Everyone hates a selector

Max Bonnell | May 26, 2023

If you’ve played cricket for long enough, then you do to. Who was it? The one who failed to appreciate the value of that 17 not out in Third Grade, and dropped you to Fourths? The one who didn’t understand that you always bowled into the wind and never got choice of ends? Maybe the one who always preferred the flashy newcomer to the club, rather than your tried-and-trusted skills?

Or maybe you hated me.

And that would have been fair enough. Because I sucked at that job. I mean, I really sucked. Here’s proof.

In the season of 1986-87, I held two selection positions at Sydney’s Western Suburbs club. I was the sole selector for the Under-16 Green Shield side. This was not an easy job. First, I had to arrange trials; then I had to persuade kids to turn up to them, and then I had to sift through the boys that presented themselves, based only on how they looked in the nets. I had two kids left over from the season before, and one whom I picked on trust based on his glowing reputation in Lismore cricket (keeper-batsman. Left-hander. Name of Gilchrist. He went OK). 

As for the others… well. Remember I was picking a side to play matches on turf. And I was doing that after watching players bat or bowl for a short amount of time in the nets, on synthetic surfaces. It was like choosing a team to play First Grade Rugby League based on what you saw of a bunch of guys playing tip football in the backyard for fifteen minutes. How can you tell whether net form translates into the ability to perform in the middle? You can make, maybe, a few informed judgments on technique and basic skills, but that says nothing about temperament, concentration, and competitiveness… all the essentials that make up a decent cricketer.

So it’s no surprise it was a bit of a hit-and-miss combination. I picked Peter Burkhart as captain, and that turned out to be a good decision. But I also picked Jon Horley as reserve wicket-keeper. He did make it to First Grade. As an opening bowler. We could have used him in that role, because the decision I really messed up was the last bowling spot.

You see, there was this kid called Jamie Begnell. He was a left armer. No pace to speak of, a bit floaty, really – but he swung it. And I was a swing bowler, of sorts, and I liked the idea of a kid who could move the ball in the air. Sometimes selectors see what they choose to see. Plus this: he was athletic in the field, and he had a flat, rocket arm. So, he’s the talent, right? Not the kid whose uncle brought him down to the last trial.

I’m not sure why the big kid hadn’t come down before. Maybe he’d trialled somewhere else and been turned down. It was a Sunday morning, grey and rainy, and the session was cut short, but I tried to make sure the big kid had as much of a bowl as possible. Because if you see a left armer who’s really tall, you want to see what kind of potential he has. 

But he was no quicker than Jamie Begnell, and didn’t move it at all. He was accurate and keen, but his fielding wasn’t as good as Jamie’s. My impression was that his co-ordination hadn’t quite caught up with his body, which was near enough to seven feet tall. So I left him out.  Phil Alley.

I’m sure Jamie Begnell is a wonderful guy, but his Grade career consisted of half a Fifth Grade match – he never showed up for the second day of his first game, and that was it. Whereas, in the final game of that same season, Phil Alley made his debut for St George. In Firsts. And took 4-38. I don’t need to look those figures up: they are seared into my brain, a lasting memory of the reasons why I should never, ever select a team again.

Phil Alley as a school kid and about to make his first grade debut for St George

My only excuse is this: my judgment wasn’t good enough to see possibilities I hadn’t been shown. If you need further proof of that, it’s Craig Haworth. That same season, I was one of the selectors who graded teams at Wests. Some people thought that I sought out that job because it would improve my chances of being picked in a higher grade. Those people were right. But, apart from that, I tried my best to do a fair job.

So this kid Haworth turned up from Coffs Harbour, where his uncle held every possible batting record. He was 18 years old, left-handed, and quiet. Said nothing to anyone, just went into the nets and blocked everything. He could obviously play a bit, because no one could get him out, but it wasn’t clear where he’d ever score a run. He was short and skinny, and had no muscle anywhere that you’d notice. We thought he might be able to take the shine off the ball in Thirds, so we picked him there. He would have been in Fourths, but someone thought his off-breaks might be handy.

The first game was against Petersham. After the first day, the players from Firsts and Seconds were having a beer when a report came in from thirds. Haworth – who was now “Flea” – had top-scored, with 75. “Probably took him 75 overs”, someone suggested. “No”, came the answer. “He smashed it.” That seemed unlikely. We knew the kid couldn’t smash it, we’d seen enough of him in the nets. And during the week, he blocked everything in the nets again. His next innings, still in Thirds, was against Sutherland, and this time has smashed 85. 

At which point, everything changed. Sutherland’s captain was Barry Davison, a State Under-19 selector, who rushed Flea straight into his squad. Flea was picked in Seconds the next game, the first time I saw him play in the middle, against Balmain. He made it to 82 quickly enough: then he moved from 82 to 102 in five balls, carving Dave Hiser, a pretty good medium pacer, for five boundaries in an arc between mid-off and third-man.

Craig Haworth, of course, became an excellent First Grader, who also hit a hundred for the NSW Second XI against Victoria. On a fairer planet, one with wiser selectors, he might have been a good Shield cricketer. Eventually, he went back to Coffs Harbour, where he now holds every possible batting record. 

Craig Haworth batting in Coffs Harbour

And none of us selectors could see it. It didn’t occur to any of us that Flea was a really young kid from the country, a bit shy and overawed by his first experience of city life, and so focussed on not making a single mistake in the nets that he wasn’t showing us what happened when he felt free to express himself. We saw a blocker who could bowl a bit of off-spin. Which is ridiculous, if you’ve ever seen Flea bat. Or bowl. 

All of which helps to explain why everyone hates a selector.

It’s because every single one of us is clueless.