Articles/Interviews

Throughout the summer there are hundreds of stars in the acting profession who give up their precious spare time to play in celebrity cricket teams to raise money for worthy causes. One of these is Oliver Reed.

Cricket '75 is happy to disclose the cricketing reminiscences of one of the best known of British actors today.

Until about five years ago, I'd always looked upon cricket as a slow, boring dispassionate game played by a load of fairies.

That was until one year I was on holiday in Barbados and a friend and I went to the Bridgetown Oval to watch the Island XI play the touring Duke of Norfolk's team.

I think it was some time after a very liquid lunch that we started our chant for the Duke's team. I'd hardly noticed the icy glare the locals were giving us, until a sympathetic taxi-driver whispered in our ear that our best policy was to leave quietly and quickly. His opinion was endorsed when the first bottle crashed inches from out feet. I don't think there's ever been such a hurried exit from any cricket ground.

Surprisingly enough this had given me the taste, and I resolved that when I got back home I would raise a side - perhaps not strong enough to rival the Duke's stars, but it would be a start.

The first game was against an invitation XI brought together by a Mr Michael Welch, who, for those of you who have had the fortune not to meet him, is a so called "leading light" in London club cricket. All I know is that he drinks rather well, but plays cricket as badly as I do.

Anyway Michael and I decided to have a wager on an evening game in late June of 20 overs each with the match starting at 6.30.

I remember we had a rather bizarre way of tossing up. We went to the middle, each with a bottle of champagne. When we opened them the one whose cork went the furthest batted. I lost and it turned out to be a crucial mistake.

Michael's side made 96 in their innings, but thanks to a not inconsiderable amount of gamesmanship, they took nearly two and a half hours doing it.

Despite this I wasn't in the least worried, because although my side were largely there for the beer, as they say, I'd made sure they could play a bit, too. In fact I'd packed my side with the cream of London club batting plus Dudley Owen Thomas, who'd just come down from making 100 in the Varsity match.

I hadn't, of course, catered for the fading light, and, not surprisingly, we failed dismally. At around 10 o'clock may "All Stars" couldn't pick a long-hop from a beamer, and we made under 90.

Come the dawn...
Now I don't mind losing fairly and squarely, but I thought I'd been rather badly psyched out of this. So I challenged them to a return at 6.30 the next morning. This was accepted and there then followed one of the most amazing night's festivities I've known.

My stunt-man Reg Prince, had a drinking contest with Tony Gill, the chairman of Jack Frost Cricket Club, both being heavily sponsored. The contest took less than half an hour, but ended with Reg the winner and both men out for the count within 10 minutes.

To relate any more of the incidents and names would be damaging to those concerned, but come the dawn, we were all more or less there.

From what I can remember (the scorers had, not surprisingly, gone home by then) the opposition scrambled to about 80 in their 20 overs, and after a bad start, with one of our major hopes in the pavilion unconscious, we got to 75 for 8 when the last man, Reg Prince, was due to go in.

Reg was still asleep, under a pile of deck-chairs at this point, but he was quickly revived, told of the severity of the situation, led out to the middle, propped up in front of the stumps, and ... bowled first ball. I'd been beaten again. It was a night, though, that all of us will remember all our lives.

The other two games I've arranged have been against an invitation XI brought by Ray Figg the celebrated landlord of "The Cricketers Arms" at Ockley in Surrey.

For the first match, two years ago, I collected five "proper" cricketers and filled the rest of the side with those of us who work at my home. Ray told me that all his players were locals, but I found out that he'd brought in "ringers" on the morning of the game when I was stopped outside my house by one of his players and asked how to get to the ground. We were duly thrashed.

Not in the least discouraged, I told Ray that the next year we would be bringing practically a Rest of the World XI. In fact so confident was I of winning, that I bet him a barrel of beer and a Ventaxia fan for his pub.

The morning of the match arrived, and I think perhaps the best moments of the day, apart from our final glorious victory, were the phone calls I'd arranged to the "Cricketers" that morning from a West Indian friend enquiring the way to the ground. In four different calls he said he was Gary Sobers, Alvin Kalicharan, Rohan Kanhai and Andy Roberts... By the time I arrived at the pub Ray was ready to give up.

One advantage of being a so-called "name" is that however bad you are at the game, you are occasionally invited to take part in celebrity benefit matches. It's rather unnerving playing alongside personalities you'd previously only heard about and held in awe.

Last year I played for Surrey against Vic Lewis' XI at Ockley. I remember my batting didn't win any awards, and certainly no runs that afternoon.

Later on that season I played at Hove in John Snow's benefit game. I remember them telling me before I went out to bat, that just for an over, John would bowl flat out at me. I wasn't to worry, they said, because he would be bowling a couple of feet outside the off-stump, and for my own good I'd better not try to hit any. That sort of advice is like a red rag to a bull to me, and, after I'd let three go by, I slashed at the fourth and, incredibly, hit it.

Imagine my embarrassment as the bat was smashed out of my hand and finished, the bat that is, some 15 yards away. It was around that point that it finally dawned on me that cricket wasn't played by a load of fairies.

Oliver Reed