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Ben Hurley finds the funny in cricket

“I made the Hawera High School First XI, but partly because one of my closest friends was the captain and put in a word. I’ve had my moments on the field but I was a bit of a late bloomer, physically, and by the time I was able to compete properly, other career paths had presented themselves. Mostly comedy and beer.”

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Comedian Ben Hurley is bowled over by the “ridiculously quirky” game of cricket.

WORDS Ben Hurley

“As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster,” is Ray Liotta’s infamous and chilling line in the opening scene of the Martin Scorsese movie Goodfellas. A story of a man born into the mafia; essentially a crime cult held together by family, centuries-old tradition, rival factions and unwritten rules and terminology that the uninitiated don’t really understand. I never wanted to be a gangster, but as far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a cricketer.

I know half of you stopped reading when you read that word. Cricket is an acquired taste, polarising like blue cheese or Jim Carrey. I don’t expect you to like it and understand if you don’t. I know it’s “slow” and “boring” and “complicated” and “sometimes it’s a draw after playing for five days.” I’ve heard it all a thousand times and it doesn’t offend me. 

Cricket isn’t really what this is about. This column is really for anyone who thought their natural inability to do something (well) would preclude them from doing it for a living. Because I am one of that number and testament to the fact that it isn’t always the case.

I came to the game later than my friends. I grew up in an arty household more than a sporty one, so I never really saw much sport on TV. I remember New Zealand winning the 1987 Rugby World Cup, and a handful of moments from the 1988 Seoul Olympic Games, but that’s about it. Until I was about 11 and a combination of cricket-mad next-door neighbours and seeing New Zealand play Australia in something called “The Benson and Hedges World Series” set off a strange reaction inside me. Something I’ve never truly been able to explain. Within a few months, I was part of a real cricket team that played on Saturday, and my bedroom walls were covered in posters of cricketers. I knew stats and names and nicknames and stats about nicknames. I’d caught the bug, with two hands, reverse cup, in front of my face.

Was I any good? Not really. But, if I’m honest, I wasn’t awful. I made the Hawera High School First XI, but partly because one of my closest friends was the captain and put in a word. I’ve had my moments on the field but I was a bit of a late bloomer, physically, and by the time I was able to compete properly, other career paths had presented themselves. Mostly Comedy and Beer. 

I still played as a semi-social weekend warrior but the realisation eventually dawned on me that I was unlikely to make the premier club side, let alone the national one. I would always be someone who loved the game and could ruin any party by finding the one other cricket person in the room and settling in for the night. Commandeering a corner of the kitchen to loudly debate what went wrong in the 1992 World Cup semi-final loss to Pakistan. That would be my lot in cricket life. Or was it?

Around 10 years ago, when comedy and TV work became more abundant for me, New Zealand Cricket got wind of the fact that I was one of these cricket “tragics”, as we are often referred to (I prefer the term “nuffy”), and got in touch. They wanted something called a “Match Day Host” to travel around with the team over the summer and interview drunk people in the crowd for the big screen. Not only did I jump at this opportunity, but I did it for seven summers. Only giving it up and passing on the role to someone younger because I realised no one wants to see a 40-year-old man doing boat races on the embankment while a dozen Otago students chant, “Down in one!”

Once again, I thought that would be it for me but, last year, in a deal even more complicated than the LBW rule, Spark Sport got the rights to televise the cricket and they gave me my own show! Who said nothing good happened in 2020? And this is what I did all summer. Half-an-hour a week where I’m paid to talk about this game. This ridiculously quirky game that has featured in many of the happiest moments of my life. (My wedding, my kids’ births and Grant Elliot hitting that six at Eden park to put us into the World Cup final). It’s not a dream job because I rarely have dreams this good. 

Ok, so I’m not a gangster, and yes, I still think about it. I didn’t have the genes or the constitution for it. But, in this analogy, maybe I’m Martin Scorsese, telling those who are interested all about the ones that do. And I’m mostly okay with that.

BENHURLEY.COM

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Back to work

UNO’s new columnist might be a comedy big shot, but he’s not immune to that first-week-back-at-work feeling, from which he’s still recovering.

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UNO’s new columnist might be a comedy big shot, but he’s not immune to that first-week-back-at-work feeling, from which he’s still recovering.

PHOTOS BRYDIE THOMPSON 

No one really clocks on mentally until after Waitangi Day. Sure, your body is at work but your mind is not – it’s still riding those breakers at Papamoa, drinking cocktails for morning tea, or avoiding a flying Virat Kohli six at the Bay Oval. It’s just too bloody hot, and we’re still digesting the 4kg of ham we ate over Christmas.

It’s a wonderful time of year, and it’s also very frustrating. Trying to enlist the services of a tradesperson during January is a fruitless exercise. They know full well that you have money to give them in exchange for their services, but who needs money when you have sunshine and cold beer? They’ll get to you, but not till at least February 7.

The television shows I work on take a break over summer as well. 7 Days does about 40 episodes a year but thankfully is off air during the time when all the news cycle seems to consist of is record temperatures and the odd shark sighting. However, The Project comes back a little earlier – and it was its return that knocked me out of my hammock.

I’ve been contributing to The Project since it started in early 2017. I fill in on the panel sometimes when Jeremy Corbett is away and recently they’ve asked me to do some interviews with some big names in music. It’s not overstating it to say that this is a dream job for me, an ageing Taranaki-bred bogan whose hearing is missing a few frequencies, due to listening to Nirvana and AC/DC at louder than recommended volumes in my mum’s 1989 Ford Laser back in the day.

So far, my interviewees have included Weezer, Queens of the Stone Age, Cat Stevens, Tom Morello of Rage Against The Machine and Corey Taylor of Slipknot, so when my producer emailed to ask if I’d interview my favourite guitarist, Slash, I ignored the fact that it was January 24, well shy of my official Waitangi Day work kick-off, and shook myself awake.

Saul Hudson, aka Slash, the iconic lead guitarist from Guns N’ Roses, all top hat and black curls, was to play two shows in Tauranga and Auckland with his new band Myles Kennedy & the Conspirators and had agreed to his first television interview in five years. With me. I still have no idea why.

So, first day back at work in 2019, and I’m in a lift heading up to the penthouse at Auckland’s Pullman hotel. I was feeling the pressure; idol worship aside, Slash doesn’t really ‘do’ interviews because he’s shy and all anyone asks him about is why Guns N’ Roses broke up, which he’s sick of talking about. His record label told me not to ask him anything about Guns N’ Roses or Axl Rose or Duff the bass player or Steven the drummer or the November Rain video or the ’80s or firearms or flowers of any sort. This directive came by email but was reinforced in person by his very friendly but very large, 7ft-tall head of security just before Slash came into the room. Point taken, giant security man – point taken.

Slash sat down and got out some nicotine gum. I broke the ice talking about smoking, how hard it is to quit and stay quit. He relaxed a bit as we quietly chatted about the different methods of giving up ciggies. It was a bit weird as I’ve never smoked, but I needed a way to start talking without launching into the meat of the interview. I lied, just a little, and I feel medium-bad about this.

The standard time frame for these interviews is 15 minutes, but Slash gave me 20 and I can say he’s as pleasant a man as I’ve met. For someone who’s notoriously suspicious of the media, he was generous and friendly, and I think I even made him laugh a couple of times. We covered his childhood growing up in Los Angeles, his hippy parents, how he lived on the same street as Frank Zappa and Joni Mitchell, his love of reptiles and all the usual rock ’n’ roll stuff about touring and albums and crowds and fans. And guess what? He mentioned Guns N’ Roses, like, four times.

Then he left, and I drove home, adrenaline still coursing through my bogan veins. I felt a mixture of disbelief and relieved exhaustion. The next day was the start of anniversary weekend. Thank god – I needed a few days off.  

BENHURLEY.COM

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