An 80-year-old man is drilling cover drives and pull shots in a way that makes him look like Don Bradman reincarnated. Tony Shillinglaw is a Bradman evangelist. About 30 years ago, the former Minor Counties cricketer started teaching himself how to bat like the boy from Bowral. “Here’s a man who was 66 per cent better than anyone who has played,” he said.
It is a long journey ahead for them. However, they can dream of finding help on their way, and that help needs to come from you. Will you show enough interest to influence the broadcasters to telecast matches? Or will you forget the tournament conveniently after getting ‘inspired’ and forget the tournament and this Lord’s near-miss entirely? That, Indian fans, is a choice you have to make. They will do their bit, perhaps more than you are aware of, but will you do this for them?
The next four hours are spent by the Marina, sipping beer — Patterson insists on having a milder, imported one — and sharing a massive snapper with some fried bammy. It is over these four hours, as we talk about everything from the heady heights of his cricketing career to the “dark days that were as dark as midnight” as he calls them, that you realise why the Caribbean and the cricketing universe doesn’t quite know what really happened to Patterson. For, even he has been struggling to make sense of it.
Harmanpreet was white hot. She was incendiary. She was flaming magnesium, the heart of a new star, a solid-fuel cocktail of audacity and skill, a comet tail of ice and fire burning up on re-entry. She was so fired up that she melted down, volcanically, mid-innings. So determined to succeed that she didn’t notice scoring a hundred. So consumed by her momentum that she forgot how to hesitate, much less be lost. When you’re aflame miles above a planetary surface, all that burns away.
It was an innings to remember. It reminded me of Virender Sehwag at his best and loftiest. I refer to India’s Harmanpreet Kaur’s hurricane 171 not out in the women’s World Cup semi-final against Australia at Derby, England. It was sensational as she belted 20 fours and seven sixes, her unbeaten 171 coming off 115 balls; her last 103 off only 40 balls at an amazing strike rate of 257.50.
For her entire career, Mithali Raj has been burdened with being the one and only. Now, with her team-mates stepping up, she has a chance to bow out of her last World Cup in style
“It was Vinoo Mankad all the way”- Vijay Hazare. The Indian captain’s simple but eloquent tribute to his lead bowler placed India’s first Test victory in perspective. It was their 25th Test, the opponents were England, and the venue Madras.
Soon after that he scored his first triple-century. Arvind wanted to take him out of Rajkot and move to Bangalore, but Reena vetoed it. “You are worrying unnecessarily,” she told Arvind. “He will play for India.” “I don’t know where she got that confidence from,” Arvind says. “And then she added these words: ‘Nobody will be able to stop him. Write these words down, I’ll sign the paper.’ “Not for the first or the last time I was outvoted by the mother-son duo.”
Throw-down specialist Raghu, who ‘bowls’ 145-150 kph for hours at nets, has been the unsung hero behind India’s batting exploits
The exceptional athlete dares. He changes minds. He overturns theories. He mocks the armchair critic. He finds a route. Wimbledon could be won only from the forecourt. This was fact. Borg turned it into fiction.
Spiro Zavos, former Kiwi cricketer and columnist in Sydney Morning Herald, reviews ‘A Gentleman’s Game’. He says: “This is a cricket book full of great delights by an enthusiast who has an eye, like a master batsman, to make telling strokes to push his stories along. Writing a book, to my mind, is the equivalent in cricket of making a century. Anindya Dutta’s century, to continue this analogy, has been made in the first-class arena. Well played!”
I picked up a relatively unknown writer’s book A Gentleman’s Game with disbelief and sceptism. And I was pleasantly surprised. After reading it my faith in the nobility of cricket was restored as the author Anindya Dutta has delved in the rich heritage of cricket without covering up the dark spots. The author has gone a long way to restore our love and respect for the game when in the past anything unfair or corrupt was called, “it’s not cricket.” Written in an interesting and easy-to-read style A Gentleman’s Game – Reflections on Cricket History shows many aspects of cricket; the good, the bad, the gallant and the paradoxical. This is Anindya Dutta’s first book. I can safely predict that it will not be his last.
Any Pak-Indo clash is a mega event on the subcontinent but today’s match will have a sharp edge. It will be the first final between the two countries since 2008 and the first time they will be contesting the final of an ICC organised 50-over event – World Cup or Champions Trophy.
It is somewhat annoying, the way popular cricket books these days are confined to autobiographies or biographies of (mostly contemporary) cricketers. What cricket certainly lacks are the accounts of the educated, passionate spectator, something that provides the reader with an outsider’s viewpoint: in other words, our viewpoint. Dutta does that nicely. He is not lured by the infamous Cardusian trap of compromising facts for prose that has hoodwinked the cricket reader over decades, and as a result he puts together a nice, perfectly readable book. For example, he does not hesitate to mention that “the leg-glance was not Ranji’s invention…” Make no mistake: he is a trivia-monger of the wackiest order, which, as far as cricket-lovers go, is as big a compliment as it gets.
The Australians and Englishmen and Indians and everyone else can go on harping about system and mental disintegration and how winning is a habit and whatnot. That is the wise, the scientific way to go about it. What they should not do, however, is make a prediction when Pakistan are playing cricket. It is not the wisest thing to do.
They weren’t supposed to be here. They weren’t supposed to win, supposed to has never been part of the Pakistan vocabulary. This was business as unusual for them. Today was very different, and totally the same. Just another glorious day in Pakistan’s quest for elegant chaos and endless joy.
We learnt, on Sunday and in January, that Nadal and Federer don’t just win matches, they stretch the idea of excellence and test imaginations. We learnt on Sunday that Nadal has returned to what he used to be on clay, a breaker more of the spirit than merely the serve. Sport is best played with the free mind but Nadal at the Open suffocated rivals into self-doubt: Where is the space to hit? How close to the line must I hit? Why does his side of the court look smaller? How many times must I end a point? I know I should hit to his weakness but can you tell me where is it? Is life fair?
The Mamai brothers are members of the Maasai Cricket Warriors, a team intent on ending FGM. They began playing in 2007 after a South African wildlife researcher introduced them to the game. Her cricket gear was a novelty for the Maasai, but the movements she taught them were not. “Throwing the ball is like throwing a spear,” says Christopher Ole Ngais, 23. “And batting, that’s like using a shield.”
If this particular inquest found that the state pathologist had made such a fundamental error in the case, then that would have opened up all previous convictions or decisions regarding his cases, and would have meant everyone in custody on the basis of his pathology would have had grounds for appeal.
“There is more glamour attached to batting than bowling,” Don Bradman once wrote, since “the majority of people go to cricket hoping to see a scintillating innings”. Bowlers, Bradman reckoned, must “possess a tremendous love” for cricket. “What else would drive them to such exertions?”
Whether it’s Kumble or someone else, we’ve seen enough of Kohli’s captaincy style to know that he needs a adult in the room. Not someone being laddish in age like Shastri, or put up to be a place-holder mascot like Sehwag, but a person substantial enough to call time on hissy fits and hubris. Come back, Gary Kirsten, there’s nothing to forgive.
Sometimes people tell me that writing this way is wrong. An indignant demand to expel the subject matter. That sport has no place in politics. Sport is politics. There’s no other way about it. Each exists within the other, whether the political wrangling within any organised sport, or the position of sport as a tool for those outside it. Sport happens in the same world as everything else. You cannot apply a tourniquet at the stadium gates.
A lot will of course depend on the overhead conditions and the nature of the surface, but all other things being equal, my bowling attack will be Bhuvi, Bumrah, Umesh, Jadeja and Ashwin.
“A court of equity must seek to strike a fair balance between the right of the plaintiffs to have quiet enjoyment of their house and garden without exposure to cricket balls occasionally falling like thunderbolts from the heavens, and the opportunity of the inhabitants of the village in which they live to continue to enjoy the manly sport which constitutes a summer recreation for adults and young persons”
By the 18th century cricket had spread outside England. The English had played cricket in Aleppo, Syria before North America and India. In 1709 Kent and Surrey had played the first inter-county match. The first laws were laid down in 1744, but in cricket the wicket consisted of two stumps with a solitary bail atop. Then came May 23, 1775, when ‘Lumpy’ Stevens bowled three deliveries at John Small — deliveries that would change cricket forever.
It is hard to shape perception and natural biases, but the more numbers we get, the more they begin to tell their own stories, moving away from conventional wisdom in cricket. While most of the pioneering will happen in T20 leagues, international cricket will catch up. Cricket has never been changing faster than it is now. T20 is finding trends and abandoning them quicker than you can say “Sunil Narine, opening batsman”.
Ashley Mallett, an off-spinner himself, while writing on the three great off-spinners, mentioned: “Technically I rate the little Indian off-spinner Prasanna a better bowler than Gibbs. I’ve seen Laker in Australia and I’ve seen Gibbs. Gibbs, I rate above Laker, but below Prasanna. I place Prasanna, if not above, at least at par with another genius off-spinner, the Sri Lankan wizard Muttiah Muralitharan.”
In the long history of Test cricket, only two pairs scored as many runs in partnership at such a high average. Jack Hobbs and Herbert Sutcliffe were one, Justin Langer and Ricky Ponting the other. Then it is Misbah and Younis, 3,213 altogether, at 68.36.
I asked him about his famed double-bouncer policy. It was known in cricketing circles that Roberts’ first bouncer was a sucker ball that was meant to be hooked. His follow-up bouncer was delivered at lightning speed and often turned into a jaw-seeking missile. He chuckled. He said that was rubbish. With a glint in his eye, he said simply, “I didn’t like being hooked. The next ball was always going to be quicker.” He chuckled again.
In his autobiography, Richie Benaud had advised upcoming commentators to abstain from using words like ‘catastrophe’ or ‘disaster’ — since they typically refer to events like natural calamities, wars, riots, and the likes. Anything on a cricket ground could not come close in comparison. It is tempting, though, to use words of the same magnitude while describing the thrashing Australia had dished out Essex 65 years back.
Packer wanted the telecast rights of cricket. He wanted to convince the chairman of the Australian Cricket Board, Bob Parish, that this was a deal he could not refuse. But ACB was not a professional organisation. They had not yet signed the deal to renew the contract for Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC), but Parish had all but finalised talks for a $21,000 three-year deal. Packer offered $1.5 million for three years. His famous offer statement reverberates around the cricket world even today, “Gentlemen, there is a whore in each one of us. Name your price.”
WSC was the biggest game changer in cricket history; bigger than Bodyline, bigger than Ben Hur. No golden chariots, no jousting between knights in silver armour on horsebacks but top-class cricketers demanding proper payment for their days in the sun.
It is a well-known fact that Syed Zaheer Abbas Kirmani is known by his middle names. We will not include him or the man usually known as Syed Kirmani
How did the term hat-trick come about? Arunabha Sengupta digs into the history of the game to find the origins of the word.
Satyajit himself was a slow spinner who played for Calcutta University; he later instilled the same attribute in Feluda, whose tales have been possibly the most popular and most translated among all detectives in the history of Bengali literature. Feluda mentioned his skills in his first full-length novel Badshahi Angti
For all the sledging, accusations of cheating, ball-tampering and general bad behaviour, cricket remains a polite sport, one in which the bowling side has to put in a request to receive a wicket. Over the years, however, the requests have gone from solicitations to urgent beseeching to high-decibel assaults on the umpire’s psyche.
“Colossal scoring even the most insatiable of gluttons may tire of,” Jessop wrote, “but good fielding never palls.” This team is ideally set up to avoid the first part of this sentence and prove the second.
Professional or amateur, it’s a sinking feeling to be told there’s no space for you in the team. It’s the party you can’t get into. The captain or the coach is the bouncer at the nightclub door, that same door you’ve just watched all the guys saunter through before your way is barred. “Not you, son. Not tonight.” Perhaps you can see inside the club. You can see your mates drinking and dancing, having a good time while you stand on the cold pavement outside, alone.
After watching Austin Waugh bat last year, Peter FitzSimons wrote in the Sydney Morning Herald: “On his current trajectory, in about five years, Steve will be known as father of Austin Waugh.”
Ranji, the conjurer, could create angles acute and exotic from a bat that swished like a wand. Fry on the other hand dealt with the mathematical perfection of the right angle, conservatively adhering to the principles of the straight bat. While Ranji created and essayed the leg-glance with spirit free and feet lissom, Fry was known to be stiff of style with cast-iron defence, with grandeur emerging from the soundest theory in glorious drives.
One of the fallouts of being successful in IPL is that you become a household name in a very short span of time. One may score runs by the thousands or take a bushel of wickets in First-Class cricket, but if you have a half-decent IPL season, then you will leave the domestic performer way behind in the visibility stakes. That is a truism that one must both understand and accept; but along with visibility and fame comes the need to be equanimous, humble and balanced, and that is a challenge that, I will be delighted to see increasingly from the young guns.
An awestruck John Woodcock wrote in The Cricketer: “I only hope that the Boycott who fastens his seat-belt at London Airport next week is the same man who made 146 against Surrey and who won the award as Man of the Match. It is quite likely that Boycott will open England’s innings for a decade to come. The prospect of his doing so in his ascetic mood is hard to entertain.” Boycott opened batting for England for over a decade-and-a-half after the final, but certainly did so in ‘ascetic mood’.
There was little doubt that Grimmett was the greatest cricketer on the ground that day. His supreme career records were built around his relentless accuracy, insatiable stamina, and able to control the amount and direction of turn without visible change in action. He never lost control of line and length, even as the batsmen chanced their arms.
We often hear fans cry out for them as batsmen rack up the runs in T20, but there are reasons for why they aren’t as effective as they once were
Many were said to be oblivious of mints and their effect on swing. The message dripped out, however, and by the turn of the century, the breath of county cricketers improved immeasurably
A criticism sometimes made of Don bradman’s career record — generally by fans of a more recent player attempting to claim that their favourite was better — is that he only played Tests in two countries. His famous average of 99.94 would, they claim, have been brought down to earth if he had played in other countries — specifically in India, which they think of as the ultimate challenge for Australian batsmen, and one in which very few succeed.
“With Hedley Verity gone, I don’t think there is a better left-hander than Mankad,” said the Australia captain Lindsay Hassett.
Twenty-eight years ago, Sachin Tendulkar was still playing school – level cricket and was on the verge of making his Ranji Trophy debut. Most people expected big things from the 15 year old school-boy, but as this CV shows, Tendulkar himself was quite modest while describing his already superlative performances.
When Migala goes back to Australia now, he goes to matches, sees those same people he once showed the garish new shirts to, “I see them holding hands with their grandchildren, eating an ice cream. Granddad is in his blazer and the kid is in a green Melbourne Stars shirt, and he’s asking him about Don Bradman. And that’s a beautiful moment. But that doesn’t happen unless you’re prepared to make yourself uncomfortable, to take that risk.”
This explosion of India’s seam bowling might yet be what Kohli needs to conquer the world. He used them like snipers at times at home, but when they tour, they will be his front line.
Before Neville Cardus, cricket was reported. With him it was felt and appreciated. Unfortunately, Yes, his cricket chronicles mingle fact and fabrication to the extent that the boundaries disappear.
To Dharamsala, then, and the fourth Test between India and Australia, where a 22-year-old debutant named Kuldeep Yadav just ripped through Australia’s batting order. Yadav bowls left-arm wrist spin. Which, and here’s the hitch, means he’s known as a chinaman bowler. Problem being, of course, that the rest of the world knows that word as a dated, offensive, racial epithet.
Prasanna got the ball above the eyeline, hard-spun and dipping wickedly, but his change of pace was the greatest of his assets for he seemed to first have the ball on a string and haul it back his way when the batsman advanced. The next ball would be a little flatter and quicker, and the batsman would stumble forward, slamming down his bat quickly lest the ball crash into the stumps. Prasanna continually changed his pace, and watching him weave his magic was compelling viewing.
India’s reliable middle order batsman Mohinder Amarnath experienced an amazing twist of fortunes in the Test arena from December 1982 to December 1984. In the first six months – against Imran Khan in Pakistan and against Joel Garner, Malcolm Marshall, Michael Holding and Andy Roberts in West Indies – he plundered 1182 runs at 69.53 runs in 11 Tests, with five centuries and seven fifties on foreign soil. Then came a huge fall. After 4 and 7 in two Tests against Pakistan in India, he had a horror series against the West Indies: 0 and 0 at Kanpur, 1 and 0 at Delhi, followed by 0 and 0 at Kolkata.
India’s captain and master batsman, Virat Kohli with 4497 runs at 49.90 in 56 Tests, is passing through a rough patch against Australia. It may comfort Kohli and his supporters to learn that great batsmen in the past have also experienced such lean trots.
And then came Maxwell. Who knew whence he originated? Some said that he hatched from an eagle egg atop a mountain in the days when the world was new. Some said he was born from the union of a lion and a snake, and had been raised by elephants in an underground city. Some said that he came into being when the sun and the moon made a bet that they could turn an exploding star into a responsible citizen.
Ponting gave up his vices to get the most out of himself, Kohli has given up seemingly everything from MSG to sugar to do the same. There is a ruthlessness to them. The ultimate professionals: if they can get an edge, they will take it. That Michael Jordan sense of winning is what matters: If I need to be perfect to win, I’ll be perfect. The rest is noise.
Gilchrist was the time-travelling robot god of wicketkeeping’s future. If there had been wicketkeepers who could bat before Gilchrist, there had been none who batted like him. Gilchrist walked out with kerosene and a box of matches and just had fun with it.
Decades back, they had earned the term ‘Ugly Australians’ for a reason. They have played cricket the hard way. Professional sport is supposed to be played hard. However, you should also be able to take what you give. Unfortunately, being at the receiving end does not go that well with Australia.
Australia’s spinners are competent but not extraordinary; they must be respected but not feared. Once you sort that out in your head, runs in the middle are not really that hard to come by.
The delivery needs to have a loop. This loop, which we used to call flight, needs to be a constant. Over the years, you increase this loop, adjust it. You lock the batsman first and then spread the web – he gets trapped steadily.
The current generation of Indian cricketers have grown up watching Ganguly and in more ways than one, the person who seems to have been most inspired by Ganguly’s aggression is undoubtedly Virat Kohli. In a recent interview, Kohli remarked, “From Dada (Ganguly) I have learnt not to back out from any situation. Not have second thoughts.”
The case against Peter Handscomb and Steve Smith, I regret to write, looks to be very strong. My authority for this statement is Hanscomb himself, from his Twitter account: “I referred smudga to look at the box… my fault and was unaware of the rule. Shouldn’t take anything away from what was an amazing game!”
Take the Kohli lbw from the first innings. You know, the one we lost several years of our lives watching. Did he hit the ball before it hit his pad? Maybe, maybe not, back and forth, over and over, again and again. He has hit the ball. No he hasn’t. What was I seeing? Was there a small spike first? Were my ears working? What did I hear? Can I trust what I saw? Did the pad move before the bat or because of the bat? What is bat? What is pad? I want a lie down.
From Kilimanjaro to war escapades, via Fleet Street and a wild century, the remarkable story of Major Robert Crisp, D.S.O, M.C.
Kohli tonked questions on Steve Smith’s ‘brain fade’ out of the park, looked back with pride on his team’s comeback from the Pune debacle, praised KL Rahul’s batting efforts, and doffed his hat at Cheteshwar Pujara and Ajinkya Rahane, who laid the foundation for India’s 75-run win with an exceptional partnership on Day 3.
I angrily promise myself to get my book completely filled with autographs of cricket superstars and to leave no proverbial stones unturned in my devotion to this singular cause. In a rare moment of weakness, a 12-year-old atheist invokes the cricket gods and beseeches their magnanimity.
That this is a four-Test series is to India’s advantage. There is plenty of time to bounce back from the Pune defeat, and especially given the quality that is at Virat’s disposal. It is debatable if there will be a Pune-type pitch for the rest of the series, and I strongly advocate that there should not be, because a surface of that nature pretty much balances out the gulf between the sides. While Pune cannot be wished away as a bad dream, India can use it as a template of what not to do. And emerge stronger by imbibing the lessons.
Sometimes life just gives you lemons, and instead of whining, the best thing to do is spin one against the flat of your palm three or four times, walk a few steps then explode into a powerful jump and hurl that lemon into the air, the arc describing a perfect parabola until that last vicious dip onto the perfect length, luring the batsman forward only to rip past the edge, a sudden rich aroma of citrus filling your senses…
Melinda Farrell journeys from Mumbai to Pune by train to catch the first Test between India and Australia and also manages to take a peek at one of the most extensive cricket museums in India
Steven Smith’s Australia were supposed to be left distraught by a nightmarish Pune pitch. Virat Kohli’s India were supposed to continue on their merry way. That’s not what happened.
Grimmett emphasised that the key to spin bowling – legspin and offspin – was how the ball arrived, not where it landed.
Farokh Engineer was dynamic with bat and a sprightly chatterbox behind stumps. He also scored 94 in the first session of a Test, was a Brylcreem model, and remains the last Parsee to play for India.
Perhaps “doosra” is the most significant word in cricket. After all, it’s the first term from a South Asian language to have entered the mainstream.
Traditionally, a journalist’s role has been to report in an objective and detached manner. In modern times, this approach does not always fit within the desires of the publication, broadcast or audience.
Few people are christened after three famous cricketers, but being Sunil Gavaskar’s son came with its own perks: Rohan Jaiviswa Gavaskar was named after three of Gavaskar’s favourite cricketers — Rohan Kanhai, ML Jaisimha, and Gundappa Viswanath.
The state of the pitches is a major talking point, rightly or wrongly, every time a team tours the subcontinent. So what kind of surfaces can Australia expect when their Test series kicks off in India next week?
It is said that when Arjun and Karan finally faced each other on the seventeenth day of the great war, the winds stopped blowing and the oceans stopped flowing. Their soldiers – a million men on either side – dropped their spears and swords to the ground, unable to divert their eyes from the warriors.
From Sugar Ray Robinson v Jake LaMotta to Bowie Race Track, a date traditionally associated with romance has a history of sporting slaughter
Three decades ago in Madras (now Chennai), Mala Mukerjee had at her disposal none of the technical wizardry that characterises coverage of modern sporting events. She was a spectator at a cricket match. And she captured a unique and indelible slice of cricket history with a Nikon F3, a shutter cord and a tripod – and an amateur’s enthusiasm.
There was something about cricket which even the great Don Bradman took 18 years to understand. He encountered it in 1930. And since then, while bowlers all across the world were busy finding an answer to Bradman, the Don himself was scratching his head to find the answer to that problem. It was a cricket puzzle by the well-known astrophysicist Sir Arthur Eddington, based on an ‘imaginary scoreboard’. He introduced Bradman to it in 1930, about which the latter mentions in his book The Art of Cricket.
Ladha Ramji Nakum was one of the early fast bowlers in Indian cricket history. Test cricket came too late for him, but that did not stop him from tormenting batsmen with his relentless aggression and raw pace for over a decade. While he never enjoyed the stature of his younger brother Amar Singh, Ramji carved a niche of his own in the Bombay Quadrangular.
Acclaimed cricket umpire Louis Patrick “Lou” Rowan died on the Gold Coast on Friday aged 91. He umpired in 26 Tests from 1963 to 1971 and in the inaugural one-day international in Melbourne in January 1971. He was Australia’s oldest Test umpire who stood no nonsense from anyone, Test cricketers included.
One of the very first cricket books I was ever given, on the occasion of my tenth birthday, was a slim black paperback called Great Australian Cricket Pictures (1975). When I retrieve it from the shelf now, it falls open at page 87, corroborative of my boyhood fascination with the image it contains.
JL Carr, Shehan Karunatilaka and Joseph O’Neill have written cricket fiction well but PG Wodehouse is its finest servant.
The American Dream is a seductive mistress. Eight years ago, I too rolled the dice and travelled across the Atlantic, following the permanent migratory patterns of many physicians before me. Despite my new domiciliary allegiance, I remained tethered to the game of cricket. It is perhaps a mutation, inbuilt within our genes, passed on from one generation to the the next, which causes us Indians to irrevocably fall in love with the game from the very first time we wield a bat in our hands. A cricket fan(atic) for 25 years, a father for a week, I was forced to think last night how I would explain India’s preoccupation with the game to my first-born.
The period between 1890 and 1914 was like any other era, with almost the same mix of dashing daredevilry with the bat and methodically precise stonewalling.
Afghanistan are a side who identify with their Pashtun brother in heart, mind and cricket.
Mohammad Azharuddin unleashed his willow at its brutal best, combining aestheticism and ferocity against England in the Calcutta Test of 1993.
For the sheer pleasure that he gave the world as a batsman, Rohan Bholalall Kanhai is my favourite cricketer. Averaging fractionally under 48 in a distinguished Test career that saw him rise to become the captain of West Indies, Rohan had Bradmanesque qualities.
Frank ‘Typhoon’ Tyson has died. He was aged 85, a good innings for a fast bowler who put his body through the agonies of contortions and exertions in his quest to be, in the opinion of Richie Benaud, “the fastest bowler I ever saw”.
The only Test cricketer to live for over 100 years was South Africa’s Norman Gordon (1911- 2014), 103 years and 27 days old. I thought that this record would be broken by another South African Test cricketer, fast bowler Lindsay Tuckett. But Tuckett passed away on Monday aged 97 years and 212 days.