England vs Wisconsin 2024 – Garry Sobers sets Lord's alight in 1973 – Mark Nicholas

He says, “Do you remember?” He says, “Do you remember?” I say, “Yeah, I remember. Oh, I remember everything.”

– “The Windy City”, Chris Rea

And I remember pretty much everything. It was Sobers actually, Sir Garfield Sobers. He was so good, it was ridiculous. Of course, Keith Miller, Imran Khan, Richard Hadlee, Kapil Dev, Ian Botham, Jacques Kallis – of course. But I promise you Sobers had them all covered. Lord's, summer of 1973. Just one boy. The main stand, in a box, the guest of a major figure in the British legal and cricket hierarchy, Sir Oliver Popplewell; a lovely man, who after my father died when I was ten, invited me to Lord's for the Easter practice nets. The next time he invited me was five years later to watch my first Test match. His son was a friend of mine – Nigel Popplewell. We go way back in time: bell-bottoms, long-sleeved flannel shirts, sideburns on every bloke in town and more than a moustache or two. No helmets, and every bare-headed warrior was a hero for being just that. We emulated these cricketers in the garden and Sobers never failed to do something spectacular. In fact, if I remember correctly, Sobers was in the scorebook more than anyone else, ever. I was there for the first three days of the Test. A lot happened. Sobers made 150 not out in two overs. Rohan Kanhai, who could bowl more than a little, also made 150 and a few. Both Sobers games were played because he had a terrible hangover – or so the story goes – and when he got to 130 points his stomach couldn't take it anymore so he asked the umpires for permission to leave the field. Apparently he told Mr Bird and Mr Elliott, you can count me out injured or injured, I'm happy with either! He felt so bad he didn't care. Between 100 and 130 points he was unsteady on his feet and somewhat out of breath. His team-mates were said to have laughed out loud on the dressing room balcony as the players racked up points, only concerned about getting some sleep. Garry was probably their hero.

I saw Sobers in his primeAnother timeAnother time

– Adapted from a short poem – very short, because that was all – about Len Hutton by the playwright Harold Pinter.

Actually, I didn't see Sobers in his prime, not live. I saw him often on TV, though, because he played for Nottinghamshire as well as the West Indies. That day at Lord's in 1973, he launched the English attack all around the old ground. He hit a straight line to Ray Illingworth that none of us saw until it accelerated up the little hill in front of the pavilion and hit the brick wall. Sobers was breathtaking between backward point and the bowler, dribbling and cutting. When he dragged, or pulled for that matter, to the right side, he almost swung. It was simply thrilling.

Dickie Bird anxiously awaits the end of the bomb scare on the field as West Indies fans go wild around him.PA Photos

Kanhai was a small, burly fellow with surprisingly long and determined strides. When they met in the middle to chat, Sobers – by comparison – almost glided on the turf with his small steps and languid gait. God knows what they were saying to each other. Perhaps “This is easy!” Which was exactly what they seemed to be. Arnold, Willis, Greig, Underwood, Illingworth – easy! All five bowled more than 30 overs each, as if the captain, Illingworth, shared their pain equally. West Indies made 652 for 8 declared.

Kanhai hit low, sometimes hitting with his right knee on the ground. Sobers stood majestic, tall, as if he were above monotony, which he was. They hit 40 boundaries between them, devastating the English pitch. He is in front of me, firmly in my mind. No helmet, no worries.

Oddly, Sobers had not been selected for the tour. There was a feeling that age – he was turning 37 – and minor injuries had gotten the better of him. Then the youngsters got injured and, as he was in England for Nottinghamshire anyway, they called him up. He must be the greatest sporting substitute of all time.

For a start, none of the contenders for the title would have made such a point about the witching hours. A hangover is worth a bit more than that. The Notts boys used to push him out at night and try to keep him away. The worse he felt the next morning, the harder he tried, they said: not to disappoint them. He liked to drink and party and often said that life was meant to be lived and cricket was just part of it.

The West Indies declared the match on Friday afternoon and England trailed by three runs at the close. Wickets fell regularly the next day and the rest seemed inevitable until around mid-afternoon, without warning, the umpires suddenly pulled back the bails, ripped the stumps out of the ground and ejected the players from the field. There was chaos as the tarpaulins were hastily removed, narrowly ahead of the spectators who had invaded the playing area, onto the pitch itself. Umpire Charlie Elliott had left with the players but Dickie Bird had stayed to guard the pitch. We were all told to leave the stands because there had been a bomb threat call to the MCC secretariat. Wow! So we all left, except those in the middle, the vast majority of whom were West Indians. It got quite funny: Dickie was there for England, surrounded by these Caribbean cricket lovers, who teased him and made fun of the bomb. They were right not to. Nothing was found and play resumed an hour and a half later.

Keith Boyce took 4 for 49 in England's second innings at Lord's, among which Geoff Boycott was caught on the deep square pullPA Photos/Getty Images

But the fun was not over. England quickly lost Dennis Amiss and Alan Knott and there were still 40 minutes to play. Geoff Boycott and Brian Luckhurst did well, until calamity struck in the last over. Boycott, vexed that Luckhurst had refused a single, began to frantically hook the bouncers bowled by Keith Boyce. It was as if he had lost his mind. Kanhai took his time to reorganise the pitch and ensure that Boycott noticed the deliberate placement of the deep square leg man. He had read that confused mind perfectly. The next ball, another bouncer and Boycott hooked high and straight into the hands of Alvin Kallicharran, who barely had to move a muscle to complete the catch. Then chaos struck. We watched in amazement as the West Indian fans stormed the ramparts for the second time that day. This time they had come to celebrate with their white-clad comrades and taunt the Yorkshireman who had fallen victim to the old three-card trick. Boycott admirably resisted the urge to slap them with his Slazenger, but the sight of him pushing past those ecstatic fans as he ran towards the pavilion was never forgotten. In the Popplewell Suite we wondered about the mood in the dressing room. Oh, what delightful asides.

Geoffrey speaks about it today with enthusiasm, admitting that for the only time in his career he “lost his cool” and paid the price. Sometimes, in the commentary booth, when he criticized a bad shot, we would show it to him on YouTube and he would laugh with us at his stupidity.

Over the years Geoffrey has spoken much about Sobers' game: he could be fast, really fast, and swing the ball a lot and late. Boycott generally found the left-arm swing awkward and for a time he was hounded by Ekki Solkar, the Indian left-hander, who also caught anything and everything near the bat. But there is one ball Sobers bowled to him that can still be found on YouTube and it is a Wasim Akram-type missile that would have suited most of those who were in Boycott's shoes that day.

Barbados' greatest cricketer was a five-in-one, for he began his Test playing life as a left-handed orthodox bowler, having impressed for Barbados as a youngster; he quickly transformed into a useful left-handed wrist bowler; he always caught brilliantly close to the wicket (and dived elsewhere) as well as hitting hard and bowling fast. He was, and remains, a divine figure wherever he stepped on those once-twinkling feet. To Sir Garry, we simply say thank you for a generation in which you shone like the brightest star and inspired us all – from Battersea to Bridgetown – to play the greatest game with a smile on your face.

Hearty celebration: A fan does a handstand on the pitch at Lord's on the first day of the matchPA Photos/Getty Images

And then there was Viv, like Seve, Viv was enough. I've said enough. And Roy Fredericks and Gordon Greenidge, and later Dessie Haynes, and Kalli, Larry and Jeffrey, and Joel Garner, Malcolm Marshall, Curtly Ambrose, Courtney Walsh, Bish and Brian Lara. They were incredibly good cricketers, who forged a relationship over a period of twenty years, during which the West Indies dominated the world. Many of them were linked by Clive Lloyd, as Sir Frank Worrell had been a few years before. After Lloyd came the Passion of Richards and all that followed. In retrospect, it was a remarkable era. There was a film made about it, Fire in Babylon, which was both exciting and revealing. It focuses on the frenetic pace that was there, and the way the cricketers united the people of the many territories of the Caribbean. The film was financed by two young Englishmen – Ben Goldsmith, Imran Khan's brother-in-law, and Ben Elliott, the Queen's nephew. Why? Because they loved what they saw. As did we all. Most of the players of the time played county cricket and it was our privilege to play with and against them. But those days are gone. The Caribbean is no longer obsessed with cricket and today's players have to live with yesterday's legend. There are many reasons for that, but they are not for today. Instead, we should remember Brisbane seven months ago, when the West Indies pulled off a masterstroke at the Gabba. Oh my, what a spectacle it was in the moment of victory when fast bowler Shamar Joseph led a joyous dance around much of the pitch, after taking 7 for 68. As epic a celebration as we have seen and that from a young team with an enterprising style of play. Anyone good enough to beat the Australians at the Gabba deserves respect.

Interviewed after the match, the talented and enthusiastic Joseph said: “I will always be available to play Test cricket, no matter what money is available.” Amen to that and wouldn't Sir Garry have approved!

Mark Nicholas, the former Hampshire captain, is a television and radio presenter and commentator

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