Cricket: Reid pulls no punches when going in to bat

By Don Cameron

During his long and lustrous cricketing career, John Reid was never content with a push for a single to cover, bowling a floppy off-cutter or constructing daisy chains at long leg.

From 1947 to 1965, Reid's cricket was based on earthy, hairy-chested vigour. Sixes sailing over the fence, what we called "bursters" snarling up under the batsman's nose, those long muscular arms demanding the catch at gully.

So it will be no surprise that his latest biography, John Reid, a Cricketing Life (with Joseph Romanos as the amanuensis), brings the heady combined scent of embrocation, of linseed oil laced with a whiff of cordite.

Especially now that Reid has become the aggressive leader of the International Cricket Council's referees, and using all his old vigour - and respect for the dignity of the game - to stiffen the umpiring side of the game and to cool down the hotheads who would challenge what charm and courtesy remains.

This vital role in modern cricket has earned Reid the title of "Schoolmaster" among Australians, and perhaps more basic description in the West Indies, where a Reid fine removed $US1500 ($3037) from Curtly Ambrose's hip-pocket, and then docked the whole West Indies team $US21,000 for a slow over rate.

The ICC referee post has also given Reid a priceless contact with New Zealand, South African (during a longish stay there) and now modern world cricket, and has given him a rare position of being able to give first-hand glimpses of players from Hutton onwards.

This is one of the more diverting aspects of the book, a sometimes flickering mirror held up against the heroes of the past.

Sadly, among the dozens of leading players who come under Reid's eye, a couple, Geoff Boycott and the outstanding New Zealander Glenn Turner, are chosen for specially sharp criticism.

"Boycott," says Reid early in the book, "was one of the most selfish batsmen that I have ever encountered, about on a par with our own Glenn Turner."

Later, Reid twice gives Turner the back of his hand. "To me there was always a question-mark over Turner," says Reid.

"I had cause to doubt his dedication to the New Zealand team above himself ... it was not his batting but his dedication to the silver fern that was in question.

"I never did see Turner sacrifice his wicket in his team's cause."

On leaving Turner out of his best post-war New Zealand side, Reid said he did not rate county cricket, where Turner scored so heavily, very highly.

"He wasn't convincing against good attacks, and he withdrew from the test team for basically the last six or seven years of his career ... I did not want him in my team as I could not guarantee he would put New Zealand first."

Where was Reid, I wonder, when the 24-year-old Turner almost single-handedly kept the New Zealand team afloat through a long, tough and unbeaten tour of the West Indies in 1972?

New Zealand lost all the test tosses, fielded at least for the first five sessions in four of the tests, and were locked into a hot, tiring and long battle for survival in all but the second test.

I had only total admiration for Turner's character, his patriotism, his determination to fight against the stiffest odds, and frequently win the struggle.

One stingingly hot afternoon at the Adelaide Oval, I watched New Zealand score a brilliant win solely because Turner had led the batting with total dedication to his team's cause - and left himself dehydrated almost to the point of collapse.

Reid mixed praise for Turner's coaching with criticism for what is called his man-management. Interesting that, for there are some of us who wondered about Reid's team management as captain before the late Gordon Leggat led him down the right path.

I wondered whether Reid might in fact offer a brotherly and charitable cheer for Turner as they both railed against the national administration and the heavy influence of Walter Hadlee, but at least Reid escaped the suspension which Hadlee imposed, and came back to the colours when Bob Vance smoothed the way.

Turner in those days might have wondered about the prospect that any loyalty might move in only one direction.

A pity, then, that Reid should so belittle Turner.

John Reid, A Cricketing Life (Hodder Moa Beckett), $34.95.