While the furore over some New Zealand players staying out late during the second test against England at Wellington was erupting, officials were busy entertaining a group of survivors of the Test against Australia at the Basin Reserve in 1946.
The old-timers represented probably the greatest collection of cricket talent gathered together in New Zealand at one place and at any time. Among the New Zealanders were Waiter Hadlee and Merv Wallace, with Martin Donnelly and Bert Sutcliffe being invited as honorary 1946ers for the occasion. The Australian group was led by Bill Brown, who captained in the absence of Sir Donald Bradman, Ernie Toshack, Ian Johnson and Keith Miller, with Alan Davidson and Neil Harvey being added to the party as honorary Australian 1946ers.
At one of the many present gatherings organised for the event, Bill Brown told the story about batting with Sir Donald Bradman for the first time. He ran enthusiastically, he said, for everything. And after about 10 minutes, Bradman came down the pitch to him. Brown felt a surge of emotion. The great man was actually coming to him to have a chat about the way things were going. His chest swelled with pride. “Bill,” Bradman said, “would you mind calling when you want to run?” His next call, Brown recalled, could have been heard in the Blue Mountains outside of Sydney. The match was being played in Melbourne.
Of all the players among the 1946ers, Keith Miller was one the journalists and cricket lovers wanted to meet.
Keith Miller, though, was famous for wine, women and song during his career. Why was he lionised and the New Zealanders subjected to such ferocious attacks? By contemporary standards, Miller would never be selected for a Test team, not because of his record but because of his off-the-field behaviour. Miller sometimes came into the Test team’s breakfast room in his tuxedo. He was often late for the toss when captaining NSW.
Yet he is loved as one of cricket’s great characters. It is safe to say that someone like Chris Cairns will never have this type of adulation.
The point about Miller, probably, is that he played for the love of the game. He was an authentic amateur. He never made much money out of cricket and remains basically a battler in terms of wealth. Playing for enjoyment, his and the spectators', was his ideal. Keeping a curfew in this context was never an issue. It helped, of course, that Miller’s record as an all-rounder is one of the great achievements of Australian cricket. On one occasion when Miller turned up late for a NSW match at the Sydney Cricket Ground, he did some bowling to clear his head, took six wickets for two runs off about five overs, and did not bowl again in the match which NSW won outright against South Australia.
The New Zealand cricketers are not amateurs. They are highly paid professionals. As professionals, they are expected to keep reasonable hours at night time during Tests. And to perform adequately as batsmen and bowlers. The players who caused the furore did none of these things. For this reason, the outrage against them from all sections of the New Zealand cricket community was justified.
Miller was a player off – an on – the field. What one would like from New Zealand players is less emulation of his off-the-field behaviour and more imitation of what he did on cricket fields around the world.