Valentino Singh, former Guardian sports editor None of us who were alive on November 19, 1989, is likely to forget the events of that day. It was when we were expected to qualify for the World Cup finals in Italy, which were due to kick off a few months later.
But needing a point to do so, the T&T Strike Squad lost to the United States 1-0. There was chaos at the National Stadium with the overselling of tickets and hundreds who had legitimate tickets failed to get inside.
The loss, and failure to qualify, was painful for all, and several questions were raised.
I was an investigative reporter on the Sunday Guardian Desk. My then editor Therese Mills, noting my sporting background, gave me the responsibility of finding out what went wrong and why.
So began my association with Austin Jack Warner, then a FIFA vice president and secretary of the T&T Football Association.
Warner was chief, cook and bottle washer of T&T football, and every finger pointed in his direction. As mandated I found the answers which eventually led to a Commission of Enquiry.
The revelations caused much embarrassment to the T&TFA, and pain to Warner.
It was a watershed moment in my career, and a few months later I was elevated to the position of sports editor which I held for most of the rest of my stay at the Guardian.
Ironically, I wrote two biographies for Warner, —Upwards Through the Night, in 1996, and Zero to Hero, in 2006.
By that time, Warner had risen in the FIFA hierarchy and was first vice-president. He had also taken over as president of CONCACAF, in a hostile election in 1990.
The invitation to do his first book was surprising, since until then Warner and I had never spoken after the misfortunes of 1989.
As I researched Warner’s life, there was a lot to think about. Warner is as Trini as one could get, and I mean this in every sense—good and bad.
After we qualified for the World Cup in 2005, Warner hosted a media cruise aboard The Jolly Roger—a well-known party boat. We were on the seas for more than an hour when a young guest approached and reprimanded him for not having a certain drink on board. Warner promised to fix that before the cruise ended. I shrugged it off as ole talk since I was convinced that it was not going to happen and I got back to the business of enjoying the evening.
Imagine my shock when 20 minutes later a speedboat pulled up alongside and two men climbed aboard with a case of the drink which the young woman desired.
Since I was there when she complained, Warner sought me out, and shaking the bottle of Dom Perignon White Gold like a trophy, he noted: “When I say we have everything you want to drink in this party, I mean everything.”
Warner supports Argentina while I support Brazil in World Cup football. Our differences earned me a fully autographed shirt from all members of the Brazil team, which won the tournament in 2002. It’s another of the priceless items which I possess—thanks to Warner.
There’s also the Dwight Yorke autographed shirt, signed by “Anna’,” (Yorke’s nickname in Tobago) which was worn in the Manchester United treble year of 1999.
Yorke, like Lara, wrote a column for the Guardian, as did George Bovell, our only non-track and field athlete to have won an Olympic medal.
Yorke’s stint was during the World Cup in France in 1998. But I have to admit, it was difficult. Just as he was on the field of play, the former Manchester United man was hard to tie down, often disappearing at crucial moments when you needed him to provide information.
I remember the look on his face when I picked him up from the Hyatt on Ash Wednesday after he went to check in to the hotel and discovered there were no rooms available.
Not even that “Smiling Assassin” charm could buy him a room, and poor me had to drive him around for ten minutes, with that disappointment weighing down the moment, as he searched for somewhere else to stay.
I was hopeful that I could spend some space on some of my favourite people from West Indies cricket, apart from Lara. There is, of course, Sir Garfield Sobers with whom I enjoyed a coaching session as a young cricketer. He is still as witty as ever: “Well, I could not have been a very good coach, eh. I coached Valentino and he didn’t amount to much.”
And Sir Curtly Ambrose of “Curtly speaks to no man” fame. I was privileged to be one of the few sportswriters to have interviewed Sir Curtly during his playing days. “I was in a good mood that day,” Sir Curtly joked to an audience of young students at the Cascadia Hotel last year.
And there’s the eccentric Colin Croft and people such as my Queen’s Royal College heroes, Deryck Murray and Lincoln “Tiger” Phillips, two men with diplomatic skills that could be used to save a third world war.
And I still have not reached Ato Boldon whose confidence as a brash young boy was matched only by dedication and commitment to achieving his goals.
Unfortunately it is not possible to tell all the wonderful off-the-field tales with the hundreds of outstanding sportsmen and women whose careers I put the spotlight on during my stay in the sports editor’s chair.
I hope these few anecdotes help to provide an idea of the wonderful world in which I was honoured to have existed over the past three decades.