Derek Pringle looks at the spectacular career of a New Zealand icon and his legacy in international cricket
Brendon McCullum is a cricketer who straddled both the modern and ancient in his sport. Not for him the endless computer analysis to study bowlers and his own batting foibles. He attacked, come what may, and let the consequences take care of themselves.
It was a daring that saw bowlers wince and spectators rejoice, emotions that will be reversed now he has retired from red-ball cricket.
On a human level it made for compulsive viewing though not, perhaps, when examining the balance sheet of wins and losses. Over McCullum’s 101 Tests, played consecutively as neither form nor fracture checked his progress, New Zealand won 30, lost 45 and drew 26.
As records go it is not especially notable save in this regard: he helped to reduce the draw to its lowest level in New Zealand’s history as a percentage of matches played. Given most draws are anything but honourable, and with the modern predilection for a binary world, that is an achievement not to be sniffed at.
With his audacious batting and bold captaincy he also gave New Zealand cricket a style and a team of which to be proud. Out went the defensive tactics and insecurities of old and in came funky field settings and a team which attacked at every opportunity.
It opened eyes everywhere, not just at home. Many of England’s players have cited McCullum and his team for inspiring their own recent commitment to play braver, brasher cricket, especially in white-ball formats.
Forever destined to be dragged along in the slipstream of All Blacks rugby, New Zealand’s strongest global brand along with its sheep, the cricket team under McCullum became one of the most exciting of the era to watch. And what is sport if not an entertainment? They even contested the last World Cup final, their high octane cricket unfortunately faltering just as it needed to burn bright in the final against Australia.
Batsmen like McCullum who intimidate bowlers (something that seems against the laws of nature given he is barely 5 ft 7in tall), are rare. Vivian Richards was one, India’s Virender Sehwag another. Ian Botham can also be counted among their number as can Adam Gilchrist, at least until Andrew Flintoff went round the wicket to him. But there aren’t many who genuinely inflict anxiety upon bowlers as these did.
For the symptoms to take hold there has to be a high quality of batsmanship but also an intimidating physicality. Brian Lara could put you away for four all day backward of point but he did it with neat timing and minimal fuss. As a result it rarely felt like humiliation which is what the others here dealt in, their brutal power bringing all the head-pounding panic of a real assault.
With McCullum, the “it’s me or you” manifesto he took to the crease with him tended to be announced quickly with few frills. In his final Test against Australia at Hagley Park in Christchurch, the marker was laid down first ball as he ran down the pitch and tried to hit it for six.
He didn’t succeed and the ball ended up skewing off a top edge over the slips for four. His intent, that there would be no backward step, was unequivocal and with his team in trouble on a fruity pitch he went on to score, with a few slices of luck, the fastest Test hundred in history, off just 54 balls. He reached it by striking Josh Hazlewood for 6,4,4,4 off successive balls.
You could argue that the situation, his last Test, freed him to play like that. But the truth is he has been unencumbered by the worries, expectations and pressure many at this level feel almost from the start. That attitude, along with his compact muscularity, a quick predator’s eye and lightning fast hands, have made him the destructive batsman he is.
Those qualities also allowed him to thrive in the T20 leagues that have made him, and many others uncertain of making a living from professional cricket, very wealthy. Thirty years ago, batsmen who came out swinging from the off like McCullum would have copped a gob full from bowlers along the lines that they were “batting like millionaires”. Today that sledge would have no traction because they are millionaires, and from batting in just that way.
His captaincy, with its folksy charm at Press conferences, should not be underestimated or his determination to make it work. His appointment, as successor to Ross Taylor, was not popular. But he and Mike Hesson, the coach, won the public over.
Rather than hoping victory would come from the other team self-destructing, they backed players who bought in to McCullum’s philosophy of chasing the win, however vaunted the opposition. It didn’t always work out, but they competed as if believing they were equals which can be half the battle.
There are gaps in McCullum’s record which suggest his aggressive approach worked only against teams lacking serious firepower. He never made a Test hundred against South Africa or England, while only one of his 12 Test hundreds came against Australia.
His batting average against South Africa was a lowly 26, against a career average of 38.6. Indeed, he was only on the winning side against them once in 12 Tests, which recalls Botham’s frustrations against the West Indies against whom he averaged 21.4 with the bat and won just one Test in 20 attempts.
Many feel McCullum’s numbers would have been stronger had he not kept wicket for the first half of his career and not batted in three different positions, including opener. But to become embroiled in figures is to miss the point of McCullum, who re-channeled the aggression of his wild youth into his cricket to give it serious heft.
For spectators, a brief cameo from him was nearly always more memorable than a longer innings by more sedate batsmen. More important, though, is you could never be sure which way a Test match was heading until McCullum had batted.
In a team rarely in the top five of the Test rankings, there can be no greater testimonial than that.
This piece originally featured in The Cricket Paper, Friday February 26 2016
