New Zealand Cricket dinner

I begin by greeting everyone in the languages of the realm of New Zealand, in English, Māori, Cook Island Māori, Niuean, Tokelauan and New Zealand Sign Language.  Greetings, Kia Ora, Kia Orana, Fakalofa Lahi Atu, Taloha Ni and as it is the evening (Sign).

I then specifically greet you: Justin Vaughan, Chief Executive of New Zealand Cricket; Hon Sir John Hansen, President of the Willows Cricket Club; Winsome Dormer, founder of the Willows; Don Neely, Life Member and doyen of New Zealand Cricket; Distinguished Guests otherwise; Ladies and Gentlemen.

Thank you for inviting my wife Susan and I to attend this dinner hosted by New Zealand Cricket in association with the Willows Cricket Club.  I would like to take the opportunity to speak about the virtues of the game of cricket.

While all sports have their detractors, I have often thought that cricket has, throughout history, been the subject of an unfair share of criticism.  The playwright George Bernard Shaw once remarked that “baseball has the great advantage over cricket of being ended sooner.”  More recently and in a similar vein, American comic Robin Williams once said that “Cricket is basically baseball on valium.”  Given he died many years ago, one can excuse Shaw for having never seen a game of Twenty-Twenty and experienced the electricity and excitement it brings.

More broadly, however, both remarks reveal an underlying failure to understand the essence of the game and its virtues.

Even with the growing appeal of twenty-twenty, all three formats maintain merit. While the one-day match provides a day out for the family, the five-day test match provides the noblest challenges to teams, and continues to be enjoyed by ardent cricket followers.

Those who have some knowledge of Wellington’s Basin Reserve will know of the identical plaques cemented into the path around the ground.  They celebrate, in great detail, the several records that occurred in a test match between New Zealand and Sir Lanka in February 1991, including New Zealand's highest test score (671-4), the highest score by a New Zealander (299 to Martin Crowe), the highest score at the Basin Reserve, and the world record for any wicket, in a partnership between man-of-the-match Martin Crowe and Andrew Jones of 467 runs (in 548 minutes). Aravinda de Silva's 267 was also the highest score by a Sri Lankan.

And then, after all that glorious detail, it ends: "Match Drawn." Only in cricket could such an outcome be celebrated.

No-one, of course, aims from the outset to draw a match.  As Indian cricketing legend, Sachin Tendulkar, widely regarded as one of the great batsmen in test cricket, once said: “I hate losing and cricket being my first love, once I enter the ground it's a different zone altogether and that hunger for winning is always there.”

However, when winning is not an option—a situation the Sri Lankan team faced in 1991—achieving a drawn match is always regarded as better than a loss.  Indeed all three test matches that summer were drawn, although New Zealand won all three one day internationals.  

Why a drawn match can be celebrated in cricket whereas in most other sports it would be seen as an exceptional and disappointing occurrence, lies at the heart of what makes the game special.

Cricket, particularly a test match, is more akin to chess than any other sport.  Like a chess match, which can often last hours, the strategy and tactics needed to win a five day test match are quite unique in sport.  A fielding captain moves and positions his players like pieces on a chess board.

But whereas chess only tests a player’s mental adroitness, cricket also tests a player's physical stamina.   Brute force may bring quick boundaries but, like the story of the hare and the tortoise, a less strong, but more skilful player will almost always get more runs and maintain a lengthier stay at the crease.  At pivotal points in a five-day match, time at the crease is often just as important as runs on the board.

While all sports encourage fair play, sportsmanship and a healthy respect for one’s opposition, those values are paramount in a game that takes time and where players are on edge for lengthy periods.

The situation a batsman in test cricket faces is unique.  In what other sport can a player spend several hours alone in the summer sun facing all the players of the opposing team?  And what is more, your only company is a single team mate who, when the game is play, must keep some distance away if he doesn’t want to be run out.

The point was well made by BBC cricket commentator and journalist, the late John Arnott, who said: “Cricket is a most precarious profession; it is called a team game but, in fact, no one is so lonely as a batsman facing a bowler supported by ten fieldsmen and observed by two umpires to ensure that his error does not go unpunished.”

Of course, umpires haven’t always had an easy time of it either. One anonymous cricket story goes that: “In a local match, the umpire was being jeered and heckled unmercifully from the crowd. At length he walked over to the boundary and sat down next to his chief critic. "What are you doing?" asked the spectator. "Well," said the umpire,"it seems you get the best view from here."

But seriously, while playing hard is essential in any sport, it is also important to play fair.  Weighing these two competing values is not easy.  While it is difficult to give hard and fast rules of tactics that cross that line, I suspect the phrase: “I know when I see it” is as good a guide as any.  If it feels wrong, then it probably is wrong.   I believe that personal remarks that belittle opposing players have little or any place in cricket.

However, if one wanted an example of the joy cricket can bring it was demonstrated on the front page of The New Zealand Herald earlier this week.  Under the headline “Our Sachin makes his mark” it tells the story of 16-year-old Sri Lankan born, Sachin Variath, named by his father after India’s cricketing legend I quoted earlier.

Last Saturday, Variath scored 261 runs for the Avondale College First XI in the premier two-day plate competition for Auckland secondary schools.  Only the legendary Bert Sutcliffe, regarded as one of the best New Zealand batsmen, has scored more schoolboy runs.

The nub of what makes cricket special was to my mind evident when Variath told the reporter: “Some time after I was born my dad said ‘you have to get a triple hundred like Tendulkar.’  I came close on Saturday, but as we have to declare after the first day I have no chance to go on this week.”

Despite his great achievement, he hasn’t lost sight of the importance of being part of a team and, I might add, having some fun as well.

And on a note, I will close in New Zealand’s first language Māori, by offering everyone greetings and wishing you all good health and fortitude in your endeavours.  No reira, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, kia ora, kia kaha, tēnā koutou katoa.