The doyen of commentators throughout the cricket world, Richie Benaud
has called his last Test in England (he won’t be following the
exclusive cricket rights to Rupert’s Sky Sports next year – though we
haven’t seen the last of him in Australia, he still has three years to
run on his Channel Nine contract) and the British papers have been
glowing in their tributes to “cricket’s greatest communicator”:

“It has been a privilege, but above all a lot of fun,”
clunk, fall of wicket, “but it’s not a lot of fun for the batsman as
Kevin Pietersen is bowled by McGrath.” It was Benaud at his
super-smooth best [as he wrapped up his final stint at the microphone]. His final words to a British
audience were a little more mundane, “and now in the commentary box
Mark Nicholas and Tony Greig,” but the 75-year-old Benaud was never
going to go out with a sentimental soliloquy, says Nick Hoult in The Telegraph.

In his day, Mr Benaud
was a fine batsman, an outstanding bowler, a phenomenal gully, and
arguably the best test captain the game of cricket – and certainly
Australia – has ever produced. Yet since he hung up his boots more than
four decades ago, he has been something more: cricket’s greatest
communicator, says The Guardian. Without
ever raising his voice, Mr Benaud spoke better about cricket
than anyone else. He could explain everything with authority, from the
chinaman to the Duckworth-Lewis formula, but without any trace of ego.
When he was at the microphone, nothing was missed, but nothing was
exaggerated. If there was nothing to say, he kept his mouth shut.

The most
professional commentator of his generation will no longer be heard. Calm,
unhurried, courteous, literate, professional: those were Benaud’s
trademarks, and they seemed right for cricket, wrote The Observer on Sunday. Now, cricket, like
everything else in life, is faster, ruder and cruder. His quiet,
precise voice belongs to an age when a cover-driven boundary was always
applauded, no matter which side had hit it. Benaud will be missed.
Whoever wins, this is one Australian no-one wants to see the back of.

Understatement is what Richie’s success behind the microphone
has been all about. That style is not in vogue these days – more’s
the pity – as most viewers are subjected to a constant stream of
what Monty Python termed “the bleedin’ obvious,” says Mike Atherton in The Age. In many ways, Richie has been the Hemingway of the airwaves,
treating us to an economy of words and style. He explains what is
in front of us (rather than describes – which is the duty of
radio). As a result, he has become the cricket viewer’s favourite friend
and companion for the summer months.

He was not on air at the conclusion at the Oval,
as had been expected by Channel 4, but simply when the rota of the day
dictated that he would finish. Whereupon, one of the greatest and most knowledgeable of all
sports commentators moved to the back of the Channel 4 box and sat
impassively next to a case of Veuve Clicquot champagne presented to him
by the ECB. There was nothing misty-eyed about his countenance or
tremulous about that celebrated lower lip, says Ivo Tennant in The Times.