By Clayton Goodwin
I was there when Alvin Kallicharran mugged Dennis Lillee, the most feared fast bowler of his generation, at the Oval in London on 14th June 1975. If you are a cricket fan of a certain vintage, especially if you are West Indian, and even more so if you are West Indian, you will remember that date and that occasion. It was a “Kennedy moment” – you knew where you were when it happened. Even if it didn’t have all the qualities of David and Goliath, the duel between the smaller man from the Caribbean and the muscular, hirsute menace from the Antipodes certainly bore comparison with the Rumble In The Jungle, the shoot-out at the O.K. Corral, and any of the more contemporary instances of the outsider up-ending the odds that year.
History was made when Margaret Thatcher became the first woman to lead one of the established political parties – in the very year that the proceedings of Parliament were broadcast for the first time, and for the first time a black man, Arthur Ashe won the Wimbledon’s lawn-tennis mens’ singles title. Each was a break-through. It was enough to expect sleet, snow and rain to interfere with cricket that “flaming” June, and, as a matter of fact, that had indeed happened the previous week.
This day, however, dawned in near perfect weather – with a dash of the Caribbean “carnival” spirit thrown in. Unusually, I watched the play, accompanied by my father, from the stands as guests of a Surrey member. Hitherto, as a press messenger, and later as a full bona fide reporter I had seen the cricket at this most historic of English international grounds from the press-box. This time I was “resting” between the two careers.
Although the match was staged on what should have been neutral territory, the feeling around the ground was definitely in favour of Clive Lloyd’s team. While the Australians were certainly the “bad boys” of the recent series Down Under, in which their fast bowlers, Dennis Lillee and Jeff Thomson had torn apart the England batting with deliveries that were downright dangerous, West Indian fans were still regarded then with welcome affection, and had not yet become painted in some parts of the media as a brooding presence in cricket’s body politic. Apart from the few Australians present, this ground wanted West Indies to win. In particular, they wanted somebody to exact vicarious revenge by taking apart Messrs Lillee and Thomson for their team’s wounded pride and, in some cases, wounded bodies. Not, however, that anybody expected seriously that it could be done.
West Indies did not seem to be cut out too well for that role. Four days earlier at Birmingham they had barely squeezed past a Pakistan side lacking some of its leading players. Set to score 267 runs to win this array of stroke-players self-combusted in maligned “calypso cricket” fashion to 99-5 and then 166-8 before wicketkeeper Deryck Murray (61 n.o.) steadied the ship first with Vanburn Holder and then fast bowler Andy Roberts (24 n.o.) in an unbroken stand of 64 runs which edged West Indies home by one wicket with two deliveries in hand.
It was little solace for their immigrant compatriots, who sought comfort in their regional side’s cricket success from the daily concern for their safety and livelihood brought about by the rise of the racist National Front, which was often accompanied by street and personal violence. There was, too, an air of malaise in society as reflected in the abduction and murder of young heiress Lesley Whittle, the slaying of pin-up model Eve Stratford, and macabre movements of serial killers Fred and Rosemary West in Gloucester.
Yet all that could be put aside this sunny morning. The West Indians were applauded enthusiastically as they took the field, followed by the two Australian opening batsmen – an applause which became almost euphoric when one of them, Rick McCosker, returned to the pavilion without a run having been scored. The pace attack of Roberts (3-39), Keith Boyce (2-38) and Bernard Julien (1-31) served notice of what cricket could expect over the next twenty years as they reduced Ian Chappell’s powerful batting side to 61-5. Ross Edwards (58), one of the lesser-known names in the line-up, and wicket-keeper Rodney Marsh (52 n.o.) prevented a complete breakdown by adding 99 runs before the former fell to Viv Richards’ off-spin. The 192 runs total was not encouraging for the Australians, but their opponents had not yet faced up to the anticipated storm of leather from Lillee and Thomson, backed by Max Walker and off-spinner Ashley Mallett.
The atmosphere was tense in expectancy as Gordon Greenidge and the left-handed Roy Fredericks walked out to take up the challenge. The balance was still tight as the Barbadian came back with just 29 runs on the board. That brought the game to its climax. Even a crowd accustomed to the tension of the year’s best-selling film, Jaws, could not have anticipated the thrills to come as Alvin Kallicharran took his stance at the crease. Yet there was a very apt precedent for those who could remember. Twelve years earlier on this very ground Rohan Kanhai, his fellow-Guyanese, had turned a Test Match up-side down with the most decisive stroke-filled innings I have seen at any international level of competition. By attacking the bowling with a battery of strokes, a good number of which were outside the coaching manual, Kanhai had hammered West Indies from a first-innings deficit to a seemingly one-sided victory which clinched the series at 3-1. Today Rohan Kanhai was in the pavilion, waiting to repeat this feat if his compatriot should fail … but Kallicharran did not fail.
The story is easy to tell. The little left-hander weighed into Lillee with as powerful a blast of hooks, cuts and drives as I have witnessed. The Australian – very – fast bowler, pawing the ground, sweeping his hair across his face as if in imitation if Keith Miller, whom I had been privileged to see bowling at this same, Vauxhall, end in 1953, hurtled in repeatedly, and Kallicharran hit him – to just about any part of the ground he chose. The shorter Lillee pitched the ball, the faster in travelled to the boundary. The statistics are equally easy to relate Alvin scored 78 with 14 fours and a six from 83 deliveries, at a strike-rate of 93.97. When Lillee got his revenge – and he did get his revenge (through a catch by Mallett) which nobody present thought would even the contest by even the slightest measure, West Indies at 153-2 were almost home and dry. With the Australian bowlers exhausted in body and spirit, it remained only for none of than Kanhai, and Viv Richards, the crown prince in waiting, to see them over the victory-line by 4 wickets.
A fortnight later these same two teams met in the first ever World Cup final at Lord’s. The result was essentially the same – West Indies won – but it was more closely-run. West Indies prevailed as much by their confidence and conviction that they could win as with any superiority with bat or ball, and close-to-the-wicket fielding. And contrary to their “calypso cricket” reputation they kept their heads in the crisis.
A few months later West Indies went to Australia as world champions, where they were overwhelmed and hammered out of sight – not least by Dennis Lillee, himself. It began to seem as if the triumph of 1975 had been in vain. Nevertheless, having tasted success, this West Indies side would not be denied. Back in England for the long, hot summer of 1976 they had their own fast bowling in depth, and batsmen who knew that they had what it would take to be the best in the world, and they proved it ….. consistently over the next twenty years.
That all started at the Oval on 14th June 1975 when Alvin Kallicharran walked out to face Dennis Lillee, then the most feared fast bowler in the world …. and hit them both into history.