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His refusal to go to South Africa in 1983 had been symbolic. He was the best player in the world. The prize catch. If ever there had been a symbol of West Indies’ shift from Calypso Cricketers, Englishmen with brown skin, and colonial subjects to anti-racists, to independence, to rebels, it had been Richards. Wearing a red, gold and green wristband, the sight of Richards strutting from the pavilion to the batting crease was as dramatic and intimidating as watching Mike Tyson walk to a boxing ring. Richards would scan the audience and the opposing team as if they were his subjects. He would walk to the crease as if failure was not an option. In an era of hostile fast bowling, where Richards faced the likes of Lillee and Thomson from Australia, Imran Khan from Pakistan and his West Indian teammates, who he regularly faced in the English County Championship, Richards never wore a helmet. He had been a king without security, a superstar without a bodyguard, a target without protection.

Had Richards gone to South Africa, his departure would have signalled the premature death of West Indian cricket dominance and indeed all that the team had stood for since 1976. It would have opened the floodgates and made it acceptable for other Caribbean players to go.