BARNEY RONAY: He was, simply, a treat, and his career is worth celebrating as an island of purely sporting joy, separate from the horrible shadow of its premature end...
It is tempting to look at Ben Hollioake solely as a cricketer who was lost, a player defined by a premature full stop to a career that was yet to reach full bloom. There is obviously much truth in this: Hollioake was just 24 when he died in a car crash in Australia, a young man still finding out how to translate vast charm, athletic grace and a deliciously simple gift into the daily nuts and bolts of bald cricketing excellence.
But it is not the whole truth. Hollioake was already my favourite cricketer by then. And if there was an incompleteness even before his death this was more to do with the desire, keenly felt, for more than intermittent glimpses of a genuinely stirring talent. But there were parts of Hollioake, his sense of sporting personality, his magnetism on the field, that seemed already fully-formed. He was, simply, a treat, and his career is worth celebrating as an island of purely sporting joy, separate from the horrible shadow of its premature end.
Ben Hollioake! What a player! Whether in his sumptuous, rather brittle batting, his almost comically languid medium-fast bowling and his wondrous fielding.
'He possessed unperspiring superiority, the ideal of the gifted amateur'
There were essentially three stages to Hollioake’s five-year first-class career. The first is the bit he’s known for, and into which all else has since dwindled: that sensational arrival as a clear-eyed unknown, still the most stunning England one-day international debut. Picked to play in the final ODI against Australia at Lord’s in 1997, he was invited to “express himself” at No.3 by Mike Atherton as England chased 270.
Hollioake did exactly that, enacting an elegantly leonine assault on two of the game’s greatest bowlers on his way to 63 off 48 balls. Glenn McGrath was launched down the ground in his first over, Shane Warne yawningly swept into the grandstand. Hollioake looked like a man born to do exactly this, not just once but many times.
If it was hard not to get a little carried away, there were good reasons. Firstly this is England, where teenagers simply don’t do that kind of thing. And secondly Hollioake, even at 19, was blessed with almost embarrassing levels of personal charm.
One of my favourite bits of his debut was the TV interview afterwards with David Gower of the BBC. Hollioake it turned out had never played at Lord’s. “Yeah. There’s a good atmosphere in this ground,” the new boy drawled with an acutely restrained sense of mischief. “At least you got out into the middle OK,” Gower suggested in his languid way. “Actually I had to ask someone the way,” Hollioake top-trumped back, by now almost impossibly cool.
This was the paradox of Hollioake: hailed as a potential catalyst in a decisive Aussie-ing of fearful old English cricket, he was in fact possessed of a distinctive kind of Englishness, a suggestion of unperspiring superiority, the ideal of the gifted amateur. For the Surrey regular a late-afternoon 23 from Hollioake, decorated with swaying drives and a pull shot more a persuasion to the boundary than a cuff, would most likely remain the dominant memory of a day’s play. And beyond this there was always the sense of a genuinely striking talent held in reserve. My own favourite Hollioake memory was a Benson & Hedges Cup match at The Oval against Somerset, where he made an impossibly effortless 91: twice in a row Mushtaq Ahmed was swept, from a low, perpendicular position, into the road in front of the gas holder, a shot I have not seen repeated there.
'Hollioake was ready-made for Twenty20, with all its stand-and-deliver pizzazz'
These were the good times, however. The second stage of Hollioake’s career was essentially a falling away. First came a callow and ragged Test debut against Australia at Trent Bridge. A couple of hundreds in Sri Lanka on the winter’s A tour promised much but as early as 1998 Hollioake was playing his final Test, against Sri Lanka at The Oval. In the second innings he lasted one ball against Murali as England rushed to defeat and was promptly dropped, considered by some to have been decisively exposed at that level – never mind that he was 20 years old.
Hard times followed but by 2001 Hollioake had cautiously entered the third stage of his short career, the clawing-back. There was a glimpse of his potential that summer. First a cold-eyed 37 finishing the innings against Australia, then a defiant 53 against Pakistan.
Clutching at straws perhaps but Hollioake was only 23, of Andrew Flintoff’s age in fact, and it is here that thoughts of what might have become of him take flight. Hollioake was ready-made for Twenty20, with all its stand-and-deliver pizzazz, its test of style and nerve and vim. He might have become a white Abdul Razzaq, a more charismatic Shane Watson, a rapier to Flintoff’s bludgeon for England, maybe an IPL regular. Mainly, though, that sense of being not just a cool guy but a nice guy too would have been allowed to foment and spread.
Alistair Brown recently suggested the Surrey dressing room has perhaps only now recovered from the pain of losing Hollioake. As it was, within nine months of that 53 against Pakistan he was dead. His career will remain what it is: a five-year fascination replete with promise, but also with an untarnished memory of grace in action.
This article first appeared in the February 2012 issue of The Cricketer.
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Posted by Stuart on 20/05/2020 at 09:18
That's a beautiful piece which seems to sum up his painfully brief period as a wonderfully talented cricketer. There was something about him that was different, the way he carried himself, the way he ran into bowl, the way he walked to the crease and the way he leaned elegantly into those drives or flicked balls off his pads. English players weren't supposed to do this at that time. I remember watching him one summer at The Oval or Guildford, I can't remember which, and once he came on to bowl, there was that collective shuffling sound as people sat up in expectation that something was about to happen. The chatting stopped and all eyes seemed to be on this young, slim boy who had already captured our attention. That was the year he wandered out at Lord's in that ODI and carved apart two of the best bowlers in the world on a sunny Sunday. A 19 year-old English batsman driving, flicking and cutting Warne and McGrath, forcing Steve Waugh into panicked field changes. That didn't happen. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. England, beating Australia 3-0, winning at Lord's with the most exciting prospect in the world suddenly playing for us? I don't know if people have ever really given that innings the credit it deserved for the impact it had on England's approach to Ashes cricket. Yes, the defeats still followed for a number of years, but that afternoon was the first time since Botham that England had found a chink in the Australian armour, suddenly they were human, their curtains had been pulled back, the secret had got out. Perhaps the seeds of the 2005 victory were sown that very afternoon. Back at Lord's a few week later and he was at it again, same type of shots, same type of innings, elegantly destructive, almost hypnotic. Winning Benson and Hedges finals at the age of 19. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, men in their 30s won these games, grizzled old pros with stubble and sunburn played the decisive innings, not smiling, seemingly care-free teenagers. This boy was special. It seems strange to talk about wilderness years for a player who died so young and whose career was so short but those years from 1998-2001 where he drifted out of the international scene almost add a more romantic air to his life. Faced with adversity, battling back when life seemed not quite so easy. Watching him in that Natwest Series scoring 50-odd on a terror track against Pakistan in horrible weather against a horrible bowling attack showed the new him, again, standing out, again rising to the challenge when people doubted him. I still have fond memories of Alec Stewart putting his arms round him when he asked him to bowl the last over of an ODI against Australia at Bristol that summer and of Ben simply smiling when it didn't go the way we wanted it a few balls later. It all sort of put everything into perspective. It mattered a lot for a few hours, but really, it was just a game and life will move on. Life has moved on, but us Surrey and England supporters I don't think every truly have. He mattered to us so much and still does. His name still comes up in conversation so regularly, not in a what-if way, but in 'what-about-that' way and a 'remember-when' manner. He was everything you wanted a player on your team to be and in my mind's eye, the narrative went differently, in my story, he, the wise old head played another elegantly decisive innings to lead England to the 2016 World T20 title before retiring and handing over the role to Tom Maynard. Just close those eyes and dream it.
Posted by Marion Chandler on 25/03/2020 at 09:32
From Hong Kong Cricket Club as a young boy I watched Ben grow with his wonderful cricketing talent. His lovely parents so supportive. It is lovely to read this article and yet so sad to recall his terrible untimely passing. A beautiful life and talent Tragically cut short. Best wishes always.
Posted by John Hollioake on 24/03/2020 at 12:47
Thanks a million Barney, you have made our day again.
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