Rebecca represented New Zealand in both cricket and football. In cricket, as a wicketkeeper batsman, she played 104 ODIs, two T20s and one Test match. She is in her 23rd year of a career in public service and was appointed in 2020 as a director to the board of New Zealand Cricket (NZC). She continues to play a pivotal role in our sport.
I was never supposed to play cricket, it was the strangest thing ever. There were none of the traditional influences in my life that would normally prompt a slightly chubby 7 year-old girl to be mad on a game that is often counter-intuitive and for some, an acquired taste. No brothers to try and keep up with, no old gear lying around, no multi-layered school academy system and definitely no friends who played.
In the winter for me it was football. Same deal, no way in the world was a childhood filled with muddy boots and stinky shinpads the most natural thing ever in my house. Yet there I was, convinced I would be part of an FA Cup final when I was older.
I loved it. Sport was all I wanted to do with every minute of my spare time. I was obsessed, my parents will vouch for that.
My years were sorted. October came, my father mowed a pitch of questionable dimensions at the park in the middle of our cul-de-sac and I did a stocktake of the gear I did have, figuring out what I could realistically put on the Christmas list and what I’d need before then.
Come the end of March, that was all put away in the garage and it came the time to see how much my feet had grown. We’d need to source a pair of second hand football boots at the Napier City Rovers clubrooms registration night, where I would pledge my allegiance once again, to the black and yellow of the mighty Tamatea Tigers.
What a life. What a relief for my parents too, happy for me to be outside on my own inventing drills and spending endless repetitive hours honing my skills. A small price to pay were my mother’s pantyhose which also served as an excellent pendulum set up when a cricket ball was sitting in the foot of them. I tied them to the clothes line and hit the ball as it swung back towards me. I honestly thought they’d just need a wash before being able to be worn again but the resulting conversation made for a quick lesson in elasticity for me.
Or I’d change it up, having struck a deal with my younger sister to bowl to me (did have to be underarm for the sake of accuracy), or let me kick a football at her. Not surprisingly she never took up either game. The deals were always heavily weighted in my favour, it is fair to say I exploited my three years longer on the planet and her kind nature, on too many occasions.
This was in the 1980s though and the peculiarity of my passion for sport was not lost on others. Initially at least, it created awkwardness and resentment on a good day, on a bad day — tears and blatant rejection. What I didn’t have that no amount of desire, passion and enthusiasm could counter, was automatic, normalised opportunity. Complete access to everything my team mates (all boys) did. Be it gear, facilities, acceptance or time on the park, I was often afforded that only if and when the boys had all had a crack or when numbers to make up a team were needed. I went to a school with only ten boys in the class, you can do the math on that — I was grateful though!
I grew to learn that as amazing as sport is, the pathways in it are not the same for everyone. My ‘difference’ was gender, but you could replace that with socioeconomic status, geography, ethnicity and culture, disability to name a few, I’ve seen all of them manifest as barriers.
What I couldn’t understand (and still can’t) is why the grown-ups let that happen? The ones in charge — the ones who were in positions to make the right decisions, but they didn’t always. Why were they limiting these really fun things and making them accessible to only half the kids? I couldn’t see that it was that hard. Change took so long to come and frankly, for me only did because I was actually pretty useful and had amazing support from my family. Not everybody can say that, some people need more help.
What is created, are a couple of problems in my view. First, any selection is only from the parts of the population that fit traditional moulds or can navigate their ‘differences’, so we are limiting the pool. Secondly and importantly, not everyone gets to experience all the wonder sport has to offer. It is the best day ever on repeat in my view. If I try to imagine a life without sport for me, I’d be only a fraction of the person I am today.
Personally, it taught me resilience, work ethic, teamwork, collaboration, that it is okay to be nervous — it means something is important to you and to keep stretching yourself. Not to mention the health benefits of being outside and moving. You learn that you can work and achieve with people without necessarily needing to be close friends. Instead, you understand the value they bring and how that complements the palette of features across a group, to understand the blueprint that works best. It is the same in the corporate world, community projects, relationships, politics, everything.
The crucial role in shifting this dial is that of the coach. Depending on the level, this person plays so many additional roles — mentor, driver, quasi-parent, counsellor, but overall — player navigator and advocate. One person can make a huge difference in the life of an athlete, the potential to move things in the right direction for someone is immense. To have people who are reliable and consistent, who have your interests at heart yet keep you grounded when you think you’ve had enough — cannot be overestimated. As we drift into a more professional environment, it is my hope that we never lose sight of the importance of this role for our tamariki and rangatira in sport.
While there is still so much potential for progress, things have changed for the better since I used to sneak out and watch my (male only) cricketing heroes on free-to-air TV in the 80s. I truly feel like the luckiest person in the world. I had the support, encouragement and probably belligerence to find a way to play and had some amazing experiences. Three Cricket World Cups (winning in 2000), two Olympic Games and a FIFA World Cup. A charmed existence you could say. I’d agree. It didn’t come about because of the challenges I faced, it was in spite of them.
Automatic, normalised opportunity. Accessibility. Can we say everyone has this now in cricket? Our collective challenge is to recognise when the door is shut — or even if it is open, when there is not enough warmth inviting everyone in. Let’s share this amazing game.
When I reflect on what I gained from sport, my desire is that every kid can see and feel a clear path to the same experiences I did, or even some of the way. Not all will take it, develop the skills or even want to but I can only imagine how many didn’t even get to try. The learning opportunity that is sport is surely something we want to be available for everyone. Give us more cricketers to pick from, it is the best (first equal with football) game in the world!
— Rebecca, Ngāti Porou, was the first player in ODI history to complete the double of 2,000 runs and 100 dismissals. She was a key member of the victorious 2000 White Ferns World Cup team. In football Rebecca was an international goalkeeper playing 11 internationals in the 1990s. After returning to football in 2011, she regained selection in the national side for another 11 caps. She attended the 2015 FIFA Women’s World Cup in Canada as well as the 2012 (London) and 2016 (Rio de Janeiro) Olympic Games.