IT was October 1998 and the first ICC Champions Trophy — it was then called rather awkwardly, the Mini World Cup — was about to begin in Dhaka. As part of a promotional sponsored by a beverage company, a sports broadcaster was interviewing top cricketers, asking them to identify the one man they’d select to bat (or bowl) for their life. Fourteen of the planet’s best cricketers — Brian Lara, Rahul Dravid, the works — were asked the question; eight voted for Steve Waugh. Sachin Tendulkar, if you’re interested, got two votes. Not since Don Bradman — perhaps not even at the peak of Vivian Richards’ career — had one cricketer so dominated the consciousness of his peers. No wonder in Australia they’re already comparing Waugh’s announcement that he will retire in January — after the fourth test of the upcoming series against India — as the biggest cricketing departure since the Don walked back to the pavilion. It is a majestic occasion, a moment of history. With the exception of Sunil Gavaskar, Waugh, 38, has achieved what no leading player has in the modern era — he has retired with people still convinced he could have gone on for a couple of years. He needs three hundreds to become the game’s highest century scorer, 500 odd runs to become its biggest run getter. Four tests is probably too few to get them — though given the Indian bowling perhaps all Waugh has to do is promote himself to number three — but it doesn’t matter. It hasn’t stopped Waugh retiring; it hasn’t stopped the Australian selectors from nudging their captain towards his decision. That is the Australian way — unsentimental and hard, very hard. Where will Waugh be placed in the pantheon of Australian captains? With apologies to Alan Border, in the post-Benaud period, only two others bear comparison. One, Ian Chappell, ruthless and cutting, an Atilla the Hun who drank beer. Two, Mark Taylor, noble leader, the man who could have been an Athenian senator in another birth. Waugh was . is, is till January 2004 . a mix of the two — and the greatest of the three. ‘‘Mental disintegration’’: that one phrase he coined transported ordinary sledging to a whole new dimension. It probably served the same purpose, meant the same thing — but Waugh knew what would arrest his opponent psychologically. Spotted playing for his Sydney school team by Alan Davidson, the former Australian pace bowler, Waugh made his debut against India in 1985. He did nothing exceptional in that series. Indeed, it was not till the 1987 World Cup was won that he began to be noticed. Exceptional as batsman and captain, Waugh really stands out for his extra-cricket achievements. At the press conference where he announced his retirement, he said his proudest legacy was the Australian Cricketers’ Association, not his runs, not his victories, not his 11 books, not his charity work. In May 2001, he took his team to the battlefield of Gallipoli, Turkey, resting place for 8,709 Australian soldiers who died there over eight months in 1915. At his suggestion, every Australian team will make the pilgrimage to Gallipoli en route to an Ashes series in England. If Waugh was Captain Australia, he was also Mr Straight and Narrow, cricket’s reassuring elder statesman in perhaps its darkest hour. Two of his contemporaries, Wasim Akram and Mohammed Azharuddin — both of whom made their international debut in the season before Waugh did — were tainted by the fixing scandal. His twin, Mark, never quite shrugged off charges. Steve walked away unruffled, unperturbed, smelling of roses. Clint Eastwood couldn’t have done it better.
