How Richie Benaud’s passion for work and attention to detail precipitated a relationship with me that lasted until his death
Ric Finlay14-Apr-2015Today is the first day of my life in cricket without Richie Benaud in it.I know where I was on November 30, 1962, because my database tells me. I was at home in bed afflicted with the cursed bronchitis that frequently interfered with my primary education. I know this because it was the first day of the 1962-63 Ashes series at the Gabba, and Richie was captain of Australia. I must have had some idea of cricket before this date, but I have no memory of it. That day, therefore, marked the start of my conscious cricket life.I was permitted to have my mother’s transistor radio, and I tracked the performance of the Australian batting that day in my father’s ABC cricket book – but not accurately enough for him. He noted that I hadn’t entered the batsmen in the order in which they batted, and I was made to rub it all out and start again. My first scoring lesson.Brian Booth made 100 that day (112 in fact: I can still remember the individual scores made that day without recourse to a scorecard), and thus became my first cricket hero. In this day of high definition TV and slo-mo, I find it amazing that a child can generate heroes in his mind without the images that would seem to be essential. Radio still has its place in developing a strong affinity with the game, even with the very youngest. It may not be a coincidence that radio has been the dominant environment in what I call my cricket career.Booth was out before the day’s end, and Richie came in. Not out overnight. Tonight, over 52 years later, will be the first night for me where Richie is not “not out” overnight. The end of an era.I remember my disappointment when Richie retired the following season. I had only caught the tail-end of his career, of course, but that was my first brush with the phenomenon of retirement, and the first realisation that cricketers don’t play for ever. I sulked for a week.In my first year of high school not long after, we were asked by the school library what books we would like to see added to it. I plumped for Richie Benaud’s , not expecting much joy since it was hardly the erudite tome that I assumed would be favoured. To my surprise and joy, the book was duly acquired.For my pains, I had to present a book review of it to the whole school in assembly one day. I tackled the assignment feverishly, and delivered the resulting masterpiece with all the aplomb of Rahul Dravid delivering the Spirit of Cricket lecture, and at an intellectual level that was clearly above the listening recipients. The silence that followed it was a salutary reminder that that not everyone, in fact, hardly anyone, shared my passion.Richie rushed back into my life a decade later when Kerry Packer bulldozed his way into Australian cricket. I remember Richie being placed on a proscribed list created by the ACB because he was involved in the setting up of the rival cricket structure that threatened to destroy life as we knew it. I was initially angry at Packer, but when it became known to me that Richie was involved, my personal opposition to it softened.In time, as we now know, the two parties united, and Richie was on our television screens, splendidly attired in his trademark coat. Channel 9 replaced the ABC as mandatory summer watching, although the ads were always a pain. But Richie was the swing to the advertising roundabout.In the early ’90s, a work colleague and I devised a computer Test cricket database, and released it to the unsuspecting public in 1994. When covering an ODI at Bellerive, I received a phone call from Ian Chappell, working for Channel 9 at the other end of the ground. He had seen the database somewhere, and wanted it. Not long after, Richie made contact, and precipitated a relationship that lasted until his death.Richie’s insatiable desire to master our software knew no bounds. In his late 60s by then, I was astounded by his understanding of what it could do for the reporting of the game. Early in his involvement with our product, Richie, the consummate journalist, came up with the testimonial, “There’s a story in every table”. In time, we added ODIs, the Sheffield Shield, women’s cricket and T20 to our offerings. Richie wanted the lot, yesterday. He would follow each acquisition with the question, “Are you sure I have everything?”It was one thing to drive the database, but quite another to manage the incessant files that come with updating. One day, Richie was surprised to find himself appearing in the women’s database. He had taken a wrong turn in the updating procedure. Every time he came to Hobart to cover a Test, we would get an invitation to his hotel room to make sure his files were in order. Over a civilised glass of red, we would work together to ensure his system was functional and efficient. During the winter, I would frequently receive emails from his summer house in France asking for technical advice. When in Sydney, he would utilise the excellent expertise of his computer man, Greg Culpan. He spared nothing to ensure all was in working order.I held my breath when I sent out the annual call for re-subscriptions shortly after his recent car accident. I needn’t have worried – his positive response was by return email, and so for the 21st time, he continued being my client. I am genuinely sorry that he wasn’t able to see it to its conclusion. He was never anything but a delight to liaise with. I will miss him.So far, my life has had a pre-Richie era, and a Richie-era. The post-Richie era starts today. The game will never be quite the same.If you have a submission for Inbox, send it to us here, with “Inbox” in the subject line.
