Edgbaston, 2005: England are on the cusp of a famous Ashes triumph, nearly two decades after having last secured the historic test series, needing just a lone wicket to claim the win. Australia, though, are only three runs away from thwarting England’s grand plans. Steve Harmison runs in, with purpose and desire, and digs the ball in quick and short to Michael Kasprowicz, who fends awkwardly at the rising delivery and, before you know it, the wicketkeeper Geraint Jones is diving to his left to claim a catch.

When you watch these images even today, seeped in drama as they are, they require little explanation. They tell their own story. And Richie Benaud, the perfect man for such an occasion, as he so often recognised during his illustrious career in the media, knew this better than most. On air at the time, his words summing up the finale were laconic and precise, but expressively delivered. “Jones,” he exclaimed, as the keeper claimed the catch. And then, after a typically pregnant pause, as the cameras turned to umpire Billy Bowden, who had his right-finger lifted crookedly up, “Bowden,” he said. He continued slowly: “Kasprowicz the man to go and Harmison has done it. Despair on the faces of the batsmen and joy for every England player on the field.” This was cricket commentary at its very best. Sadly, we’ll never hear its like again. Benaud, ever the arch minimalist, a doyen amongst commentators, a master at calling the game of cricket, is no more. He died at the age of 84 on April 10.

Benaud’s records as a cricketer and as a captain of Australia are both excellent; enough, in their own rights, to place him amongst the pantheon of the game’s greats. But, as a commentator, he was simply nonpareil. He was understated, to the tee, he allowed the cricket to speak for itself, describing only that which needed accounting, and he rarely, if ever, felt the need to plug the glorious void of silences that only cricket can produce.

Consider his description of what we today know as the “ball of the century”. Shane Warne’s first delivery in an Ashes Test Match. The batsman: Mike Gatting. As Warne came on, Benaud began with a portrayal of the field (something we cannot see on the video, and something that’s rarely described these days). “He’ll bowl with an orthodox field at the start,” Benaud said, “a slip, a short cover, three other men on the off-side saving the single, three on the on and a deep-backward-square.” Then came the trademark prolonged pause, which allowed us to soak in the pictures, before he added, as Warne sauntered in, “The first ball in test cricket in England for Shane Warne.” And there, the moment finally arrived. “He’s done it,” Benaud said, with typical restraint and minimal voice modulation. “He’s started off with the most beautiful delivery. Gatting has absolutely no idea what has happened to it. He still doesn’t know. He asked the [umpire] Kenny Palmer on the way out. Kenny Palmer just gave him a raised eyebrow and a little nod. That’s all it needed.”

Gatting was flummoxed. Today’s commentators would have filled the air with banalities and noise. But Benaud was always looking to see how he could add value to the pictures. In pointing us to Gatting’s facial communication with the umpire, Benaud was exemplifying the finest virtues of a ‘show, don’t tell’ form of journalism. And it’s here that modern-day commentators seem to so often fail. Almost none of them is trained in media studies, and it shows. They are frequently loud, boorish and partisan, and as is generally a product of incompetence, they prefer clichés and platitudes to the power of silence.

When Benaud spoke, his words were always measured, tranquil, occasionally witty even. To him, cricket commentary was not just an art, but also a science; in that it not only needed preparation, but also involved particular skills. He had the following to say on his rules for cricket commentary, when asked by Wisden in 2003: One, everyone should develop a distinctive style. Two, put your brain into gear before opening your mouth. Three, never say ‘we’ if referring to a team. Four, discipline is essential; fierce concentration is needed at all times. Five, 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). And six, above all: when commentating, don’t take yourself too seriously, and have fun.

Benaud’s style and his rules for commentary ought to remain relevant. Perhaps the modern-day commentator’s penchant for noise over quiet is a product of how cricket has evolved. Yet, when we watch Benaud’s description of some of the most iconic moments the game has seen, it reminds us that cricket is best enjoyed when we’re allowed to ruminate through its silences. Unfortunately, today’s lot cares little for such joys.

(This monthly column examines sports through the lens of history, politics and culture .)

( Suhrith Parthasarathy is a Chennai-based lawyer and writer)

Follow Suhrith on Twitter@suhrith

comment COMMENT NOW