bald or balding, overweight, seemingly cherubic males of possible East Indian extraction look alike to those who have not grown up in cosmopolitan societies. A Trinidadian, mistaking Percy Sonn for me, or (given the context) vice versa would have said, "Ai, Tony, ah just take a man for you," and regardless of who the man was, like any other Trini, I would invariably reply, "Listen, I don't want anybody to take no man for me. If I have to take a man, let me do it myself."

Genuine compliment

In this particular instance in Jamaica, though, to mistake me for Percy Sonn was a genuine compliment. Despite our being victims of some kind of apartheid when the Almighty was giving out the gift o Percy Sonn was a giant of a man.

I found that out at first hand the first day I met him which was, interestingly, the day of the famous speech. Earlier that day, I had met Percy Sonn for the first time, just before we had a private discussion on a matter related to West Indies and world cricket. Everybody had warned me that Percy was a great guy, but tough. When I saw him in the hotel lobby in Montego Bay, he was laughing and joking with the pretty young liaison ladies and hotel staff and seemed so much an innocent abroad that I wondered whether it was just a mix of bonhomie and bravado in equal proportions. I was wrong, and should have known that any non-white in South Africa who not just survived, but who fought against the injustice of the system, had to be strong, resolute and courageous. More, the meek might be blessed and inherit the Earth, but they don't rise to the top post in world cricket.

Percy's fierceness, his independence, utter self-assurance and fearlessness came out in the meeting that followed in a way that was both daunting and refreshing. He was one tough cookie baked in the South African heat. Here was a man, his insides being eaten away by cancer, whose pain threshold was so high that he was unaware of the seriousness of his situation. As an administrator, he had demanded and secured the replacement of a white player in the South African team, Jacques Rudolph, by a black player, Justin Ontong. According to Telford Vice, writing for cricinfo.com, "Sonn's argument, as usual, was irrefutable. Ontong was black, Rudolph was white, and the UCB policy held that black players were to be given preference over whites of similar ability in competition for places in the national team."

Sonn also had to deal with the Hansie Cronje matter and again according to Vice: "You've got my number - give it to him," Sonn told a reporter who, in the aftermath of Hansie Cronje being banned for life, called to ask when last he had spoken to South Africa's crooked captain. It was Sonn who said that Cronje "won't even be allowed to play beach cricket" after some of the latter's dark dealings with cricket's underworld were dragged into public view.

Behaved badly

While cricinfo.com and some of the South African journalists seem obsessed with one incident during the 2003 World Cup in South Africa, when Sonn was said to have behaved badly while under the influence of alcohol, the rest of the world has gone beyond that. Cricket South Africa's Chief Executive, Gerald Majola, said: "He was one of the pioneers of non-racial cricket in South Africa, and an administrator at the highest levels for more than four decades. Percy Sonn fought apartheid as both a cricketer and a civil-rights lawyer with vigour and great courage. He was equally effective in bringing about cricket unity in South Africa with the formation of the United Cricket Board of South Africa (UCBSA) in 1991, after more than 100 years of division on racial lines. History will record the vital part he has played in the emergence of Africa as a major cricketing continent."

South African President Thabo Mbeki said that Sonn, a former deputy director of public prosecutions, would be remembered for his passion for justice and the outstanding role he played in the management and unification of cricket. "As deputy director of public prosecutions and a legal adviser to the South African Police Service (SAPS), Mr. Sonn served his country and people diligently when he played a part in fighting crime," said the president. Mr. Sonn (who was definitely not an SAP) "became the first African to head the ICC and worked tirelessly to ensure that cricket continued to play its entertaining and unifying role to humanity," the president added.

Ehsan Mani, former ICC president, who is as soft-spoken as Sonn was boisterous, pointed out, "Percy never spoke for the sake of it, but when he did speak, people listened."

I met Percy Sonn once again (and for the last time) on the day after the World Cup final. I had stood in the darkness of Kensington Park listening to his speech but was distracted by the Australian celebrations and the steelband music.

I again met Percy and his wife as they went for an early breakfast and urged him to keep on making the fine speeches. They were good for my image. They were also good for the game of cricket. Even in the middle of the Cronje mess, the Ontong fallout, Darrell Hair's demand and Bob Woolmer's death, Sonn ensured that we all focused on what was important - the game - and the fact that it is bigger than all of us and means more in the long run.

Tony Deyal was last seen quoting South African writer Telford Vice who said: "As a South African, Sonn came from a country where the words 'black' and 'white' hold special significance. Perhaps that's why he never dealt in shades of grey."