Monday was the Diamond Anniversary of the famous Tied Test between the West Indies and Australia which took place at the Brisbane Cricket Ground (BCG), in Queensland, Australia. To date, 2,395 Test matches have been played and only two have finished in a tie, and yet whenever the Tied Test is mentioned, everyone instinctively assumes the speaker is referring to the one at Brisbane and not the First Test match between Australia and India at Chennai in 1986, the other Tied Test.
It was the First Test of the series and it became more than just one of the most thrilling Test matches ever to take place. It was a contest that ignited a renewed interest in cricket, which at the time was suffering as the result of some of the more dour play that the game had ever seen. Of the eleven dullest tests ever contested (measured by run-rate when at least twenty wickets fell), ten had been played in the previous six years. Test cricket seemed destined for the junk heap before the ‘Thriller at the Gabba’ (the nickname for the BCG which is located in the suburb of Woolloongabba).
Detailed reviews of the Test have tended to focus on the last two overs when as the match roars to a pulsating crescendo, Australia slides from an almost assured victory to the relief of a tie. And as the West Indies crawled their way back in a contest which they appeared to have wrapped up earlier, with Australia reeling at 90 for six wickets and chasing 233 for the win.
In fact, it was a titanic battle throughout the five days, with constant momentum swings, and filled with a series of sub-plots and often overlooked behind-the-scenes details which one might find in one of the late (just deceased) John Le Carre espionage novels.
Don Bradman (whose influence on Australian cricket extended long beyond his days on the pitch), the then Chairman of the Selectors, prior to the start of the series had challenged the two teams to play positive cricket. Over the course of the five days, the two sides didn’t disappoint ‘The Don’. On the first day, Garry Sobers, coming in second wicket down, set the tone for the match and the series with a blistering century, dissecting the fieldsmen regardless of where Richie Benaud placed them. His innings of 132 included 21 boundaries and led the visitors’ charge to 453 in 100.6 overs.
Norm O’Neill, his opposite number, led the hosts’ reply with his highest score in Tests (181), as he rode his luck of spilled chances. The Australian first innings lead of 52 loomed large on the final morning, when the West Indies last pair of Wes Hall and Alf Valentine strode to the wicket with the scoreboard reading 259 for 9. The duo added 25 valuable runs, but more importantly occupied the crease for 38 crucial minutes.
The stage was set for an easy Australian victory; 233 runs to get in more than two sessions of play. But Hall had other ideas. Bowling with fierce pace, in spite of blisters from his new boots, Hall removed four of the first five batsmen to leave Australia in total disarray at 57 for 5. When Sonny Ramadhin cleaned bowled Ken Mackay for the then top score of 28, the die had been cast, Australia were on the ropes at 92 for 6. The all rounder Alan Davidson, Skipper Benaud and the tail were all that stood between a West Indian win and Australia holding out for a draw.
At teatime, as was his wont, Bradman visited the dressing room and enquired of Benaud, “What’s it going to be?”
“We’re going for the win,” Benaud replied
“I am very pleased to hear it,” the Chairman noted, well aware of the magnitude of the task of scoring 130 runs in a session of play to win a Test match.
In the meanwhile, Alan McGilvray, the voice of Australian cricket, assumed that all was lost and left to catch a plane for home, in Sydney, New South Wales. It was a decision that would haunt the doyen of commentators for the rest of his life.
The scrambling pair had added 134 for the seventh wicket, taking Australia to within seven runs of the target, when Benaud, after cautioning Davidson about unnecessary risks called for an impossible run, only for Joe Solomon to plug the stumps from side on, running out Davidson for 80. The see-saw battle was tilting once again.
The last over, arguably the most famous ever delivered, began with Australia requiring six runs from eight balls (the Australians bowled eight-ball overs back then) with three wickets in hand. Hall was entrusted with the ball.
With three balls left and three runs required, Ian Meckiff, the penultimate batsman, swung and the ball sped away to the square leg boundary. Conrad Hunte raced after it. The ball had stopped rolling in the grass which had not been cut that morning because an early shower had prevented the groundskeeper from taking out the lawnmower. Hunte retrieved the ball, spun and threw in one motion. His return sailed into the gloves of wicketkeeper Gerry Alexander right over the bails. Wally Grout dived on his stomach, in vain, as his opposite number broke the stumps. Scores level. Two balls to go.
The last man, Lindsay Kline pushed the first ball he faced. The batsmen took off for the winning run. Joe Solomon swooped in, gathered, balanced himself and plugged the only stump visible from his side-on angle. The umpire raised his finger; Meckiff was run out. Some West Indian players began to celebrate. The crowd invaded the field. Confusion reigned. No one was sure who had won, and a short wait ensued while the scorers double checked their tallying.
Meanwhile, cables dispatched around the cricketing world created pure confusion. Initially, they announced an Australian victory, then a West Indian win was declared, followed by a draw, before finally the official result was announced to the large crowd gathered in front of the pavilion. It was the first tie in Test cricket.
The thrilling finish is emblazoned on our memory by the most famous photograph in Test cricket, which secured the precise moment history was made. The wide-angle shot captures eight players, each one in differing emotional stages. It was taken by Ron Lovitt of The Melbourne Age newspaper, who having shot his day’s quota of two rolls of twelve negatives, was left with only one double negative slide holder, one side of which he had used earlier in the day and had forgotten to mark it. Cricket’s greatest moment was captured by the merest of chances.
The official scorebooks were tossed out a few years later; garbage not necessary. However, in April this year, an Australian blogger posted online some pages from his father’s scorebook which had been unearthed whilst the latter was rummaging through his library. As an enthusiastic fourteen-year-old given a free pass to attend the Test match, John Stackpoole had diligently scored the entire game.
In 1985, during a BBC interview, on his last tour of England as a cricket commentator, McGilvray, revealed that the often played recording of the amazing finish of the Tied Test was in fact not what was actually heard on that fateful day sixty years ago. The two Australian commentators at the time were not quite sure what had happened and had announced an Australian victory. The revised tape of the final moments was compiled in a studio a week later.
Although the Tied Test has acquired a mystique of its own and its place in cricket folklore is well assured, it will be best remembered as the moment which brought the crowds back and rekindled interest in the game of cricket.
