Richie Benaud, bloody good bloke

Times Media

TELFORD VICE, Cape Town

“PRETTY ground,” the Australian television producer said as he surveyed, from the middle of Buffalo Park, the northern end - or the “Snake Gully End”, so named for the thousands of puff-adders that apparently slithered in the Blind River that oozes past on its way to the ocean.

Then he looked at the southern end, the “Graveyard End”. There is indeed a cemetery bang across Buffalo Park Drive from the ground. But the suits would squirm and steam when it was called that, not least because the analogy facilitated an instant connection with the perennially lifeless pitch.

The press and commentary boxes were perched high above the “Snake Gully End” in what, by day, were the offices of Border Cricket Board staff members. But the business end of the field was opposite, at the “Graveyard End” - which housed the dressingrooms and officials.

“Yes, it’s a very pretty ground,” the Aussie repeated wistfully as he watched a wave break on yonder Eastern Beach.

“But I can’t be wheeling Richie Benaud up and down the place all night. He’s an old bloke y’know.”

That happened in March, 1994, when Benaud was 63 and central to the Channel Nine commentary team covering Australia’s tour to SA.

The old bloke kept going for another 21 years. He died on Friday of skin cancer, robbing cricket of one of its few remaining memories of a time when the game was just a dearly beloved game.

In the 2003 edition of the Wisden Cricketers’ Almanack, Benaud wrote what will always remain some of the wisest words for commentators to follow:

“Everyone should develop a distinctive style, but a few pieces of advice might be:

“Put your brain into gear before opening your mouth.

“Never say ‘we’ if referring to a team.

“Discipline is essential; fierce concentration is needed at all times.

“Then try to avoid allowing past your lips: ‘Of course’ ... ‘As you can see on the screen’ ... ‘You know...’ or ‘I tell you what’ ... ‘That’s a tragedy ...’ or ‘a disaster...’. (The Titanic was a tragedy, the Ethiopian drought a disaster, but neither bears any relation to a dropped catch.)

“Above all: when commentating, don’t take yourself too seriously, and have fun.”

How many of today’s poor excuses for commentators happily lapse into ‘we’ when talking about teams they used to play for? How many of them term it a “tragedy” when someone is dismissed for 99? How many of them understand that they are no longer players or part of the game, but are instead entrusted with bringing cricket to life for their audience as objectively and informatively as possible?

Benaud was the epitome of exactly that. If you didn’t know he was Australian, you would never have guessed it. His lack of brashness and arrogance was his greatness.

But, sometimes, it came back to bite him. “Richie’s thing about commentators not saying anything unless they have something to say is all good,” one of his colleagues said during SA’s tour to Australia in November, 2012, “but sometimes his co-commentator looks at him after a minute or two of silence and realises he’s nodded

off.”

During that test series, Benaud padded about the commentary box at the Gabba in Brisbane like any other old bloke, saying easy hellos to all he knew and wearing his legend as effortlessly as his beige jacket.

At 82, he was agile and modest enough to sidestep a catering cart being steered in reverse. He smiled and waved the apologetic caterer on. No worries, mate.

Then he disappeared into a room, unencumbered himself of his jacket, and began tapping away at a laptop. All in a day’s work.

Who would know that he was once among the finest allrounders, and a leg-spinning allrounder to boot? And that he was a masterful captain? Nevermind that, who knows whether he ever raised his voice?

Whatever else he was, young or old, Richie Benaud was, by all accounts, a bloody good bloke.