Richie Benaud: Listening to Richie was like having your neck gently massaged

As a rather limited lower-order batsman I did not have many bat-makers asking me to use their equipment. Because of this I spent the last few years of my career having a bit of fun with my bats. Each season Salix would supply me with a plain, stickerless piece of willow and I would then have a caricature carved into the back of it.

The caricature varied from season to season but above the carving was an empty box where I could place a message on a piece of tape. The aim was to catch the attention of the stump cameras that were present at international matches and to have a bit of fun with the commentary team. The first message I placed in the box was for the attention of Richie Benaud. It simply read “G’day Richie”. I believe my slightly childish behaviour got a response from the great man, probably nothing more than “G’day Angus”.

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That Richie was the commentator I tried to engage with highlighted the impact he had obviously had on me. It is only now as I sit back and think of my summer holidays as a teenager and the hours I spent lying on the sofa watching England play that I realise how his description and summary of the game helped grow my love for it. It was also the way in which he presented the Channel 9 highlights packages wearing his cream blazer.

Richie’s style was unique. Unlike in the modern era, where three commentators are at times competing to be heard and attempting to out-quote each other, Richie only spoke when he had something to add to the pictures.

His was a style wonderfully suited to cricket. Unlike many sports, cricket is not always a 100mph, in-your-face, confrontational game. The sport ebbs and flows. It has quiet periods, sessions where stock is being taken and the next move thought through. Many people attend or watch cricket matches to relax, which seems the polar opposite to football, where fans turn up to get things off their chests by screaming and shouting at their team or the opposition for 90 minutes. Listening to Richie, however, was soothing. It was a joy. There were occasions when listening to a 30-minute commentary stint of his was like having the back of your neck gently massaged.

Only the other day I came across a clip of myself bowling on YouTube. The clip was in the summer of 1990 when Sachin Tendulkar drove me through mid-off for three to complete his first international hundred. Richie was commentating at the time and he summed up the situation magnificently. “Tendulkar on 98,” as I ran in to bowl. “And there it is ... a Test match hundred for Tendulkar ... aged 17 years and 112 days ... one of the youngest ever to hit a Test match hundred ... an innings of temperament, skill and delightful strokeplay.” As ever he summed up the moment beautifully. The commentary was calm. There was no screaming or hyperbole. It was factually and technically accurate. It was simple.

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That I want to refer to him as Richie in this article says something, too. The reason for this was that I, and I would imagine millions of others, almost feel that I had a personal relationship with him. It was his voice that guided me through my early years of watching cricket on television. It is his catchphrases that I can still remember. Each morning during the summer school holidays Alastair, my brother, and I would roll downstairs at about 10.30am and spend the next few hours lazing around on the sofa. He was always the commentator you wanted to listen to and the person we tried to imitate.

I would not describe myself as a good friend of his but I remember the first time I met him at the Sydney Cricket Ground in the winter of 1988-89. I was playing Grade cricket for Western Suburbs but had gone to the SCG to watch Australia play West Indies in a one-day international. I was chatting to a mutual friend in the Don Bradman Stand when Richie walked past. Recognising my friend he stopped and chatted for five minutes. During the conversation I said I would one day love to play out there, under those lights in such a wonderful arena. As he left he just said: “Work hard and you will.”

While playing for England and during my time working for The Independent I was fortunate enough to spend a couple of lunches and dinners in his company. Away from commentary he was exactly the same as when he was on air. He was polite, immaculately dressed and did not dominate conversations or want to be the centre of attention. Even though he was an outstanding cricketer and captain he was very modest and said little.

But when he did speak or tell a story you listened. And it was in his storytelling that his genuine love for cricket came through. The tales came from his heart, as did the fond way he talked about those he played against.

Everyone close to cricket has known that Richie has not been well for some time. Even so, I felt he was one of those people who was indestructible and that I would see him around the Media Centre at Lord’s during this summer’s Ashes. His passing reminds me of how I felt when Fred Trueman, another huge figure in cricket, died. “Legend” is a word that is too often used to describe the achievements of an individual but cricket has lost a legendary figure.

The wonderful thing is that his contribution to this great sport has been only positive and the game has profited hugely for his involvement.

Former England bowler Angus Fraser is managing director of cricket at Middlesex