When the definitive history of wretched sporting events is written, the 2007 Cricket World Cup in the West Indies is sure to feature prominently. The Oxford dictionary only added the word “Omnishambles” in 2013, but this so called global sporting extravaganza from six years ago matched the description perfectly:
“A situation that has been comprehensively mismanaged
characterised by a string of blunders and miscalculations.”
However, beyond
overpriced tickets, ridiculous sponsor interventions, a terribly designed group
phase, and the mind-numbing duration of the tournament that ended in an anti-climatic
final in darkness; the defining memory of that World Cup is the sudden passing
of Pakistan coach Bob Woolmer.
Woolmer would
have been 68 today. If his life were any kind of barometer, he would almost
certainly have stayed involved in cricket. Thinking up new T20 tactics perhaps?
Pushing the boundaries of innovative play maybe? Perhaps simply engaging with
young players as a mentor?
Bob Woolmer
lived for the game. On March 18 2007, the same game claimed his life.
The circumstances are well documented. On March 17, Pakistan were shocked by minnows Ireland in Kingston, virtually ending their tournament after they had been earlier beaten by West Indies. The image of Woolmer, disappointment writ large on his face, packing away his laptop, would be splashed across the world’s news media a few hours later. It was the last time he was seen alive.
That night he
was found dead in his hotel room. He was found naked on the floor with blood
trickling from his mouth. There was vomit on the walls.
Woolmer’s death
set into motion a dreadful sequence of events. It wasn’t long before the local
police termed it “suspicious.” Soon enough a murder investigation was launched.
A torrent of conspiracy theories started to swirl.
Had Woolmer
been silenced by a powerful match-fixing syndicate? Was his food poisoned before
he was strangled? Was snake venom used? Did he hit his head on the bathroom
sink? Was he planning to write a tell-all book on corruption in the game once
his stint with Pakistan was over? Who were the three mystery fans the police
were on the lookout for?
The story was a
minefield. The original pathologist’s report stated Woolmer had died “due
to asphyxiation as a result of manual strangulation.” So when some members of
Pakistan’s touring party were questioned before their departure from Jamaica, the
implications were chilling.
I remember it as a testing time, attempting to
report on a rapidly unfolding sequence of events thousands of miles away,
having to carefully consider the dribbles of information seeping through. The
thumb rule was to weigh up each word before uttering it on Television.
A man had lost his life and thousands of miles away in South Africa his devastated family were wondering just what had killed him? Selective leaks from the police to local journalists, who gleefully relayed half-baked and often unverified “facts” to media networks around the world fed into an untamed frenzy.
This was a thriller with a heady concoction –
intrigue, murder, supposed shadowy figures from the game’s underbelly,
unidentified killers and high-profile international sportsmen. Yet, it was
brutally real and demanded empathy and understanding. The police were certain a
vicious crime had taken place but were nowhere near identifying a criminal.
Dangerously, that task was co-opted by those on the outside of the investigative
process.
As it turned out, a few months later the Jamaican
police retracted from their original stance and in an embarrassing climb-down
said Woolmer died of “natural causes.” While the occasional mutterings
questioning that finding have been heard since, it ended a sordid chapter in
the history of the game.
Bob Woolmer leaves behind a rich legacy – a 17-year
first class career that saw him score over 10,000 runs. A short Test career
that yielded three Test hundreds. And most importantly, stints as coach with
South Africa and Pakistan where he left an indelible imprint on the game with his out of the
box thinking and boundless enthusiasm.
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