Cricket in Bangladesh during my school days was a modest affair, overshadowed by soccer's grand stature. The sport's presence was fleeting—an hour-long weekly highlight on Bangladesh Television (BTV) every Sunday. Yet, that single hour became a sacred ritual for me and my father. We would sit together, eyes glued to the screen, as cricket unfolded its intricate drama.
BTV, with its limited resources, brought us glimpses of the cricketing world through broadcasts of BBC Test Match Classics, the Austral-Asia Cup, the Sharjah Cup, and World Series Cricket. Among these, the matches in Sharjah stood out for their intensity, but the uninspired commentary and monotonous camera work often dulled their allure. However, the vibrant storytelling of BBC Test Match Classics and the dazzling production of World Series Cricket came to the rescue, igniting a deep and abiding love for the game within me.
The World Series Cricket, in particular, was a revelation. It had all the makings of a young cricket fan's dream—vividly coloured clothing, under-the-lights day-night matches, and cutting-edge innovations like stump-cameras and stump microphones that amplified every nuance of the game. The sweet, crisp sound of bat meeting ball echoed through our living room, amplified by brilliant camera angles that captured the action from every conceivable perspective. Yet, amidst all these technical marvels, it was the voice of Richie Benaud that truly enchanted me.
Benaud’s commentary wasn’t just an accompaniment to the game; it was an art form in itself. His sharp wit, distinct tone, and incisive observations elevated cricket from a sport to a narrative masterpiece. Phrases like “...and he has done ’em,” “first cherry and gone,” and “bowled ’em round his legs with a jaffa” still echo in my mind, each word a testament to his command of language and understanding of the game. His presence on television—silver-haired and intelligent—became a fixture of my childhood, inspiring me to mimic his commentary while playing cricket alone in my room. Yet, no imitation could ever match the effortless brilliance of the man who had become a legend behind the microphone.
As the years rolled on, much changed in Bangladesh. The nation ascended to the ranks of Test cricket, dethroning soccer as its premier sport. Satellite television brought live cricket into every household, and the internet made the world of cricket accessible like never before. Yet, through all these transformations, Richie Benaud remained a constant in my life—a voice that made cricket a ceaseless joy.
Benaud's commentary was not merely descriptive; it was reflective, offering insights that deepened my understanding of the game. During my Secondary School Certificate (SSC) exams in 1997, the tri-nation tournament Down Under, narrated in his measured tones, became a welcome escape. Two years later, during my Higher Secondary School Certificate (HSC) exams, his commentary on the World Cup 1999 was a balm for my weary mind. Even during the gruelling days of medical school, the Australian summer brought with it lighter moments as I listened to his voice weave magic around every ball bowled.
Benaud was not just a commentator; he was cricket’s guardian, its voice, and its soul. His passing marked the end of an era—a loss that felt deeply personal. For me, his absence has left a void that no other voice can fill.
I had long dreamed of hearing Benaud’s thoughtful commentary during a Test match between Bangladesh and Australia on Australian soil. I yearned to hear his measured appraisal of Tamim Iqbal's flamboyant batting, Mashrafe Mortaza’s lion-hearted bowling, and Shakib Al Hasan’s all-round genius. But that dream will remain unfulfilled. Richie Benaud, the maestro of cricket commentary, is no longer among us.
Death, that inevitable and unyielding truth, has silenced a voice that shaped my love for the game. Yet, in the echoes of his words and the memories of those vibrant broadcasts, Richie Benaud remains eternal. Cricket may have lost its voice, but for those of us who grew up with him, he will forever be the melody that made the game immortal.
Thank You
Faisal Caesar
No comments:
Post a Comment