Sad to hear of the passing of a legendary figure, as both player and broadcaster.

Me too, I feel like I grew up with him always in the background, especially in those hot 80s/90s summer holidays. RIP

Always loved listening to him on TV and radio in my formative years. Sad news. RIP Richie.

The voice of many a summer. RIP

Not *marvellous* 🙁

Sad ‘to’ hear the passing ‘to’day of one of crickets great commentators ‘to’ the other side.

I shall wear one of my special Richie Benaud jackets in his memory today. Now, will that be the light brown, the off white, the beige, the bone, the ivory……

[If you don’t know Billy Birmingham / the 12th man, that won’t make a lot of sense. But seek it out. NSFW, and fringing on politically incorrectness even by Australian standards, but still quite funny]

SFW tribute here: http://www.foxsports.com.au/cricket/richie-benaud-12th-man-billy-birmingham-tribute-to-the-greatest-of-cricket-commentators/story-e6frf3g3-1227298360109

edit – found a SFW interview

[video]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Ybr21gxdJU[/video]

What a voice, sad day as has been said he was really part of my childhood.

RIP Richie

Sad day. I too grew up with him commentating.

“Morning everybody”

🙁

Sad day

No sadness from me, just gratitude to a man whose voice is part of so many contented memories and who helped kindle a love of the sport. Marvelous knock.

Was lucky enough to meet him once,around 1980 at a Southill Park Charity match where he was doing the commentary, nice chap very friendly very genuine, huge hands though with “knarled” knuckles (presumably arthritis induced from bowling a million leg breaks). RIP Richie

Knew the game completely and had a fantastic way of telling you about it without appearing to be smug. A proper professional and and so easy to listen to.

I used to be confused wondering why an Australian would be commentating on an England v West Indies test match!

Great photo here.

“Good night, everyone”

RIP a legend from my childhood.

For me the death of someone like Benaud is a sharp wake up call that life moves on and nothing lasts forever. To a boy of the 70s his voice has been a constant throughout my life and one of the most recognisable things in sport. One sentence from him and I’m nine years old again on a baking hot summer afternoon in the school holidays watching the ashes on the BBC.

Legend. Very fond memories of his voice drifting in and out of the TV whilst enjoying long lazy days on the sofa.

The voice of Richie drifting in the background was usually the one sure sign that summer had arrived. Just hearing it again takes me back to my childhood, back-garden cricket with my mates, all doing impressions as the wickets fell.

RIP

I tip my cap(not that I have one for representing my country in the manner that Richie did – but I tip it anyway)

Barbie at Richies?…

[video]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NM39rnBTBFc[/video]

Chew for chwenty chew…

RIP Sir.

Yes RIP Richie, not so marvelous to have heard this news today….

RIPper

Sad news , but brought back some happy memories today though thinking about summers past .
“The ” voice of summer – RIP

I always enjoy Mike Atherton’s contributions in The Times, and this one is no different:

“Watch Richie.” Like most sportsmen starting out on a second career in broadcasting, I did so without formal training. So, like any sensible novice, I sought advice. Gary Franses was the producer of Channel 4’s cricket coverage in 2002 and that was the advice he gave me. “Watch Richie.”
So I did. One of my early broadcasts was from Lord’s and, before the start of play, the cameras were to alight on each of the commentators in various parts of the ground, from where they were to analyse a particular aspect of the day’s play. We were to come to Richie last of all, up in his eyrie of the commentary box, and he was to be the scene-setter for the day — the last voice to be heard before live play.
I had finished my bit down below and hurried up to the commentary box to listen to the great man do his bit – to watch and learn as instructed. I stood behind the camera at the back of the box and waited. Richie’s turn came; on the director’s cue, he turned to the camera, with that one-eye-half-closed look, and began to speak. Maybe he thought he had a lapel microphone attached to his (beige/cream/off-white/bone) jacket. He did not. Richie spoke, but the viewers heard nothing.
Franses stood behind the camera, frantically waving and pointing to the hand-held microphone on the desk and instructing Richie to pick it up. Without moving his stare from the camera (Ed Miliband should know that only Richie can do that stare) he felt around blindly on the desk, picked up what he thought was the microphone, lifted to his mouth, and began talking into his glasses.
He didn’t miss a beat and later laughed the mistake off and was happy to be the butt of everyone’s humour. Therein, I suppose, lies Richie’s first Law of broadcasting: “It’s live telly, mistakes happen”. It’s also sport on telly and not the most important thing in the world, so don’t get too hung up about it and don’t imagine yourself to be more important than you really are. You are only a television commentator.
That links in to his second Law — these laws by the way were not written on stone (or tablet these days, I guess) but rather as I imagined them to be, having worked with and watched him for four years and listened to his advice — which is, as he said to me once, “remember, above all, that you are a guest in someone’s living room, often for six hours a day, so try not to irritate them”.
Not irritating the viewer may sound like a limited ambition for a commentator but — as countless viewers of live sport would attest, no doubt — it is not as straightforward as it sounds, especially in cricket where a game might progress for five days for six hours a day. Ideally, you don’t want the viewer switching off, or over, or turning the sound down. So remember, above all, that he/she is there to watch the action and the cricketers and not listen to you. Don’t impose yourself too heavy-handedly between the viewer and the action. You are a conduit — no more, no less.
If you can succeed in that, Richie may allow you to progress to his third Law which is: “If you can add to the picture, do so.” Aside from not irritating the viewer into switching off, you are there to add some insight and to inform, based on your knowledge and experience. That insight may be in the form of an anecdote or technical or tactical or human observation, and may be more suitable when the action is slow rather than dramatic, according to your discretion. But anyone can read the score and tell the viewer what has just happened. It’s not radio.
Richie’s third Law links into his fourth: “Michael, always engage brain before speaking.” I can’t remember what particularly dumb bit of commentary of mine had prompted that from Richie, but it is good advice nonetheless. Radio demands immediacy, since, obviously, people cannot see what is happening. Television occasionally — not always, but occasionally — allows for a momentary distance from the action, just enough time for the brain to function. Use it.
Richie’s fifth Law — “nobody ever complained about silence” — is an old-fashioned notion these days, as increasingly television companies move to three commentators in action rather than two, and so there is a battle for air-time. It also might not apply to an Indian audience who, I am told, enjoy a full-on visual and audio experience — one reason perhaps why Bill Lawry, say, was always more popular on the sub-continent than Richie. Richie has always been immensely popular in England where, I think, audiences enjoyed his understated style, pauses and silences.
And finally: “Never use the term ‘we’ when talking about a team.” Neutrality and fairness was a non-negotiable for two very good reasons: first, you are an observer not a cheerleader; second, although there will be a home audience, within that there may be many people cheering for the other team. You need to be fair to both sides. Most broadcasts these days go around the world in any case, and so you are speaking to cricket-lovers of all nationalities.
Richie understood television. He played in an era before television gripped cricket, became a key mover in the Packer revolution and he knew how television could help to sell and grow the game. He was not averse to a little understated showmanship — the beige jackets that came to define him; the sayings — “morning everyone” — that did the same. He worked the camera beautifully. The best commentators provoke imitation and Richie had thousands of those. Who, among us, has not said some phrase or other in Benaud-speak?
He saw television commentary as a craft, and one to try to excel at. So, in meetings before the start of a Test series, he was meticulous about the pronunciation of names, especially so if, for example, Sri Lanka were touring. And I have lost count of the number of times he said to me: “It’s a pitch, Michael, not a wicket. The three bits of wood are wickets.” Or, “please don’t start interview questions with ‘must’.” (”You must be pleased with etc etc” being a statement and not a question.) Small things, but important nonetheless.
Richie never morphed into an old-school bore. He rarely talked about his playing days, or his considerable achievements as a player. He never began a commentary stint or a sentence with, “in my day…” He admired the modern player; he loved Twenty20, and all the technological advances, especially his beloved “Snicko”. He wore his playing achievements lightly. He recognised that times change and comparisons are pointless. Because of that, the modern players loved him.
He was loved. For longer than people care to remember he was the voice of the English summer, just as he was in Australia. Thinking now, I can hear him, at the culmination of the greatest Test match I have seen at Edgbaston in 2005, exactly the right man for the moment, as he followed the pictures with succinct but dramatic precision: “Jones! Bowden! 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!” Benaud’s Laws distilled.
For the pleasure he gave as a great player and a wonderful commentator, and the kindness and consideration he showed to this young commentator trying to make his way in the game, a belated thank you.

One sentence from him and I’m nine years old again on a baking hot summer afternoon in the school holidays watching the ashes on the BBC.

What happened to that eh? Wouldn’t even know where to watch test cricket on the tellybox these days. Jumpers for goalposts doesn’t really sum it up. Certainly my madeleine.

This is fantastic, I once bumped into the great man in the queue in the Hire Department of Moss Bros. He was hiring a morning suit for Ascot.