Cricketer or Commentator, he stood tall!

The Tony Greig I knew

Raju Korti

My first glimpse of Anthony William Greig, better recognised by the cricket buffs the world over as Tony Greig, dates back to 1972-73 when I was among the countless school-going boys hysterical about the game. The Englishmen were led by another Tony (Lewis) who looked more like a Hollywood star and who became an instant hit with the Indian media with his impeccable manners. On that tour of India, the scene stealer was, however, Tony Greig with his 6 feet 7 inch altitudinous frame. That of course was not his only stake to fame as Greig with his aggression and crowd-friendly antics was lustily cheered wherever the teams played. To me the most abiding memory of that tour was Greig, protecting the boundary and catching oranges thrown at him by exuberant people with the same practiced ease.
Greig was a revelation on that tour with an all round performance. As a batsman he would step out boldly to the Indian spinners and hit them out of the park. As a bowler able to bowl gentle medium pace and cutters, he could extract an awkward bounce from the placid Indian pitches.
Greig had both height and stature if you know what I mean. Thanks to Wisden Almanac and Sports and Pastime which had articles by the likes of Neville Cardus, Jim Swanton, Jack Fingleton and Richie Benaud, we youngsters were very well informed. We knew how Greig who would have never been able to play international cricket because of the Gleneagles Treaty, was pitchforked into the English team due to his Scottish parentage. The Treaty barred nations, including South Africa from international cricket because of its racist apartheid policy and with the scenario that accrued, Greig would have been condemned to his home grounds alongside greats like Ali Bacher, Pollock brothers, Eddie Barlow and Mike Procter since the Pretorian regime was adamant on its colour prejudice.
In a way, Sunil Gavaskar who strode like a collosus on the cricketing firmament in that historic 1971 tour of Carribean, was partly responsible for introducing us to the South African giants. Garry Sobers, who I consider as the game's greatest all time ever, plumped for Gavaskar in that Australia Vs Rest of the World. The latter had some of these.
A couple of years later, Greig's antecedents came in handy for the Channel Nine media tycoon Kerry Packer who used him to rope in the best of West Indian, Australian, Pakistani and South African talents for the World Series of Cricket dubbed as "Packer Circus". It turned out to be that in letter and spirit. All the cricketers were banished by their country's respective boards for their "betrayal". For all the interest and hoopla generated by the Packer Series, the matches were low scoring and most of the games became only figures in record books. The point here is Greig's leadership qualities had surfaced even before he was inducted by the MCC in its Test eleven. His role in that jumboree later not only cost him England's captaincy, which he had inherited from Mike Denness, but also a lot of vitriol and barbs through a strong backlash.
During the home summer of 1974, England faced three Tests against India and three against Pakistan. Greig averaged 42 with the bat and scalped 14 with his hundred against India at Lords as his best. This was good tune up for the Ashes tour of Australia where the Englishmen -- uncharitably called Poms -- were the favourites. As it turned out, the Englishmen were made to hop, skip and jump by the blistering speed of Dennis Lillee and Jeff Thomson. While his other team-mates were clueless what had hit them, Greig played the lone hand with a gritty 110. He was a stand-out character in a losing team and won the admiration of the "hard playing" Aussies, who liked his approach to the game.
When Greig toured India in 1976-77 -- this time as Captain and justified the mantle by winning a series in the sub continent against the best spinning attack in the world -- I was a college going youngster who understood that he had done his home work exceedingly well. I had seen the tall Greig holding his willy at almost his chest height while standing up to the pacers and quickly repositioning his stance to be able to bring his bat down while confronting the Indian spiners.
The equations had changed by 1987 World Cup when I was already a journalist with The Hindu while Greig had assumed the new avtaar of a writer-commentator. In the Press Box, I was lucky enough to be sandwiched between Greig and another commentator whom I rate as among the best experts, Trevor Bailey. I did an in-depth feature on Bailey and Greig, who was privy to all the conversation between us, tapped me on my back. "That was wonderful mate," he told me without concealing his appreciation. That little boost set up my interview with him at the hotel where he was put up. He was quite amused to know that he had caught one of the oranges I had thrown at him during the 1972-73 series.
By that time, I had seen enough of Greig to know how brutally blunt he could be. I recall how his ebullient oratory had created quite a flutter when he expounded the West Indies players' reputation for wilting under pressure.
"I like to think that people are building these West Indians up, because I am not really sure they're as good as everyone else thinks they are. People are forgetting they were beaten 5-1 by the Aussies and just about managed to keep their heads above water against the Indians a short time ago. Sure, they have a couple of fast bowlers, but I don't think we will run into anything faster than Lillee and Thomson. So I am not worried about them at all. The West Indians are magnificent when they are on top. But if they are down, they grovel, and I intend to make them grovel."  
There was a furore as expected. The word "grovel" had sinister connotations for the West Indians, many of whom had slave ancestry. Moreover, apartheid and Gleneagles Agreement were the issues of the day, so a white South African using the word "grovel" heavily accentuated the faux pas. Stung to the quick, the West Indian bowlers took a great delight in adding yards to their run-up when Grey took the crease and took his wicket. But true to his nature, Greig had no remorse.
Partly because he had seen me speaking at length with the likes of Bailey, Christopher Martin Jenkins, Henry Blofeld and Peter Roebuck (who jumped to his death), Greig let it unleash, no holds barred. "I still think of the West Indians in the same breath," he told me. I too didn't mince my words. "As a commentator, I thought your bias showed and though you spoke as fluently as the BBC Test Match Special commentators like Brian Johnston, Don Moseley, Christopher Martin Jenkins and Henry Blofeld, you often overplayed your hand. Was it exuberance or design?" I asked him. "Oh they are all seasoned veterans and peerless, but I am what I have to be," he said with that same flourish that he brought into play while describing the ear rings of ladies who came to watch the matches in Gulf. His narration could swing to both extremeties and often he got carried away while commentating, not really bothered with its repercussions. But you had to hand it to him that he was in a league of his own even as a commentator, whether you liked him or not. In that meeting Greig spoke a lot, sometimes criticising the Indians and sometimes showing unabashed admiration. But then he was like that, always speaking with rare candour and never playing close to chest.
So it was when he matter-of-factly spoke of his lung cancer and the inevitability of it. Compare this with our own Yuvraj Singh whose bout with cancer was chewed to cud by the media and people.
In his last lecture at the Spirit of Cricket Cowdrey, Greig said " I have never had any doubt I did the right thing by my family and by cricket."
He truly epitomised that.