Sir Garfield Sobers is the best batter I've ever seen and that's not taking into account all the other amazing skills he possessed on the cricket field.
He could take the new ball as a genuine swing bowler at a lively pace and then send down either wrist or fingerspin. He was a terrific fielder, catching in the close cordon either side of the wicket, and he was just as likely to produce a direct hit with a throw on the rare occasions he occupied an in-field position.
Playing for South Australia in the Shield competition, he once moved in from his leg-slip position to put the bails back on the stumps before the square-leg umpire could do it. "Ah," said the wicketkeeper, Barry Jarman, "you've done everything else in this game, now you want to umpire."
As an 18-year-old I had the wonderful experience of watching and learning from Garry. It always amazed me how the best cricketer in the world could treat an unknown young player from Glenelg as an equal.
"Go and grab a bottle of beer son," he said, "and we'll talk about a few things." This was his response when I asked him for advice after I'd been bowled behind my legs by Australian fast bowler Ian Meckiff.
Garry gave me two or three tips on that occasion, and I adhered to them for the rest of my career. He could not only play the game but he also knew how things worked.
In the last game of the 1963-64 Sheffield Shield season the team that won the game clinched the trophy. As the final over before lunch began on the first day, South Australia had Victoria in deep trouble at 95 for 6.
Left-hand batter Ian Huntington decided it was time to put the shutters up as he faced legspinner Rex Sellers. Huntington played the first couple of deliveries with a dead bat and Sobers, fielding at leg slip, took note.
As Huntington prepared to play the third delivery in the same manner, Sobers took a couple of paces forward and placed his right hand on the ground. The forward-defensive shot landed right in his perfectly placed hand. The Vics went to lunch at 95 for 7.
It was pure genius, resulting from an alert cricket brain.
And he wasn't above a bit of gamesmanship.
The English opener Geoff Boycott once sought Garry's advice during a game.
"Garry," he said, "you seem to get me lbw a lot. Why is that?"
Garry immediately went for the jugular. "Unlike a lot of people, I don't think your technique is so good," he said. "You play with your front foot a long way towards off stump, so I just bowl an inswinger and you can't get the bat past your front pad."
Boycott wandered off, shaking his head. The next morning when he came out to bat, Garry took the new ball. He ran up and bowled and Boycott edged to the slips.
As he headed for the pavilion, Garry quietly wandered up to him. "Geoffrey, you didn't ask me about the one that goes the other way."
That was Sobers. He loved a challenge and regularly produced his best in the biggest matches.
Big games weren't the only thing that motivated him. Earlier in that 1963-64 season South Australia played the touring South African side at Adelaide Oval. It was the dark days of apartheid, and the only teams South Africa played against were Australia, England and New Zealand.
When South Australia captain Les Favell won the toss, he decided to bat first. Garry used to bat at four for SA, and when Les entered the dressing room after the toss, Garry asked, "Okay if I bat in the West Indies cap today skip?"
Now Les was a stickler for players wearing the SA cap. He'd once sighted allrounder Neil Hawke coming onto the field proudly wearing his Australian cap just after he'd been selected in the national side; "Piss off 'Awkey," yelled Les, "and put your South Australian cap on."
Given this history, I was interested in Favell's response to Garry's request.
After a few moments' thought Les said; "That's fine by me Sobie."
Garry smashed the South African attack all over the park, making 155. He was involved in a 253-run partnership with Ian McLachlan, who also made a century, and went on to be a minister in the John Howard government.
Through his magnificent knock Garry wore the West Indies cap proudly, perched on his head with the peak pointing skywards like a jockey's headgear.
I always wondered about that episode because Garry was a man without prejudice.
In 1991, Channel Nine was in the Caribbean, covering the series between Australia and West Indies. I caught up with Garry in Barbados and we went to a beach bar to talk about old times over a few drinks.
After a couple of Banks beers, I asked him: "Sobie, do you remember when you asked Les if you could wear the West Indies cap in the game against South Africa?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Why did you do that?" I responded.
"Well Ian," he said, picking up his drink and taking a sip before he went on, "at that stage the South Africans hadn't seen a West Indies cap and I thought it was time they had a good long look at one."
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I was afforded a close-up view of Sobers' batting genius at an early age. I'd just turned 19 in 1962 when I played my first game against New South Wales, captained by Richie Benaud and containing at least half the Australian team. Their bowling line-up was virtually the Test attack of that period: Alan Davidson, Frank Misson, Benaud and Johnny Martin.
I was fortunate to make my first ever Shield hundred in the first innings. Having been taught to use my feet, I thought I handled the spinners, Benaud and Martin, reasonably comfortably.
Favell and Benaud were two very enterprising captains and it was common for SA and NSW to have exciting finishes in those days. This game was no exception and SA required just over 200 in reasonably quick time to clinch a rare outright victory over the blue-bags.
When I joined Garry, SA were 158 for 4 and things seemed to be well under control. Certainly when Sobers was on strike, it appeared that way.
But as soon as I came on strike, Benaud went round the wicket - as Warne used to do so successfully in later years - and spun three balls out of the footmarks. They just missed the edge of my bat, and luckily, the stumps.
The umpire called over and I was extremely thankful. I'd never faced a legspinner bowling round the wicket before and I wasn't sure I'd be facing one for much longer.
Garry, who wasn't prone to deep and meaningful mid-wicket discussions, came loping down my end, put his arm round my shoulders and said: "Don't worry son, it'll soon be over."
I thought, "Jaysus, is it so obvious even my own team-mates know my end is nigh?"
With that he strolled back down the other end and proceeded to pound a string of boundaries off Martin and take a single from the last ball. He then took a couple more boundaries off Benaud and again a single off the last ball. And in a matter of no time, SA had reached 203 for 4. He was right, it was soon over.
Not long after completing three seasons with SA, Garry was quoted as saying, "Outside of Test matches, Sheffield Shield cricket is the toughest I've ever played." He didn't make it look that way, though.
In 26 matches he scored 2707 runs at 62.95 and took 137 wickets at 26.02. He made runs at the rate of roughly 100 per match and averaged over five wickets a game. He only averaged about eight catches a season but that was because he was bowling so much of the time. "Spin, skip," Garry would say when either the wicket demanded it or he needed a bit of a breather. And Les would mostly reply; "No Sobie, swing."
He played something like 20 seasons without a break, competing in league, county, Shield or Caribbean provincial cricket when he wasn't involved in representing West Indies.
And he wasn't a nine-o'clock-to-bed-and-no-drink cricketer. He once told me that after his good friend and West Indies allrounder Collie Smith was killed - Garry was driving the car at the time - he was drinking and playing for two men.
He was a gentleman on and off the field and a gambling captain, but that didn't mean he was soft on opponents.
In 1971-72 he captained the Rest of the World team that played a series against Australia when the tour by South Africa was cancelled.
Dennis Lillee ripped through the much-vaunted RoW batting line-up in the second international, at the WACA ground. But when he had 2 for 29 off five overs, he told me: "I'm stuffed mate, I can't bowl another over."
I talked him into bowling another over because our only other quick bowler, Graham McKenzie, wasn't ready to swap ends. When RoW were bowled out for 59, Dennis finished with figures of 8 for 29 off 7.1 overs.
Sobers was one of his victims, caught by Rod Marsh for a duck. Dennis then got him first ball for a duck with a bouncer in the first innings of the next match, at the MCG. Australia had won the WACA match to take a 1-0 advantage and were then leading by a hundred on the first innings in Melbourne. The credibility of the series was hanging by a thread.
That night in the dressing rooms, Garry walked over to Dennis with a glass of beer. "Well bowled, son," he said, clinking glasses with Lillee, "but just remember. I can bowl bouncers too, and I bat better than you."
The next time the two teams gathered for a drink in the dressing rooms Garry was 130 not out. The following day was a rest day, and as I entered their room, Garry called me over.
He was sitting in front of his locker, on his own, which was strange because he was usually in the thick of the conversation. He nodded to the empty seat next to him and said, "Ian, Prue's left me."
Prue was Garry's wife, an Australian. I replied: "Well Garry, if that's what's pissing you off give me her number and I'll call her and tell her to come home immediately."
It didn't work on Sobers. He finished with 254, RoW won the match, and Sir Donald Bradman described Garry's innings as one of the best he'd ever seen.
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One experience I had with Garry that really left an impression occurred in May 2000. The occasion was a function to honour Garry as a living National Hero of Barbados.
Garry had invited a few friends to join him for this honour, and Barbara-Ann, my wife, and I were delighted to accept.
The show was hosted by cricket broadcasters Tony Cozier and Donna Symonds, and the guest list was a who's who of Barbados cricket. Early in the evening Tony came up to me and said we'd meet in the foyer after the show and go to Braddy's bar.
I moved around the room to catch up with old friends. Among them were Wes Hall, Colin Cowdrey, Desmond Haynes and Big Bird Joel Garner. It was also a pleasure to chat again with legendary batter Everton Weekes, one of the famous three Ws.
Both Richie Benaud and Keith Miller had told me that they thought Weekes was the best of the three. He was always bright company and at 75 he was still looking sprightly.
"Everton, you're looking good," I said. "What are you doing to keep fit?"
After taking a sip from his scotch he said, "Ian, I swim every morning around six. In the morning the fluid is on the outside. In the evening, it's on the inside."
When we all met up around midnight, Everton was leading the group. It was a strange gathering at Braddy's bar. Around 20 people, men in dinner suits and ladies in cocktail dresses turned up at this distinctly casual bar.
When we arrived, a Rasta was in the middle of singing karaoke. He never got to finish his tune because the owner grabbed the microphone from him and shouted out: "Barbados' only living legend has just entered the room. Welcome, Sir Garry Sobers."
With that, people came from everywhere to greet Sobie. There were people in Hawaiian shirts, shorts, thongs, and an assortment of hairdos - with the Rasta dreadlocks the favourite. This motley crew all lined up to shake Sobers by the hand, and in some cases hug the National Hero.
While this was going on I decided there was a need for alcohol. I looked at the group and thought the order was going to be impossible to remember, so I headed to the bar and ordered a crate of Banks beer. I returned to the group, plonked the crate on the floor and said: "Anyone who doesn't drink beer can bloody well get their own."
At around 4am Barbara-Ann said, "Come on, Ian, you've got to fly in the morning. You'd better get some sleep."
Hearing this, Everton asked how we were getting back to the hotel.
"We'll catch a cab," I replied.
Everton threw his head back and laughed; "Man, you won't get a cab at this hour. I'll drive you home."
"But Everton, what about the breathalyser?" I spluttered.
One final swig of beer to finish the bottle. "Ian, we're too civilised in Barbados to have the breathalyser."
It had been a memorable night to honour a champion. A champion who was best summed up by probably the next best allrounder of them all, Miller.
Keith was sitting watching the cricket on television with his son Denis one day. When some statistics came on the screen, a commentator said: "There's Bradman, the greatest cricketer of all time."
Keith leapt off the couch: "Greatest batsman of all time - Bradman. Greatest cricketer of all time - Sobers."
This is an edited extract from Life Larrikins and Cricket by Ian Chappell, Ebury Press, 2012