A mighty oak has fallen
The phantom of death must have loomed like the Sword of Damocles over Michael John de Zoysa (30th September 1945 – 29th September 2019) and struck unerringly three years after his Biblical span of life, casting not only a grief-stricken pall over his vast coterie of friends, confidantes, business associates et al, but also a shock that proved the inevitable frailty of life.
Michael’s life, in my view, can be circumscribed into three fields: the tea- trade, next, as probably the most honest and sincere servant of cricket this country knew, and his complete loyalty to the Singhalese Sports Club, and not in that particular order.
I first saw Michael, somewhere in the mid 1970’s when we were pitted against each other in a friendly game of cricket. However, a bit player myself for a considerable period of time – not too accomplished though - at various levels of the game, I had never encountered a cricketer from what seemed an unknown personality kitted up in full regalia when Michael walked into bat in that game. This game was arranged by his friend ‘Kitto’ Dias who was on our side. And, I was bowling at that time. Taking into account the psychology of the situation, I signaled ‘Kitto’ (fielding in the deep) to come up and field a couple of yards from Michael’s bat. With a few further words of one-upmanship I bowled the first delivery and the next time you meet ‘Kitto’ he will tell you what followed! Michael, being the sportsman he was, still has his throaty laugh when recounting this incident. That was Michael.
Cricket stories of this nature concerning him are legion, not all in his favour! For instance, on one occasion during my cricketing dotage I was playing for the SSC in the third division of the Cricket Board. That was played over a day. Michael was captaining the second division team being played over two days and he invited me to play for his side. First I trotted out valid excuses such as two successive days of cricket was not my cup of tea, inability to attend practices and so on. No, none of these excuses held water with him. Then I played my hand of spades: “You see Mike, after my second division game under you, the Sara Trophy skipper may extend an invitation to play for his team, and after that game the National Selectors will be scouting for me……….” Michael’s response was not very courteous of course.
A true-blue Thomian, Michael was honourable and passionate in whatever he undertook, and his sudden death will create a vacuum particularly to the SSC where he was Vice President, Honorary Ground Secretary and Executive Committee Member, the roles in which he performed meticulously.
Let me finally pay my humble tribute to Michael by quoting the Iranian philosopher, mathematician, physician, poet, astronomer etc., etc., Omar Khayyam (1048 – 1131) in his quatrains, The Rubaiyat, translated into English in 1859 by Edward Fitzgerald, as follows:
“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”
May the turf, which he so lovingly cared, lie gently over him.
Mahinda Wijesinghe