the story is about richie benaud. or really about how richie benaud is still alive. i worry, though, that richie benaud will die before the story is finished. not for his sake, because he has surely led a full and good life. but for the story's sake. a story about richie benaud being still alive hinges on the fact that richie benaud is actually still alive. his death would certainly kill the story.
the story describes richie benaud's face. how it has changed over the years. sunken in. how his eyes have evolved from tadpoles to frogs. eyes can be frogs, contends the story, and a recent photograph of richie benaud confirms the story's assertion. the photograph accompanies the story. what the photograph does not illustrate is how richie benaud's voice has remained steady. the same. perhaps because, as a young man, he already sounded old.
richie benaud is still alive, in the story, and hopefully in the world (for the sake of the story) as friends gather to watch the cricket. they reminisce about their childhood. they do impressions of richie benaud, commentating each other's actions. beer from the fridge, etc. They remember hot days, taking classic catches with a tennis ball as they leap into the swimming pool. They remember ducking their heads inside to check the score. They remember tv ads for kit kats and solar powered hot water systems. They remember richie benaud being alive, and they like that he still is. the way he holds the microphone, his football shaped head, the inflections that make his voice his. richie benaud is just a man. but the fact that he is still alive is comforting to them. i hope he doesn't die.
