Thank You...for everything.

That’s unbelievable!

This expression has over the past quarter of a century almost been used to describe the indescribable. How does he do that? How can he do that? But he does that; and unfortunately from now ‘did that’. But it’s one of our own who did it. Twenty four years is a long time to put to words. The past tense would always be in this case put to the sword, and why not. All good things end, the wise said, but please, some things... can’t it be kept? Time, bides for no man, is said and neither did it for him. He is God, and he is mortal. He made time and by time he is consumed. Yes, he has been showered upon accolades upon accolades. The zenith, the Pantheon and the highest echelons of endeavour and achievement are but dwarfed as he strolled on the greens and made them his own. The master was out to command. From a bloody nose in 1989, to the guard of honour in 2013, the world has come a long way. From the single television in a locality, the world has moved on to television in a pocket.

Quarter of a century almost, is a long time. Yes, the immaculate cuts, the artistic cover drives, the majestic straights, which incidentally have become a hallmark, have been part of a package which has enthralled one and all by its sheer beauty. Yes, beauty. A country very young in age, a generation had never seen and perhaps will never again, the sheer poetry, the moments, and the magic. Art or great art has the capacity, even in its utmost grimness to give a sense of celebration, of joy, of wonder, the joy of creation, the joy to play God. This was art of the highest calibre. Human endeavour of the most magniloquent grandeur expressed before all to see. What set him apart and endeared him to the one and all faithful was just the beauty of him. The beauty he brought on the greens. Man, in a world, in a country where he is surrounded by squalor, filth and degeneration finds joy in the sheer simplicity and beauty of the man. The dance down the track, the glance, the slog-sweep, the straights, the sheer simplicity of the Chaplinesque kind for all, and I mean all members of the game he so loves.

One thing which has set him apart is his part in growing up. Anecdotes which have filled lives, newspapers, daily talks, part of day and dreams of nights. Wonder how he handled it! It’s no mean pressure when every kid wants a piece of him, and wants to be him. He is the only mortal perhaps in a nation whose consciousness is ruled by its Gods, to challenge the creator for celestial glory. As years have passed, one’s associations have changed, from wonder to admiration to following as a teacher. He is a reminder that greatness is never free; it requires sacrifice of the utmost order, attained only through the blood, sweat and tears. The hours put to the course, behind the fanfare of the greatness, behind the glare of the camera. A teaching that no cause is lost, if there is but one to fight for it and fight till the last ounce of strength disappears. His stories and anecdotes have taught that no matter what happens; put a price and a huge price on your sweat. In every walk of life and at every moment of trepidation, the teacher that is he leads to show and inspire. Teach to make each drop of sweat count, and never be satisfied. Growth is the essence of life, and sacrifice is the essence of greatness.

As I write this with possibly a lump in the throat as many of this wonderful nation, I fail to be drawn into the sorrow. It is not the time. Anecdotes have changed into stories, stories into lore and now into legends. Years later, tell your grandchildren that yes, the last of the Titans existed, and we were fortunate to walk the earth with him.

Names have not been taken, but then again, do we need to? “I have seen God” said a fine Australian with 380 as highest score. Then again, need we take the name of God? As he leaves the turf hallowed by his presence, the glance to the heavens for one last time, to us mere mortals his life rings, put a price on every drop of your sweat. Greats are born, genius create themselves from greatness.

For the will displayed and the beauty enjoyed, all I can say is, Thank You. I owe you master.

A legendary American boxer perhaps fittingly said,

“Champions aren't made in gyms. Champions are made from something they have deep inside them. A desire, a dream, a vision, they have to have the last minute stamina, they have to be a little faster, they have to have the skill and the will.”


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