Sports Editor
As Guardian Media celebrates 108 years today, I find myself reflecting on my own journey—27 years, to be exact—since I first walked through those towering wood and glass doors on the ground floor, wide-eyed and eager, to begin my stint as a freelance sports writer under the guidance of the legendary Valentino “Tino” Singh, then Sports Editor, now retired.
For three years, I worked as a freelancer, typing away late into the night and arriving at the office before 9 am each day to get my copy of the newspapers to cut out my stories each morning like it was a personal scrapbook of survival.
In those days, everyone was reading stories and my name became popular on the basketball, netball and tennis courts, the football fields, and at cycling events.
That all changed in August 1993, when then-Editor-in-Chief Therese Mills retired from the Guardian to launch T&T’s third daily newspaper—Newsday—and offered me a staff position.
Before giving her an answer, I sought advice from some seasoned veterans like David Cuffy at the Guardian. I then approached Tino. He said: “Take the offer. You’ll get reporting experience, a guaranteed monthly salary, and you can stop cutting out your stories every day to submit for your monthly payments. And who knows—you just might return someday.”
I called Ms Mills and said, “I’m ready to start.” Truth be told, it wasn’t me she originally wanted—it was Tino. But he sent me in his place.
Those three years under Tino, and alongside sub-editors Rudy Ragbir and Kelvin “KC” Choy, both now deceased, laid the foundation for everything that came next. I was fortunate to win several media awards during that time at Newsday, including two of the five BWIA awards in 1999 for my coverage of the Secondary Schools Football League—judged by none other than students themselves.
I spent eight formative years at Newsday learning the craft and developing under the likes of George Harvey, who was Sports Editor, John Babb, now deceased, and Ms Mills herself.
Then, in mid-September 2001, during T&T’s hosting of the FIFA Under-17 World Cup, my phone rang. It was Tino. My first thought?
“Boy ... I probably write something and it get Tino vex.”
He occasionally called to offer critiques of my work or guidance on my stories at Newsday. But this time, the call was different.
Tino said, “What you doing in the morning?”
I replied, “What time?”
He said, “About 11.”
I told him I was volunteering with the media team for the World Cup and I’d be free. Appointment confirmed.
When I walked into the Guardian office, the greetings were warm—fist bumps, and hugs: “Ah, Clement, like you coming back?”
My meeting with Tino was him offering me the position of assistant Sports Editor. He outlined the role, the responsibilities, the expectations and what the salary would be. I was stunned. Assistant Sports Editor ... at the Guardian ... An institution. Before making a decision, I consulted two trusted voices, yes, David Cuffy, a veteran entertainment reporter, and Fitzroy Dove from the Guardian Security department. Both echoed the same sentiment: “The Guardian is stable. It’s an institution.”
Later that day, en route to Couva for my World Cup media shift, I called Tino and said, “Ah taking the job.”
His response: “Okay, come see me on Monday.”
I had my interview with Andy Johnson, signed the paperwork, and the very next day, I resigned from Newsday. My official first day at Guardian was October 1, 2001—shirt, tie, and butterflies in my stomach. However, my confirmation letter may say otherwise.
Over time, I came to realise Tino didn’t just see me as another reporter or staff member—he treated me like a younger brother. We never had personal disagreements, and even if we did, no one knew. I could approach him with anything at any time.
Maybe, just maybe, when he saw me first walk into that office back in January 1991, he saw someone he could mentor for leadership.
I served as his assistant for 16 years. During that time, I would always tell my colleagues, “When Tino’s not here, that’s nobody’s business. We just do the work.”
The Sports Desk was located near the managing director’s office on the Mezzanine, and it was the heartbeat of the Guardian—what we called “the Livewire.” From time-to-time, Grenfell Kissoon, the MD would come and say, ‘Sports Desk, I’m trying to work here, please’.
The Sports Desk was located next to Business, led by Anthony Wilson, and Features, headed by Peter Ray Blood, we did our thing. While Anthony pleaded for quiet, Blood and I were separated only by a partition—and during the day, I would hear ‘KC, I just sent you a press release’. And on other days I would return the favour, ‘Bloody, check your email, I just sent you a press release, attend to it now, please’. (Those press release stories are for another time).
Sometime around 2007 or 2008, the Guardian newsroom went through a big redesign—new layout, fresh paint, and the kind of shake-up that gets people wondering if their desk will still have a phone.
As part of the grand plan, the designer decided to relocate the Sports Desk—our lively, laughter-filled corner—from its prime spot near the managing director’s office to somewhere about 30 metres away, tucked into a quiet corner.
During a walkthrough of the new layout, the designer proudly told the MD, “And the Sports Desk will now be over here ...”
The MD stopped in his tracks, looked around, and said with urgency: “No, no—put the Sports back where it was. Please.”
Apparently, some traditions shouldn’t be messed with.
Before 2014, we went through about four MDs, and every single one of them made regular visits to the Sports Desk. Not to monitor us—oh no— I always got the feeling they just wanted to figure out why we laughed so much during the day, and also—probably—how on earth we were still getting work done.
Truth is, the Sports Desk wasn’t just about scores and headlines—as Tino always reminds us, sports is about people and places and stats, they connect. Despite all the laughter, we always make our press deadlines, but in between, we gave the newsroom a heartbeat. One that laughed loud, worked hard, and always delivered.
The Sports Desk was very unique. Tino used to celebrate his staff, alongside the top Sportsman and Sportswoman of the country on the Friday before Christmas, with the annual Sports Desk Christmas Party, and it was a big event. At one time, the legendary West Indies cricketer Brian Lara hosted the event at his home.
Upon my return, we redefined Guardian Sports, carving out a niche in local sports journalism. On Wednesdays, we published Midweek Sports—10 to 12 ad-filled pages solely focused on sports. Guardian sales soared to 30,000–35,000 copies per day. The Midweek expanded into The Arena, a full-colour 16-24-page pullout that rivaled even the Business Guardian in content and advertising - everyone was looking for a copy.
Tino would lead Midweek and Arena. I handled the daily sports pages. Our team was solid: Vinode Mamchan, Naz Yacoob, Rachael Thompson-King, Nigel Simon, and a strong freelance crew—Everald Gordon, Gregory Trujillo (may their souls rest in peace), Kwame Williams, Nicholas Clarke, and Cherill Franco, who later graduated to the sub-editing desk.
One memory stands out: during an editorial meeting about the 2010 World Cup coverage, a foreign media entity pitched a sales package to a very senior manager. And during the meeting, that manager tried to convince both Tino and I to say yes. We did not, and he didn’t like the fact that Tino and I shared the same opinion on the offer—it wasn’t in our readers’ best interest. He got so upset, he kicked me out of the meeting.
Later, I asked Tino what the manager said about me. Tino replied, “He said you sounding too much like me.”
I just steupsed. We were simply defending our audience’s taste at the time, since it was material that we could produce locally.
In 2016, Tino retired. I acted as Sports Editor until my promotion in 2018 to editor, then I became Lead Editor – Sports in 2020, a position I’m honoured to hold to this day.
Ironically, my dream job had nothing to do with journalism. I aspired to be a Formula 1 Crew Chief, and I was well on my way—having completed an auto and diesel apprenticeship at Caroni (1975) Ltd, and spending time in automotive repair. But something shifted in 1991 ... and here we are.
Looking back, I realise that every step—every late night, every byline, every deadline—was worth it.
Thank you, T&T Guardian, for your 108 years of excellence.
And thank you for allowing me to be part of 27 of them.
