Dear Editor,
Along with some stalwarts from the 1990s, I recently embarked on a Guyana Squash Archive Project. This project is conceived to be a digital archive of everything that is Guyana Squash from its inception in the 1960s to the present. One cannot accomplish this herculean task without going through Colin Ming, a mainstay at the Georgetown Club – the home of Guyana squash – from 1975 when he first joined the Club up to last Friday when he was Chairman of the Board. So I was speaking with Colin frequently in the last few months after many absent years. Our final call, which was barely a week ago, was short. He answered and said “Rog, I can’t speak to you right now. I am playing with my grand-daughter”. As a father of four myself I understand the sanctity of family so I was quick in my response with my last ever words to him – and which I will now always remember with piercing clarity: “No problem Colin. That is much more important. Go do that. We have lots of time for this. Speak soon”.
Whenever anyone passes, it is always a sad event. It is also a time for pause and reflection: pause and reflection over their life and mortality, and invariably pause and reflection over one’s own. When the person who passes is older, one can usually rationalize the loss of the deceased as having lived a long and full life. However, when someone passes prematurely, you struggle to reconcile what is and what is supposed to be. For me, Colin was supposed to always be there. Like the permanent fixtures of dated furniture and sweaty towels by the squash court, he was supposed to be sitting under the mango tree by the bar at the Georgetown Club revelling in old and new stories as he orders the barman to take another round. He was supposed to be there as an evergreen to help us complete this archival project. He was supposed to be there for my next visit to the Club, children in tow, to hopefully tell them how good I used to be on the court and perhaps some stories of how bad I was off. And most importantly, he was supposed to be there to play with his grand-daughter for years to come. With Uncle Bud I felt we wuz robbed. With Colin, we were down-right cheated for, at 67 years old, his contributions were not done. He still had so much more to give.
As with all long and lifetime friendships, there are always many stories. For me, the one we would always reminisce about was in 1992 when he managed the squash team at the Southern Caribbean Championships at the Rockley Golf Club in Barbados. We were both novice golfers and we had played earlier in the week, when I won $20 off of him. On the day of the men’s finals, which I was lucky enough to make, he challenged me to a rematch that afternoon as there was nothing else going on that day and we were both bored just hanging around the hotel. I didn’t think it was a good idea given the fact I had the finals at 6pm that night. Nevertheless, he dangled and I bit; we were then off, arguing with, cussin’ at and making fun of each other during the entire round. He won, which meant, of course, we had to play a tie break 9 holes. I was on my second shot on the 9th and final hole, score at 3 holes apiece, when I look up to see my finals’ opponent, Venezuelan Rinaldo Rivas, walking across the fairway in front of me to play the finals (the squash courts were right by the golf course). The problem was that we were so bad and therefore slow, we had completely lost track of time. With a combination of my horror and his mirth, I dropped everything and had to race back to the room and then over to the courts, essentially defaulting the final hole to hand Colin the ‘win’. Although I did manage to win my squash match, then and many times thereafter, I complained to him that he was a terrible manager for putting me in that position and threatened to report him to the Association. I also refused to give him the $20 I technically owed him. He would always counter with that disarming trademark smile of his and retort that I won because we played golf, not despite it. We would then have a good laugh and hit the barman for one more round.
Although I often saw Colin on frequent trips back home, we were closest between 1985 and 1995 when I had assumed national senior team duties and he toured often with the team. These were the best of years, these were the worst of years. Best of years as Guyana was cementing itself as a regional squash powerhouse and establishing itself on the international stage. Worst of years as the country was economically crippled and lack of resources hindered much of what we were all trying to achieve as a sport. The one constant was Colin’s fierce and loyal support of the game and us as players: as a fan, as an administrator and most importantly as a friend. He held together the Association in those difficult years when there were few doing so. Perhaps much to Stanley’s chagrin, during this time, Colin was very generous with the resources of Ming’s Products and Services in assisting the Association (he was Secretary and President during this time). He worked tirelessly and selflessly in front the scenes as an administrator as well as behind making sure we the players had what we needed on a personal level in preparation for any tournament. He was also diplomatically skilled, adroitly handling an incident when I independently went after the Guyana Olympic Association for corruption, lack of transparency and financial improprieties. We always found great humour in recalling that time.
We, the Guyanese squash community have lost too many pioneers of the game in recent years. This loss, while just as painful, is different. It is too soon. However, after forty-five years, he has crafted an indelible legacy at the Georgetown Club, as a member, as a player and as an executive. Without him, the Club and the sport would be weaker today. To all the current squash players; you would not be where you are now, if it were not, in some part, for Colin Ming, as we all stand on the shoulders of giants. Yet, I feel Colin’s true impact on the game will probably never fully be understood or recognized, given all the intangibles he brought. As a lover of the sport, a student of history, and as a follower of tradition, it is hard to accept all of what has happened so quickly, so easily. Not now. Not yet.
So I am hoping, next time I am at the Club, my friend, you will still be there under the mango tree. Maybe you can order the barman to take one last round again. And this time, I promise I will pay you that $20 I owe you.
Yours faithfully,
Roger Arjoon
