The story of Clive Lloyd is that he had to start wearing glasses at a very young age. By the time he was 14, therefore, I was looking at the world through rose-colored spectacles. Well, not exactly rose-colored. My glasses were large, round, and not particularly attractive, but they were necessary, and they certainly made me see well. The incident that caused another addition to the four-eyed variety of the human race occurred when I was 12 years of age.
Walking home from school, I noticed two younger boys engaged in a furious fight. Always the mediator, I stepped in to part them and got a knock in the right eye with a ruler for my troubles. It was painful at the time, but I took no real notice of it until my vision started to deteriorate. I found it difficult to see the blackboard in the classroom and had to move up to the front row. I had to squint to make out the score on the DCC scoreboard.
Much more importantly, while batting, I was being struck on the legs far too frequently for my liking, and in the inter-school matches in which I was playing, I was being out lbw time and again. The umpire couldn’t have been wrong every time. So it was off to the optician. First, drops were recommended, but when they proved ineffective, spectacles were ordered, becoming—for better or for worse—part of the Clive Lloyd physique forever more.